Janet Van Gorden's Blog, page 5

Romantic Cocktail

Valentine’s Day is perfect for celebrating romance with a cocktail.  Stir up an Agave Kiss with the one you love.

 

 

 

 

Duke’s Bar…a place where friends meet, drinks are shared and fate brings strangers together in chance meetings that lead to love.

 

 

 

An excerpt of Talk to My Heart

Hello readers.  I am so excited to share with you a sneak peek of my newest story Talk to My Heart. Although its still a work in progress, I couldn’t wait to reveal a sample for you to enjoy.

Happy reading!

Janet

(PS. This is a sample and has yet to go through the final stages of editing.)

*Posted photo/image taken from Morguefile — stock photo site

 

Excerpt…  Sahara Wilson tapped the toe of her designer heels against the tile of the polished marble floor.  She glared at the elevator as the digital display lit up yet again, indicating another stop between the top executive offices and the lobby where she was waiting.  She needed to be going up but the elevator was coming down.  Careful not to spill a single drop of her grande latte, she pulled her sagging bag higher up onto her shoulder, grumbling under her breath.  Of all days to be caught in a pedestrian traffic jam, today was not it.  She had an important meeting scheduled and there was no way she could be late even if it meant removing her heels and hiking the fifteen floors in her pencil skirt.

Blowing out a breath of exasperation, she studied the crowd of impatient faces around her.  A well-dressed couple to her left was attempting to discreetly disguise an obvious argument.  Sahara could hear every word.  Pretending not to notice she listened intently to the heated debate.  Just as she was beginning to mentally take the side of the man in the conversation, her eavesdropping was interrupted by a voice next to her ear.

“Congratulations.”

She jumped slightly, gripping her coffee tighter.  Her face warmed with a blush.

“John,” she said, turning to him with a scowl.  A large bouquet of red roses greeted her.  “What in the… What are these?”

“Flowers,” he said with a grin.

Sahara rolled her eyes.  “For?”

“You know,” he said, still smiling.

“I haven’t heard anything yet.”  She took the flowers he held out.  “And at this rate,” she said, nodding toward the elevator, “they may pass me over for not showing up.”

John chuckled, his cerulean blue eyes twinkling with amusement.

“How about dinner tonight?  To celebrate.  My treat,” he offered.  “I’ll grab some take-out and bring it by your apartment.”

Sahara lifted the roses, inhaling the sweet scent.

“You don’t need to do that John, really,” she said.

“I know I don’t need to,” he replied.  “I want to.”

The elevator arrived and the melodic signal set off a wave of motion in the crowd surrounding them.  Sahara gathered her belongings close.  She sighed in relief.  No need for a grueling step workout after all.  Moving along with the jostling crowd, she waved at John over her shoulder.

“Thanks for the flowers,” she called to him.

The elevator doors swished shut and Sahara was grateful to finally be on her way up.  After today she would be riding all the way to the top.  She had earned it.  With a satisfied smile, she held up her bouquet.  This was her moment to stop and smell the roses.

 

Finally making it to her office, Sahara dropped down at her desk pushing her bouquet and coffee cup aside.  She logged into her computer, agitated by her late start.

“Good morning Sahara,” her assistant Dorothy greeted.

She barely glanced up at the woman as she skimmed the monitor for her scheduled day of meetings.

“Beautiful roses,” Dorothy commented.  “They look like they could use a little water though.  Why don’t I take care of that for you.”

Sahara nodded, absorbed in an email.

Dorothy sniffed the fragrant bouquet.  “Who are they from?”

“John,” Sahara responded absently.

“He’s so sweet.  You’re lucky he cares about you so much,” Dorothy said with a sigh.

Sahara’s fingers froze, hovering over the keyboard.  She looked up.

“What?” she asked.

“Well it’s obvious,” Dorothy said.

It was on the tip of Sahara’s tongue to clarify that she and John were just friends, but as she considered it, she opted to stay quiet.  Her clarification would sound too much like a denial, giving Dorothy’s comment validity.  It didn’t matter, they were friends and she was content with their platonic relationship.  But a dozen red roses?  Sahara bit the inside of her lip hard.  Damn Dorothy and her observations.  Brushing aside her doubt she returned her attention to the email response she had started.  After several unsuccessful attempts to craft a cohesive thought, she let out a deep sigh.  This was no time to be sidetracked.  She pictured John’s smile as he had handed her the roses.  Avoiding a sticky situation was necessary, and what she did best.  Presuming John’s feelings based on a simple statement would not do anyone any good.  She would know if John had somehow developed feelings for her, she hoped.

Frustrated, Sahara leaned back in her chair noting the time at the bottom of her screen.  She had to pull her act together.  Her composed presence was required in the boardroom in just a few minutes.  To ease some of her anxiety Sahara closed her eyes and focused on the rhythmic pattern of her breathing.  It did nothing to slow down the pounding of her heart.

“This is for you.”  Once again, Dorothy’s voice broke her concentration.  Sahara opened one eye to see her assistant standing in front of her holding a letter.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I don’t know, other than it was just delivered and I was told it’s imperative that you open it.”  Dorothy handed it over.

Sahara studied the official envelope.  Turning it over in her hands she rubbed her fingers over the back flap.  A swirl of hopeful excitement danced around in her stomach setting off a bizarre sense of deja vu.

 

“Sahara.” Her mother’s urgent voice drifted through the open window.  “There’s a letter here for you.  Come quick.  You’ll want to read it right away.”

Sahara hopped up from the creaky, old porch swing.  The moment she had been waiting for had finally arrived.  She dropped her book, racing through the flimsy front screen door.  A loud cracking slam reverberated behind her.

“Sorry,” she mumbled to her mother.  She took the official ivory envelope from her outstretched hand.

One by one her brothers and sisters tumbled into the kitchen behind her, edging each other out for a better view of the excitement.  Sahara inhaled deeply.  “It’s from Darcy College,” she whispered, looking from the envelope up to her mom.

Her mom nodded with a proud smile.

Sahara clutched the letter to her chest hoping desperately that this was the news she had been expecting.  Her future depended on the contents of the crisply embossed envelope.  In a quick movement to tear it open, Sahara was stopped by her mother’s gentle grasp.

“Wait,” she said softly.  “If this is the news we’re wishing for, your father needs to be here with us.”  Looking around at all the eager faces, she asked, “Rome, will you run out into the vineyard and find him please?”

Sahara’s younger brother jumped up from his seat at the end of the old farm table.  Running out the front door, a loud slam filled the air behind him followed by the echo of his wild yelling drifting on the warm summer breeze.  Her mother stared out the open kitchen window.

“I could have done that,” she groaned.

A round of giggles broke out among the others gathered excitedly around the table.  Sahara smiled affectionately.  It would definitely be hard to leave her family.  As the seconds slowly ticked by, her attention wandered from her chattering siblings and her mother making pie dough to the future she held tightly in her grasp.  She was on pins and needles, doing her best to temper her optimism.  This letter could just as easily deliver bad news as it could be the answer to her dreams.  It was everything she had worked so hard for over the past few years.  There was no alternate plan if this wasn’t what she expected.

The comforting squeak and crack of the front screen door startled her, bringing her attention back to the moment.

“Sahara, my girl,” her father yelled excitedly, as he stepped into the kitchen, “let her rip.”  Sahara tore the envelope the rest of the way.  She slipped out the letter, unfolding it with care.  Her eyes grew wider as she read.

“I did it,” she whispered to her parents.  “A full scholarship.  I’m going to Darcy.”

 

“Sahara?”  She looked up at Dorothy’s curious expression.

“Oh, sorry.  I was just thinking.”

Dorothy nodded.   “Are you going to open it?”

Sahara sliced the seal with a letter opener, withdrawing the sheet inside.  Dorothy moved to stand behind her.

She scanned the letter, blinking several times.  “A pink slip?”

Dorothy broke into a sob.  Sahara wanted to join her.

A mistake had been made.  She was supposed to be in a meeting at that very moment discussing her future not her demise.  This should have been a letter of intent, a formality, outlining the details which would introduce her as the first female partner to the firm.  But somehow, a letter of termination had been delivered to her instead.

Startled by the shrill ring of her office phone Sahara dropped the dreaded slip of paper from her white knuckled grasp.  She watched as it fluttered slowly to her desk top.  Turning to see if Dorothy was able to answer the insistent ringing, she saw it was a lost cause.

“Hello,” she exhaled.

“Sahara Wilson?” asked a nasal voice.

It crossed her mind to deny her identity.  Unfortunately, the woman on the other end of the line knew full well whose office she had dialed.  She had spoken to her at least a dozen times a day for the past seven years.

“Yes,” she answered with a sigh.

“Mr. Thompson would like to speak to you Miss Wilson.  Right away.”

An abrupt click ended her hope that the letter was a mistake.   She stared at the phone gripped tightly in her fist.  Slowly she replaced it into the cradle.  Dorothy was still sobbing.  Sahara patted her back, offering words of comfort and a promise to do everything in her power to help her out.  Then in an act of denial, she stood up tall, smoothed her hand over her skirt and pasted a brave look of anger on her face.  If she was going to go down, she was at least going to do it fighting.  She marched defiantly toward the bank of elevators and the floor that held her doom.

 

“Sahara come in,” Mr. Thompson urged.  He indicated the chair across from his massive mahogany desk with a wave of his plump hand.  “Please have a seat.”

Sahara perched on the edge of the large chair.  Her fingers ached from wringing them into knots.

“I am assuming you read the letter that was delivered to your office.”

Sahara nodded, refraining from comment.  She was reserving her angry response until after she heard what Mr. Thompson had to say.

“I wanted to be the one to speak to you Sahara.”  She noticed his neck and cheeks begin to flush.  “You are an outstanding advertising executive.  And I know that you would have made an excellent partner for this firm.”

Sahara furrowed her brows, but remained silent.

“That’s what makes this decision so difficult.  And I’m sure devastating for you.  But in the interest of getting to the point, in the last year we have lost several very lucrative accounts to our competitor Langdon and Associates.  Because of the losses we have incurred we are being forced to cut several positions. We simply can’t afford to bring you on as partner or keep you at your current position with your salary.”

Mr. Thompson leaned back in his seat, his cheeks turning from a faint pink to a darker shade of crimson.  He looked pained and Sahara feared maybe he was having a heart attack.  He sighed deeply.

“I have to tell you Sahara.  I like you very much.  You have been a faithful, hard-working employee.  This is not something I wanted.  I fought for you every step of the way.”

Sahara did her best to keep her stoic expression intact, despite the effect of his kind words mixed with the painful delivery of his bad news.

“I did manage to get you a decent severance package and the opportunity to remain on board until the end of the month.  That’s the best I could do.  I know it’s not much but you will be scooped up by another agency, of that I have no doubt.  Please let me know when you do, I will be glad to give you a glowing recommendation.”  He stood and extended his hand across the desk in finality.  Sahara knew it was over.  There was no convincing him otherwise she could see it in his eyes.  She stood and shook his hand.  “Good luck,” he said with a sad smile.

 

Sahara sat on her sofa wrapped in the nightmare that had now become her reality.  Curled up in a ball, her face stinging from the tears, she stared numbly into her glass of wine.  A soft knock on the door made her look up.  Her head dropped heavily against the cushions.  In the midst of her emotional roller-coaster she had forgotten about John’s offer to deliver dinner.

Another soft knock had her crossing the room.  Maybe some company would do her good.  Help her sort out her thoughts.  She leaned her forehead against the cool, wooden surface drawing in a deep breath.  Opening the door she greeted John with her best smile.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t home,” he said.  Stepping past her he was oblivious to her red rimmed eyes and the smile that was beginning to falter.  He dropped the take out bags onto the table next to the opened bottle of wine.  “You’ve started celebrating without me.”

When she didn’t respond he turned to her with his brows drawn.  Sahara’s lip trembled as a single tear rolled down her cheek.

“What’s wrong?  Come sit.”  He took her hand, leading her to the sofa.  “Talk to me.”

His gentle, caring command broke Sahara down.  John drew her into the safe embrace of his arms.

“I didn’t make partner,” she mumbled into his chest.  “They…” she let out a small sob.  “They let me go.”  Her body shook from her angry outburst.

John waited patiently making no move to interrupt her much needed release.  Sahara lifted her face from his tear stained shirt feeling foolish for her reaction.  She gazed at his face.  John said nothing as his blue eyes mingled with hers, so warm and caring.  Her heart picked up its pace when John’s gaze wandered down to her mouth.  He wiped away the last of her tears with his thumbs, drawing slow circles along her jawline.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.  His fingers wrapped gently behind her neck.  “What do you need?  I’ll do anything to help,” he said, guiding her mouth slowly toward his.

She really needed someone to console her.  He drew her a little closer.  The warmth of his breath tickled her lips.  Her eyes drifted closed as she savored his sensuous touch.  All of her stress drained away as he gently coaxed her mouth into a needy response.  He drew her further into his strong, warm arms.  Everything about him, physically, felt so right at that moment.  It felt so good to be touched and wanted, but she was weak and way too vulnerable.  Getting emotionally involved with a friend was something she couldn’t handle.   She pulled away from the kiss, reaching for a nearby box of tissues.  Inching back, she hid her burning lips and stained cheeks behind the white square.

“Are you okay?”

She stared at him, uncertain of her response.  Was he asking if she was okay with the moment they had just shared or her job situation?  Both of which hit her out of nowhere.  She was going with the latter.  It was safer.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do John.  I can’t afford to stay here.”  Sahara watched John’s jaw tense up, an expression of indecision clouding his sunny blue eyes.

“Stay with me,” he said after a few seconds.  He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, bringing her back to his chest as he leaned comfortably into the sofa.

The situation between them was escalating out of her comfort zone.  Seconds ago he was the friend she had known and depended on for the past several years.  Now he was a stranger seeking the beginnings of something intimate.  She pushed against him, out of his embrace, scrambling to once again put space between them.

“What?” she asked.

“Move in with me,” he repeated.  “Just until you get back on your feet.  No strings attached, but you know Sahara, this could be a good thing for us.”

The way he used her name mixed with his tone of voice set off a chain reaction of nerves.

“Us?” she asked.

He sighed.  “We’ve been friends for a long time.  I know every little detail about you Sahara.  The only thing missing between us is…” he reached out and caressed her bottom lip.

She tilted her head getting caught up in his soft blue eyes.  The roses really did imply moving beyond friendship.  She didn’t want to have this conversation.  They had never been a couple or shared any romantic involvement.  Until now.

John shrugged at her blank stare and awkward silence.  He got up from the sofa and paced the room with his long stride.  After several passes he sat back down.

“Sahara you do know that I care about you.”

She wasn’t sure if he was making a statement or asking a question.  Her mouth opened in reply but he cut off her response.

“I want to be more than friends.  What can I do to make that clear?  Help me out.  I don’t know what more you need to see.”  He rubbed his hand through his dark hair, his pleading expression giving him a boyish, insecure appearance.

Sahara fidgeted with her forgotten wine glass.

“Come on Sahara, don’t you think it’s time?”

She drew her watery gaze up to his face.  “Time for what?” she whispered.

He clasped his hands draping them over his knees.  “Time to talk about us.  A possible future together.”

Sahara wrapped her arms around herself.  She didn’t want to hurt him.  He was a great man and he deserved better.  She slowly shook her head.

“I can’t John.”  Her stomach lurched.  Like the few men before him, John wanted more than she could possibly give.  This was the point she always reached, but was never able to cross.  She would never be what he wanted.  And she wasn’t ready to explain why.

John stood up after several moments of silent stalemate.  He reached down and tenderly touched her cheek.

“It looks like we’re at an impasse.  I’m ready to move on Sahara, with you, but clearly we’re not on the same page.  I don’t want to be stuck in limbo any longer.  I’ve been chasing you for far too long.  When, and if, you’re finally ready to take the leap give me a call.  Maybe I’ll be around.”

Sahara closed her eyes against the painful piercing of his sad smile.  He had been the first friend she had made when she moved to the city.  It tore her apart that he was willing to throw that all away.  But a part of her understood his ultimatum.  He couldn’t wait forever for her to change.  She just wasn’t sure she was capable.

 

Grabbing an overnight bag from her closet, Sahara filled it with clothing and random necessities.  Her job, and now one of her closest friends, were both gone.  The city no longer held anything for her.  Soon her apartment would no longer be her own.  Skipping the wait for the elevator she carried her bag down the several flights of stairs to the parking garage.  She was taking a much needed road trip.  An escape from her misery.  Tossing her bag into the back seat of her small compact, she climbed inside and pulled out of the lot.

As the city disappeared behind her, she followed the highway into the night with no particular destination in mind.   Home, as much as she craved the familiar comfort, was not an option.  She wanted space to sort out her thoughts and home would be the last place she would get that luxury.  Her mother would lovingly fawn all over her with worry.  Her sister Vienna was celebrating newlywed bliss and Sydney still lived at home.  Her brother’s Rome and Cairo each had a place, but they were bachelors and she wasn’t about to intrude on them at the last minute.  That left her to keep driving.

With a full tank of gas to last for hours, she settled down for a long drive on the open highway.  Her thoughts drifted to John.  He obviously cared about her deeply.  She cared about him, too, but not with the same feeling.  Could she have if she tried harder?  If she forced herself, made herself believe that it was possible to fall in love again?

A pair of stunning emerald eyes filled her mind, tugging on her heavy heart.  The beautiful face that haunted her dreams every night, keeping her from caring about another man.  More than anything she wanted to blame all of this on him but she knew it was wrong.  It was her own personal issues that made it impossible for her to care about John.  Her own issues that kept her clinging to the pain from the one person who had stopped caring a long time ago.

Tears pooled in her eyes blurring the lights of the oncoming traffic.  She was beyond exhausted. Glancing down at the dashboard clock she was surprised to find that she had been driving for several hours.  She was also shocked to realize where she was headed.  A passing road sign verified her destination.  Darcy, Vermont.  The home of her Alma Mater.  And his.  It seemed incredible that she would end up here.  Her senior year had tainted her desire to ever return.  But fate, impossibly, had drawn her back.

Images of the old bookstore where she worked endlessly to support herself while attending the town’s namesake college, filled her head.  An eclectic little shop that had been a source of comfort for her when she had missed being with family and her life seemed overwhelmingly empty.  The gathering tears she had been holding back finally spilled over.

Too tired to consider turning around for the several hour return trip to the city, Sahara pulled off the highway taking the exit for Darcy.  She remembered the small motel where her parents always stayed when they had come to visit her at school.  Maybe some reminiscing was exactly what she needed.  Despite her knots of emotion, something about returning to the beautiful town soothed her frayed nerves.

Driving along the dark, winding roads she was relieved to see the familiar motel looming in the dark distance.  She would stay the night and tomorrow visit the old bookstore and the couple who owned it.  A sweet elderly couple who had treated her like she was one of their own.  It had been way too long since she had spoken to them last.  Fate had definitely brought her back for a reason, she thought once again.  And she had every intention of embracing the possibilities.

 

 

A Sneak Peek

Hello readers.  I am so excited to share with you a sneak peek of my newest story Talk To My Heart. Although its still a work in progress, I couldn’t wait to reveal a sample for you to enjoy.

Happy reading!

Janet

(Please remember that this is a sample and has yet to go through the final stages of editing).

Sahara Wilson tapped the toe of her designer heels against the tile of the polished marble floor.  She glared at the elevator as the digital display lit up yet again indicating another stop between the top executive offices and the lobby where she was waiting.  She needed to be going up but the elevator was coming down.  Careful not to spill a single drop of her grande latte, she hiked her sagging bag further up onto her shoulder, grumbling under her breath.  Of all days to be caught in a pedestrian traffic jam, today was not it.  She had an important meeting scheduled and there was no way she could be late even if it meant removing her heels and hiking the fifteen floors in her pencil skirt.

Blowing out a breath of exasperation, she studied the crowd of impatient faces around her.  A well-dressed couple to her left was attempting to discreetly disguise an obvious argument.  Sahara could hear every word.  Pretending not to notice she listened intently to the heated debate.  Just as she was beginning to mentally take the side of the man in the conversation, her eavesdropping was interrupted by a voice next to her ear.

“Congratulations.”

She jumped slightly, gripping her coffee tighter.  Her face warmed with a blush.

“John,” she said, turning to him with a scowl.  A large bouquet of red roses greeted her.  “What in the… What are these?”

“Flowers,” he said with a grin.

Sahara rolled her eyes.  “For?”

“You know,” he said, still smiling.

“I haven’t heard anything yet.”  She took the flowers he held out.  “And at this rate,” she said, nodding toward the elevator, “they may pass me over for not showing up.”

John chuckled, his cerulean blue eyes twinkling with amusement.

“How about dinner tonight?  To celebrate.  My treat,” he offered.  “I’ll grab some take-out and bring it by your apartment.”

Sahara lifted the roses, inhaling the sweet scent.

“You don’t need to do that John, really,” she said.

“I know I don’t need to,” he replied.  “I want to.”

The elevator arrived and the melodic signal set off a wave of motion in the crowd surrounding them.  Sahara gathered her belongings close.  She sighed in relief.  No need for a grueling step workout after all.  Moving along with the jostling crowd, she waved at John over her shoulder.

“Thanks for the flowers,” she called to him.

The elevator doors swished shut and Sahara was grateful to finally be on her way up.  After today she would be riding all the way to the top.  She had earned it.  With a satisfied smile, she held up her bouquet.  This was her moment to stop and smell the roses.

 

Finally making it to her office, Sahara dropped down at her desk pushing her bouquet and coffee cup aside.  She logged into her computer, agitated by her late start.

“Good morning Sahara,” her assistant Dorothy greeted.

She barely glanced up at the woman as she skimmed the monitor for her scheduled day of meetings.

“Beautiful roses,” Dorothy commented.  “They look like they could use a little water though.  Why don’t I take care of that for you.”

Sahara nodded, absorbed in an email.

Dorothy sniffed the fragrant bouquet.  “Who are they from?”

“John,” Sahara responded absently.

“He’s so sweet.  You’re lucky he cares about you so much,” Dorothy said with a sigh.

Sahara’s fingers froze, hovering over the keyboard.  She looked up.

“What?” she asked.

“Well it’s obvious,” Dorothy said.

It was on the tip of Sahara’s tongue to clarify that she and John were just friends, but as she considered it, she opted to stay quiet.  Her clarification would sound too much like a denial, giving Dorothy’s comment validity.  It didn’t matter, they were friends and she was content with their platonic relationship.  But a dozen red roses?  Sahara bit the inside of her lip hard.  Damn Dorothy and her observations.  Brushing aside her doubt she returned her attention to the email response she had started.  After several unsuccessful attempts to craft a cohesive thought, she let out a deep sigh.  This was no time to be sidetracked.  She pictured John’s smile as he had handed her the roses.  Avoiding a sticky situation was necessary, and what she did best.  Presuming John’s feelings based on a simple statement would not do anyone any good.  She would know if John had somehow developed feelings for her, she hoped.

Frustrated, Sahara leaned back in her chair noting the time at the bottom of her screen.  She had to pull her act together.  Her composed presence was required in the boardroom in just a few minutes.  To ease some of her anxiety Sahara closed her eyes and focused on the rhythmic pattern of her breathing.  It did nothing to slow down the pounding of her heart.

“This is for you.”  Once again, Dorothy’s voice broke her concentration.  Sahara opened one eye to see her assistant standing in front of her holding a letter.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I don’t know, other than it was just delivered and I was told it’s imperative that you open it.”  Dorothy handed it over.

Sahara studied the official envelope.  Turning it over in her hands she rubbed her fingers over the back flap.  A swirl of hopeful excitement danced around in her stomach setting off a bizarre sense of deja vu.

 

“Sahara.” Her mother’s urgent voice drifted through the open window.  “There’s a letter here for you.  Come quick.  You’ll want to read it right away.”

Sahara hopped up from the creaky, old porch swing.  The moment she had been waiting for had finally arrived.  She dropped her book, racing through the flimsy front screen door.  A loud cracking slam reverberated behind her.

“Sorry,” she mumbled to her mother.  She took the official ivory envelope from her outstretched hand.

One by one her brothers and sisters tumbled into the kitchen behind her, edging each other out for a better view of the excitement.  Sahara inhaled deeply.  “It’s from Darcy College,” she whispered, looking from the envelope up to her mom.

Her mom nodded with a proud smile.

Sahara clutched the letter to her chest hoping desperately that this was the news she had been expecting.  Her future depended on the contents of the crisply embossed envelope.  In a quick movement to tear it open, Sahara was stopped by her mother’s gentle grasp.

“Wait,” she said softly.  “If this is the news we’re wishing for, your father needs to be here with us.”  Looking around at all the eager faces, she asked, “Rome, will you run out into the vineyard and find him please?”

Sahara’s younger brother jumped up from his seat at the end of the old farm table.  Running out the front door, a loud slam filled the air behind him followed by the echo of his wild yelling drifting on the warm summer breeze.  Her mother stared out the open kitchen window.

“I could have done that,” she groaned.

A round of giggles broke out among the others gathered excitedly around the table.  Sahara smiled affectionately.  It would definitely be hard to leave her family.  As the seconds slowly ticked by, her attention wandered from her chattering siblings and her mother making pie dough to the future she held tightly in her grasp.  She was on pins and needles, doing her best to temper her optimism.  This letter could just as easily deliver bad news as it could be the answer to her dreams.  It was everything she had worked so hard for over the past few years.  There was no alternate plan if this wasn’t what she expected.

The comforting squeak and crack of the front screen door startled her, bringing her attention back to the moment.

“Sahara, my girl,” her father yelled excitedly, as he stepped into the kitchen, “let her rip.”  Sahara tore the envelope the rest of the way.  She slipped out the letter, unfolding it with care.  Her eyes grew wider as she read.

“I did it,” she whispered to her parents.  “A full scholarship.  I’m going to Darcy.”

 

“Sahara?”  She looked up at Dorothy’s curious expression.

“Oh, sorry.  I was just thinking.”

Dorothy nodded.   “Are you going to open it?”

Sahara sliced the seal with a letter opener, withdrawing the sheet inside.  Dorothy moved to stand behind her.

She scanned the letter, blinking several times.  “A pink slip?”

Dorothy broke into a sob.  Sahara wanted to join her.

A mistake had been made.  She was supposed to be in a meeting at that very moment discussing her future not her demise.  This should have been a letter of intent, a formality, outlining the details which would introduce her as the first female partner to the firm.  But somehow, a letter of termination had been delivered to her instead.

Startled by the shrill ring of her office phone Sahara dropped the dreaded slip of paper from her white knuckled grasp.  She watched as it fluttered slowly to her desk top.  Turning to see if Dorothy was able to answer the insistent ringing, she saw it was a lost cause.

“Hello,” she exhaled.

“Sahara Wilson?” asked a nasal voice.

It crossed her mind to deny her identity.  Unfortunately, the woman on the other end of the line knew full well whose office she had dialed.  She had spoken to her at least a dozen times a day for the past seven years.

“Yes,” she answered with a sigh.

“Mr. Thompson would like to speak to you Miss Wilson.  Right away.”

An abrupt click ended her hope that the letter was a mistake.   She stared at the phone gripped tightly in her fist.  Slowly she replaced it into the cradle.  Dorothy was still sobbing.  Sahara patted her back, offering words of comfort and a promise to do everything in her power to help her out.  Then in an act of denial, she stood up tall, smoothed her hand over her skirt and pasted a brave look of anger on her face.  If she was going to go down, she was at least going to do it fighting.  She marched defiantly toward the bank of elevators and the floor that held her doom.

 

“Sahara come in,” Mr. Thompson urged.  He indicated the chair across from his massive mahogany desk with a wave of his plump hand.  “Please have a seat.”

Sahara perched on the edge of the large chair.  Her fingers ached from wringing them into knots.

“I am assuming you read the letter that was delivered to your office.”

Sahara nodded, refraining from comment.  She was reserving her angry response until after she heard what Mr. Thompson had to say.

“I wanted to be the one to speak to you Sahara.”  She noticed his neck and cheeks begin to flush.  “You are an outstanding advertising executive.  And I know that you would have made an excellent partner for this firm.”

Sahara furrowed her brows, but remained silent.

“That’s what makes this decision so difficult.  And I’m sure devastating for you.  But in the interest of getting to the point, in the last year we have lost several very lucrative accounts to our competitor Langdon and Associates.  Because of the losses we have incurred we are being forced to cut several positions. We simply can’t afford to bring you on as partner or keep you at your current position with your salary.”

Mr. Thompson leaned back in his seat, his cheeks turning from a faint pink to a darker shade of crimson.  He looked pained and Sahara feared maybe he was having a heart attack.  He sighed deeply.

“I have to tell you Sahara.  I like you very much.  You have been a faithful, hard-working employee.  This is not something I wanted.  I fought for you every step of the way.”

Sahara did her best to keep her stoic expression intact, despite the effect of his kind words mixed with the painful delivery of his bad news.

“I did manage to get you a decent severance package and the opportunity to remain on board until the end of the month.  That’s the best I could do.  I know it’s not much but you will be scooped up by another agency, of that I have no doubt.  Please let me know when you do, I will be glad to give you a glowing recommendation.”  He stood and extended his hand across the desk in finality.  Sahara knew it was over.  There was no convincing him otherwise she could see it in his eyes.  She stood and shook his hand.  “Good luck,” he said with a sad smile.

 

Sahara sat on her sofa wrapped in the nightmare that had now become her reality.  Curled up in a ball, her face stinging from the tears, she stared numbly into her glass of wine.  A soft knock on the door made her look up.  Her head dropped heavily against the cushions.  In the midst of her emotional roller-coaster she had forgotten about John’s offer to deliver dinner.

Another soft knock had her crossing the room.  Maybe some company would do her good.  Help her sort out her thoughts.  She leaned her forehead against the cool, wooden surface drawing in a deep breath.  Opening the door she greeted John with her best smile.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t home,” he said.  Stepping past her he was oblivious to her red rimmed eyes and the smile that was beginning to falter.  He dropped the take out bags onto the table next to the opened bottle of wine.  “You’ve started celebrating without me.”

When she didn’t respond he turned to her with his brows drawn.  Sahara’s lip trembled as a single tear rolled down her cheek.

“What’s wrong?  Come sit.”  He took her hand, leading her to the sofa.  “Talk to me.”

His gentle, caring command broke Sahara down.  John drew her into the safe embrace of his arms.

“I didn’t make partner,” she mumbled into his chest.  “They…” she let out a small sob.  “They let me go.”  Her body shook from her angry outburst.

John waited patiently making no move to interrupt her much needed release.  Sahara lifted her face from his tear stained shirt feeling foolish for her reaction.  She gazed at his face.  John said nothing as his blue eyes mingled with hers, so warm and caring.  Her heart picked up its pace when John’s gaze wandered down to her mouth.  He wiped away the last of her tears with his thumbs, drawing slow circles along her jawline.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.  His fingers wrapped gently behind her neck.  “What do you need?  I’ll do anything to help,” he said, guiding her mouth slowly toward his.

She really needed someone to console her.  He drew her a little closer.  The warmth of his breath tickled her lips.  Her eyes drifted closed as she savored his sensuous touch.  All of her stress drained away as he gently coaxed her mouth into a needy response.  He drew her further into his strong, warm arms.  Everything about him, physically, felt so right at that moment.  It felt so good to be touched and wanted, but she was weak and way too vulnerable.  Getting emotionally involved with a friend was something she couldn’t handle.   She pulled away from the kiss, reaching for a nearby box of tissues.  Inching back, she hid her burning lips and stained cheeks behind the white square.

“Are you okay?”

She stared at him, uncertain of her response.  Was he asking if she was okay with the moment they had just shared or her job situation?  Both of which hit her out of nowhere.  She was going with the latter.  It was safer.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do John.  I can’t afford to stay here.”  Sahara watched John’s jaw tense up, an expression of indecision clouding his sunny blue eyes.

“Stay with me,” he said after a few seconds.  He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, bringing her back to his chest as he leaned comfortably into the sofa.

The situation between them was escalating out of her comfort zone.  Seconds ago he was the friend she had known and depended on for the past several years.  Now he was a stranger seeking the beginnings of something intimate.  She pushed against him, out of his embrace, scrambling to once again put space between them.

“What?” she asked.

“Move in with me,” he repeated.  “Just until you get back on your feet.  No strings attached, but you know Sahara, this could be a good thing for us.”

The way he used her name mixed with his tone of voice set off a chain reaction of nerves.

“Us?” she asked.

He sighed.  “We’ve been friends for a long time.  I know every little detail about you Sahara.  The only thing missing between us is…” he reached out and caressed her bottom lip.

She tilted her head getting caught up in his soft blue eyes.  The roses really did imply moving beyond friendship.  She didn’t want to have this conversation.  They had never been a couple or shared any romantic involvement.  Until now.

John shrugged at her blank stare and awkward silence.  He got up from the sofa and paced the room with his long stride.  After several passes he sat back down.

“Sahara you do know that I care about you.”

She wasn’t sure if he was making a statement or asking a question.  Her mouth opened in reply but he cut off her response.

“I want to be more than friends.  What can I do to make that clear?  Help me out.  I don’t know what more you need to see.”  He rubbed his hand through his dark hair, his pleading expression giving him a boyish, insecure appearance.

Sahara fidgeted with her forgotten wine glass.

“Come on Sahara, don’t you think it’s time?”

She drew her watery gaze up to his face.  “Time for what?” she whispered.

He clasped his hands draping them over his knees.  “Time to talk about us.  A possible future together.”

Sahara wrapped her arms around herself.  She didn’t want to hurt him.  He was a great man and he deserved better.  She slowly shook her head.

“I can’t John.”  Her stomach lurched.  Like the few men before him, John wanted more than she could possibly give.  This was the point she always reached, but was never able to cross.  She would never be what he wanted.  And she wasn’t ready to explain why.

John stood up after several moments of silent stalemate.  He reached down and tenderly touched her cheek.

“It looks like we’re at an impasse.  I’m ready to move on Sahara, with you, but clearly we’re not on the same page.  I don’t want to be stuck in limbo any longer.  I’ve been chasing you for far too long.  When, and if, you’re finally ready to take the leap give me a call.  Maybe I’ll be around.”

Sahara closed her eyes against the painful piercing of his sad smile.  He had been the first friend she had made when she moved to the city.  It tore her apart that he was willing to throw that all away.  But a part of her understood his ultimatum.  He couldn’t wait forever for her to change.  She just wasn’t sure she was capable.

 

Grabbing an overnight bag from her closet, Sahara filled it with clothing and random necessities.  Her job, and now one of her closest friends, were both gone.  The city no longer held anything for her.  Soon her apartment would no longer be her own.  Skipping the wait for the elevator she carried her bag down the several flights of stairs to the parking garage.  She was taking a much needed road trip.  An escape from her misery.  Tossing her bag into the back seat of her small compact, she climbed inside and pulled out of the lot.

As the city disappeared behind her, she followed the highway into the night with no particular destination in mind.   Home, as much as she craved the familiar comfort, was not an option.  She wanted space to sort out her thoughts and home would be the last place she would get that luxury.  Her mother would lovingly fawn all over her with worry.  Her sister Vienna was celebrating newlywed bliss and Sydney still lived at home.  Her brother’s Rome and Cairo each had a place, but they were bachelors and she wasn’t about to intrude on them at the last minute.  That left her to keep driving.

With a full tank of gas to last for hours, she settled down for a long drive on the open highway.  Her thoughts drifted to John.  He obviously cared about her deeply.  She cared about him, too, but not with the same feeling.  Could she have if she tried harder?  If she forced herself, made herself believe that it was possible to fall in love again?

A pair of stunning emerald eyes filled her mind, tugging on her heavy heart.  The beautiful face that haunted her dreams every night, keeping her from caring about another man.  More than anything she wanted to blame all of this on him but she knew it was wrong.  It was her own personal issues that made it impossible for her to care about John.  Her own issues that kept her clinging to the pain from the one person who had stopped caring a long time ago.

Tears pooled in her eyes blurring the lights of the oncoming traffic.  She was beyond exhausted. Glancing down at the dashboard clock she was surprised to find that she had been driving for several hours.  She was also shocked to realize where she was headed.  A passing road sign verified her destination.  Darcy, Vermont.  The home of her Alma Mater.  And his.  It seemed incredible that she would end up here.  Her senior year had tainted her desire to ever return.  But fate, impossibly, had drawn her back.

Images of the old bookstore where she worked endlessly to support herself while attending the town’s namesake college, filled her head.  An eclectic little shop that had been a source of comfort for her when she had missed being with family and her life seemed overwhelmingly empty.  The gathering tears she had been holding back finally spilled over.

Too tired to consider turning around for the several hour return trip to the city, Sahara pulled off the highway taking the exit for Darcy.  She remembered the small motel where her parents always stayed when they had come to visit her at school.  Maybe some reminiscing was exactly what she needed.  Despite her knots of emotion, something about returning to the beautiful town soothed her frayed nerves.

Driving along the dark, winding roads she was relieved to see the familiar motel looming in the dark distance.  She would stay the night and tomorrow visit the old bookstore and the couple who owned it.  A sweet elderly couple who had treated her like she was one of their own.  It had been way too long since she had spoken to them last.  Fate had definitely brought her back for a reason, she thought once again.  And she had every intention of embracing the possibilities.

 

 

Celebrating Love and Romance

To celebrate the upcoming holiday of love and romance I am reading my favorite all-time love story The Bridges of Madison County.

Such romance!  True love in it’s simplest, deepest form…

“I think we’re both inside of another being we have created called “us”…We are that being.  We have both lost ourselves and created something else, something that exists only as an interlacing of the two of us… we’re in love.  As deeply, as profoundly, as it’s possible to be in love.”

“I have only one thing to say, one thing only; I’ll never say it another time, to anyone, and I ask you to remember it:  In a universe of ambiguity, this kind of certainty comes only once, and never again, no matter how many lifetimes you live.”

(Robert Kincaid)

Taken from The Bridges of Madison County by Robert James Waller  1992

What’s in a name? The Search for the Perfect Title.

When an author creates characters they tend to choose names for them that lend a descriptive air to their personality.  If they are moody or emotional they tend to get names like Damien or Monique.  Lighthearted, less serious characters might be Charlie or Violet.  Jake or Samantha represent strong, sexy characters.  It’s all in the name, right?

The same goes for book titles.  Naming a book requires the same well-planned thought process and is just as important!

You may think that makes obvious sense.  But there is more to choosing a title than just slapping a name on the cover that has a reference to the story plot.  A successful title needs to have two key factors.  One, it needs to be compelling enough to hook the reader, making them pause in their book search.  Two, it needs to be unique or creative enough to have a high rank in search results. Readers can’t pause to check out a book if the book doesn’t appear.  I learned this fact the hard way.  (Believe me, I am no expert.  This is just my own personal discovery).

That being said, let me give you my example of what I learned after choosing the titles of my books in my Paramour Romance Series.

As a new author, self-publishing my works, I had not given much consideration to the effect of a well-planned title.  I simply thought that having a title that tied into the story was all that I needed for it to be successful.  His Second Chance (my first book) was, in my opinion, a great title.  It was a story of man who had a second chance with his first love.  Fitting if I do say so myself.  Now, my second book I titled Take Me Home.  It also had a fairly strong tie to the story line.  But, as I learned later, that wasn’t enough.

The issue became apparent when I visited Amazon and typed in the titles to check on my sales.  His Second Chance immediately popped up, with only a few other books of similar titles competing for visibility. The listing return for a reader searching for that book, by title, was excellent.  Feeling pleased, I typed in Take Me Home.  I was quickly disappointed.  My search results came back with 85,000+ e-books, print books, audio books and DVD’s with the same or very similar titles.  The visibility of my book was nil.  To save myself from scrolling through dozens of pages in search of my book, it was easier to type in my name to locate it.  Why is that a big deal you ask?  Consider you are a reader and your friend recommended a fabulous romance novel but she only had the title and wasn’t sure of the author’s name.  You would take one look at that 85,000+ list and stop searching right then and there.  I would.  So, not only would you miss out on a fab read, but I would miss out on a sale.

So what did I learn?  Original, outstanding titles are of the utmost importance. Keeping that in mind, now that I am halfway through my current radio inspired story, I have three possible “working titles” lined up. Before I reveal them, I want to give you a little peek into the background of the book.  This will lead to a request on my behalf, but that will be explained in a moment.

Story background:   Sahara Wilson is a woman nursing a broken heart.  One night after yet another bad date, she stumbles across a public radio show, a smooth sounding on-air psychiatrist and a chance to heal her broken heart.  It’s a story of nostalgic love, a mourned relationship, a shocking revelation, and a second chance at happiness.

Now that you have a vague introduction to the story I will share my WT’s (working titles) with you.

…the following titles have been chosen

Love on the Air

Broadcast Love

Healing Hearts (A reference to the “fictional” name of the radio show in the story)

Now my request.  I am looking for opinions.  As readers, which (if any) of the above titles captures your attention?  Which one would lead to you clicking for a sample?  If none of them work for you, what would your suggestion be?  I’m open to ideas, as I want this book to appeal to the widest variety of readers.  Hey it wouldn’t hurt to post a suggestion.  Who knows, if it’s awesome and you allow me to use it I will give you credit on the dedication page.

I look forward to receiving a lot of comments and/or votes for the best title.  Once the story is aptly named, I will begin the cover making process.  So exciting!  Hope to hear from you soon.

*Just leave title choice votes and/or comments in the box below.  Please make sure to leave your name if you are suggesting a title other than what’s on the list.  Thanks!

“Old Fashioned” Inspiration and Romance

Late one night I was standing in the kitchen folding laundry, the last one in the house still awake.  The children and my husband had, as usual, lumbered off to bed leaving the TV blaring in the empty family room.  As I mindlessly waded my way through the mountain of clothing, wishing to be done, my attention was drawn to the faint sound of an old, familiar, TV show playing in the background.  I recognized the theme song belonging to the seventies show “WKRP in Cincinnati”. 

I fondly remembered my parents watching the weekly show when I was a small child.  Vaguely humming along to the catchy tune, I thought about the show’s basic premise (minus the somewhat oddball humor)… radio DJ’s and “old fashioned” (aka “cheesy”) AM radio stations.  The characters led me to wonder about the world of Public Radio and talk shows with hosts that lulled you into a state of mind numbing peace with their soothing voices made for listening.  That, combined with the theme song lyrics, hinting at lost, nostalgic love and I was hooked.

By this point my laundry pile had been ditched. Inspiration had taken over and I was settled down with my laptop, hoping to capture the vague story idea that had begun formulating in my overworked brain… a woman, a mourned relationship, a shocking revelation, and an on-air psychiatrist who deals with broken hearts.  Thus the beginnings of my new romance novel.

Currently, the initial rough draft is about three quarters of the way complete.  I am very excited about the outcome of the story and the destination of my characters. As I write my way toward publication, I can’t wait to post updates on my progress as well as any and all interesting facets of the story and related topics.  So, followers, stay tuned…

 

Muse or Madness

My mind constantly wanders.  Whose doesn’t?  We are all faced with daunting schedules of daily tasks, looming deadlines and numerous to-do lists that we all jot down in our desperation to keep our lives straight.  But for me, in addition to those usual mental distractions, my mind is frequently occupied with story ideas, character descriptions, and conversations.  This sent me on a quest to discover if other authors have the same experience.  Amazingly I found a variety of blog posts and discussions revolving around the idea of a muse.  This led me to research the definition of exactly what a muse is, and I found several descriptions.  One of them being “inspiration” or “a state of deep thought or dreamy abstraction”.   The perfect explanation of the insistent voice that fills my head with rich story details at any given moment of the day, or night.  Whether the ideas are inspirations for a project I am writing at that moment or suggestions for the future, “my muse” strikes randomly and quite often.  It forces me to stop and listen.  It is persistent, and productive, if I pay attention.

Creativity is fickle.  Being prepared for that unexpected spark of inspiration is a must.  Recording my random thoughts is not always easy, especially when I don’t have my computer at my disposal.  But I have learned to make use of unique resources to record my “voice” before it disappears, taking all inspiration with it.  I have used my Notes app on my phone churning out pages while sitting at my children’s sports games, a napkin at a restaurant for lists and longhand, and even my church bulletin during the Sunday morning sermon (sorry Pastor).  When I am inundated with details I can’t deny my need to write them down.  If I do, I risk the chance of losing something that could turn out to be integral to my story plot or characters.  The worst is when my muse wakes me in the middle of the night, causing me to toss and turn, spending sleepless hours debating if I should leave the comfort of my bed or hope that I can remember everything in the morning when I wake.  But I can’t complain, because without my muse I wouldn’t have any stories to tell.

I recently read a great blog post that resonated clearly.  It discussed the idea of how to treat your muse.   As an author it’s a gift, a basic and intuitive form of storytelling that should be appreciated.  That’s why I have learned to listen at all times, to pay attention to the journey my mind takes when it begins to wander.  Creativity can be honed into a perfected craft, but it is not an on-command art.  It takes patience and understanding.  I am thankful for my constant stream of ideas and grateful that I get to share them with others.

Everyone has their own muse.  For some of us, our voices are just louder, clamoring to be heard.  But if you stop and listen, even if your voice is just a whisper, you will hear it.  And when you do, you may just find yourself on the way to becoming an unexpected author.

I am honored

  Tomorrow (Saturday December 7th) is a very big day for me.  I am holding my very first book signing!  Now, when I say book signing everyone automatically thinks Barnes and Noble.  Not so much.  Think small, rural library.  A building that once housed a one room school and has withstood the test of time and the life of a very small town.  A place where I spent many of my childhood summers, absorbed in endless piles of books.  Such sweet memories, that I often took my children there for story hours in the summer when they were little.  I loved it there as a kid.  I still do.  How perfectly fitting to be signing my name to a story I wrote, in a place that inspired my love of reading!  I am honored to be so lucky.

From Nothing to Something

It’s always amazing to be able to look back on life and see where you’ve been and how far you have come.  For me, this past year has been transformational. I went from nothing to something.  Twelve months ago, I was an aspiring dreamer with nothing but a head full of chaos.  Sitting down at my old battered laptop (affectionately known as my boat anchor), I itched with the urge to turn my swirling ideas into something cohesive.  I had no idea where my thoughts would lead me, but I was ready for the journey.

When I officially started my first book, His Second Chance, it never occurred to me that I would create a two hundred plus page story, let alone that I would ever publish it.  I had no writing background or publishing skills. I was a social media illiterate, blissfully unaware of the highly competitive self-pub world.  (Looking back, I am thankful for that lack of knowledge. Had I been more informed, I would have been deterred and my books would not exist today).  But twelve months, and two books later, I am a writer!  Oh what changes a year brings.  I have come such a long way, through ups and downs, smiles and tears, confidence and self-doubt.  I have gone from technologically anxious, to a “tweeter” with a following that is growing steadily.  I’m proud.  I started with nothing but a simple desire and turned it into a dream come true, and I have accomplished something that still has me in awe.

There are still so many more exciting options and opportunities out there for me to discover. I know that I am far from where I can be, but that’s okay.  That notion inspires me.  When I see beautifully created book covers, read excellent blog posts, and sit in awe of innovative story ideas, it motivates me to a new level of achievement.  I can’t wait to conquer the writing world!  Okay, maybe I need to take it one step at a time.

My first two books have been a wonderful way for me to find my voice and get my feet wet. I’m incredibly humbled that they have done well.  Happily, my “voice” is still evolving and it’s awesome, I never want this journey to end.  Now as I am writing my third book, I incorporate all the things I’ve learned through trial and error… the valuable ins and outs of publishing, the important nuances of the writing craft,  and applying effective marketing tools.  But beyond that, I have discovered something even more influential.  I have gained a new sense of insight into the person I have become over the past year.  No longer am I just a person with a dream.  I am capable of so much more.  I am a writer with a passion!  Where will I be in another year?  Who knows?  I can’t wait to find out.

My first book in print

I am so thrilled to be holding my very first book in it’s print edition.  This is both a humbling and gratifying experience.  I couldn’t be more proud!