Susanne Matthews's Blog, page 105

Summer Camping Is Over for 2014! I’m Back!

This years’ camping trip is over and despite Mother Nature PMS-ing on us, we had a great time. We were there for 10 days, and although it rained off and on for 4 of them, it didn’t really ruin our fun. I have lots of material for stories including these delightful pictures taken at the water behind our campsite on one of the nicer days.

Eleni, Nico, and Georgia searched for  shells and each managed to collect a full bucket of vacated clam shells. It was nice to sit on the shore and watch them enjoying the sun. Tonio and Grandpa found a log to share.

This year, we were blessed with pockets of peace, a time to sit and relax, not found in previous years when the kidlets were younger. The kids had their bikes, and since all the roads in the campground are paved, they’re excellent places for biking–only one fall, Georgia, who showed the importance of wearing a helmet. Thank God for antiseptic cream and band-aids. 

When they weren’t swimming, the kids kept busy doing crafts such as painting miniature bird houses. On a rainy Tuesday, we went into Canton to see a movie: Transformers, of course, and I enjoyed it. 

Unfortunately, Mother nature couldn’t decide on which season we were in. Evenings were cool, nights, cold–ideal for sleeping–but it just seemed wrong to see your breath while you were sitting around the campfire. It didn’t bother the kids one bit. Dressed in warm pajamas, they enjoyed poking the fire–each with his/her own poker. Angie had fireside treats for them each night–smores, giant marshmallows, banana boats and spider wieners. We played games and sang songs–Georgia did a great job directing us all in “Down By The Bay”. We played Twenty Questions and Charades and had a great time.

Now, I need a holiday! Whoever said family camping was fun, has to be someone who’s never gone camping with four kids, but I wouldn’t miss a second of it. I’m already looking forward to next year–Now, if I could just sell enough books to buy and RV…

 

 

Old Dogs Hate Learning New Tricks!

I’m an old dog, and it seems for the last three years, all I’ve been doing is leaning new tricks. I was very proud of myself when I managed to set up my very own blog. I figured out how to use it quickly enough, and my son linked it to my webpage–bless him for that because I’d never have managed that!

So, what have I learned to do in the past three years? Well, I’ve managed to figure out how to  write romance novels that publishers will buy and release–I just haven’t figured out how to write a best seller yet! All of my books have sold a few copies and been well-received by the readers. My upcoming releases I hope will do as well. 

       .          

 

So what else have I learned? I learned to format and publish a book myself on Amazon, Smashwords, and Create Space. I’m not brave enough to attempt to design my own covers! Thanks got to Anca and Classy Designs, http://classydesignsbycoly.wordpress.... for that! I even learned to make a teaser, too. You saw it when you opened the blog.

Probably the most interesting skill I’ve developed is the ability to co-author books with my writing partner, Misty Cail. Under the name, Misty Matthews, we’ve written a novella that continues to sell well. Misty and I have just signed a FOUR book deal with Secret Cravings Publishing. The first book, Coming Home,  in the Taking a Chance on Love Series will be released in September. We are really anxious to see the new cover. Book 2 will be released in the Spring of 2015. We hope these books do as well as Grand Slam has done.

The other thing I learned to do was insert images into the text wherever I want them of the new Word Press format. Very proud of myself for that–for being brave enough to post in help and ask for it to be explained to me, and for almost understanding the process. 

So, what else is there for me to learn? LOTS!!! I continue to write with the hope that I will eventually master the SHOW, DON’T TELL ideology that makes a book great, so I can actually write that bestseller someday  For now, as much as she doesn’t like it, this old dog will keep trying to learn new tricks. 

Keep in touch with me and my battle to understand technology, by following my website.http://www.mhsusannematthews.ca/ 

Ta,ta, for now. I’m off to master another skill! 

Camping Anyone?

By this time tomorrow, I’ll be sitting outside enjoying that first morning cup of coffee, looking out through the trees at the beautiful Raquette River. Am I going to a resort? No such luck. I’m going camping–in a tent–for 2 weeks, but it’s a very nice tent!

Now, I love camping, don’t get me wrong, but it’s more work than staying at home. First, if you’re lucky enough to get a site you’ve had before, and the park hasn’t redesigned it and moved the fireplace as they’ve been known to do, you have to rake the ground and decide where to set up the tent.  Once you’ve done that–and you want to get it right because moving an erected tent isn’t as easy as shifting the furniture around a room–you have to check there are no ditches indicating water runoff or you could wake up afloat in the morning.

The next step is to put down the ground sheet or tarp under the tent. A lot of people don’t bother with that, but believe me it does help. Nor only will it keep the underside of the tent clean and dry, it’ll cut down on dampness. After the ground is covered, I’m ready to unroll the tent. Now, in this chicken outfit, I’m in charge of the tent. Marriages have been ruined over setting up tents, and we’ve learned our lesson. I unpack the tent, roll it onto the groundsheet, take out all the necessary pegs and other hardware, and put the poles together. When I’m ready, I signal my husband to lift one tent pole while I do another and then I put the peg in place to hold those two poles. After that, I’m on my own. And yes, I do set up that monster tent more or less by myself!

After the tent is up and secured. I need his help pulling the fly over the roof–only because I’m too short to do it alone–and then, I start on the inside, open all the windows, and blow up the double decker air mattress, make up the beds with sleeping bags, into which I place folded flannel sheets in case it’s too warm, and cover with wool blankets–in case it’s too cold. I Bring in the luggage, set up a table on which I have a lantern and an alarm clock for at night. I place the portable toilet in an accessible location, and we’re ready for nightfall.

Now, I have to get hubby’s help again to pull a tarp over the tent. Again, you might think it ludicrous, but having camped in a torrential downpour, I know the importance of a top tarp. I secure the tarp with bungees and poles to make a small awning at the front. The tarp will also keep the tent warmer if I have to use the heater at night because the temperature drops below 60. When it’s over 80 during the day 55 at night is damn cold!If the day is a glorious sunny one, the tarp will sit behind the tent until evening when I’ll secure it in place. On a cloudy day, that sucker stays in place. 

By now, My husband has emptied the car, set up the chairs and done what he calls site maintenance. aka. the beer is in the cooler on ice ready to drink! So, I move onto my next task, setting up the kitchen tent. This is actually the third one we’ve bought. Kitchen tent 1 was designed to be erected by someone with a master’s degree in engineering. Needless to say, we got rid of it. Kitchen tent 2, was a pop-up which we used for many years and passed on to our daughter to use with the kids. Kitchen tent 3, is made the same way the tent is, and after the poles are set, I only need his help to lift it upright. No fuss, no muss. We don’t tarp the kitchen screen tent. If it rains during the day, we go elsewhere.

Now, after three hours of setting up, we’re ready to enjoy the rest of the holiday. We’ll blow up my floating lounge chair and, if the sun’s shining, we’ll float along the shore until it’s time to make meals. He may even get around to reading my book while I catch up on my reading so I can write some of those book reviews when I get home. We’ll eat well, and at night we’ll have a campfire and relax over a bottle of wine and maybe a cribbage game or two. We’ll savor the two weeks of one another’s company–no phones, no television, no drop-in guests. It’s almost like a honeymoon–well without the king-sized bed in a luxury hotel,  the room service and the fancy restaurant meals– but you get the idea. Now, all we need is for Mother Nature to cooperate! 

Mid Week Tease: Another Taste of Echoes of the Past

Since Friday is release day, I decided to give you one more tease from Echoes of the Past. Available for pre-order from SCP. This is a paranormal/suspense/romance.

This week’s tease:

Frantic pounding at the door woke Tony from a sound sleep. He looked at the alarm beside the bed—barely after eight.

“Professor Steele! Wake up! Please wake up? They’re dead, professor, they’re dead!” Jackson’s panic-filled voice jolted Tony into full consciousness.

What the hell? Dead? Who’s dead?

He jumped out of bed, grabbed the jeans off the floor where he’d dropped them the previous night, and hurried barefoot down the stairs to open the door. Jackson’s fist hovered in mid-air preparing to pound on the door again. Tony noticed the frantic look on the young man’s face and realized the water streaming down his cheeks was a mixture of rain and tears. The boy panted and Tony forced himself to assume a calm he didn’t feel. He needed to be strong to support Jackson in his obvious distress.

“What happened, Jackson? Who’s dead?” he asked abruptly, his tone as professorial as he could make it.

The young man pointed to the beach, to the spot where the woman had stood the night before. On the sand, next to a canoe and assorted branches and other debris, lay a lump of rags. Fear coursed through his veins, and his heart leaped into his throat. Instead of vanishing, had the woman been swept into the angry water? In that storm, a rip current could have formed and pulled her in.

He raced down the stairs, oblivious to the cold on his feet and the rain lashing at him as it had the night before. Jackson followed him. They stopped beside the body—no, bodies—feet ashore, heads under water.

“Oh, my God!” Aaron lay supine in the water, his face barely submerged. The head tucked under his, the body bundled inside the zippered jacket, must belong to either Lindsay or Lissa. He moved toward his students, intent on pulling them from their watery grave, but Isaac, the resorts handyman grabbed his arm.

“No, Professor. I’m sorry, but we can’t touch them. Kara’s called nine-one-one. We need to wait for the police.”

Tony heard a shrill scream and turned in time to see Lissa collapse to the ground. Jackson stood numbly beside her. It’s Lindsay then.

Check out the other teasers this week.

Sandra Bunino




2.
Erin M. Leaf




3.
Doris O’Connor






4.
The Reese Ryan Diaries




5.
Living the Dream




6.
Siobhan Muir






7.
C. R. Moss




8.
Kiru Taye




9.
Nicola Cameron Writes






10.
S. J. Maylee




11.
elodie parkes erotic romance




12.
London’s Scribbles






13.
Carlene Love Flores




14.
Lucy Felthouse

Look Who Dropped By: K.C. Sprayberry

This is

a story that was with me for a long time, a story begging to be told more and

more each day. Many, many people have been bullied. Most of us survived and

went on to have useful lives, but we will always remember those who pushed us

around, physically and mentally.

Some of

us are around to share our stories. Others could no longer handle what was said

or done to them. How do you stop a bully? Words? Actions? Treat them as they do

you? There is no perfect solution, yet we can never stop standing up against

these people.



Enter here for a

chance to win a copy of Inits!



a Rafflecopter giveaway







Blurb:





High school means a whole new world. Yet, for Alex Starkey,

pimples, discovering one of his buds is a real girl now, and an older brother

using him as his favorite tackle dummy are tiny problems. What gets Alex’s

temper simmering are his inits. Surviving his freshman year without diving into

deep trouble seems impossible. Bio:

KC

Sprayberry started writing young, first as a diarist, and later through an

interest in English and creative writing. Her first experience with publication

came when she placed third in The Freedoms Foundation at Valley Forge contest

while in the Air Force, but her dedication to writing came after she had her

youngest child, now preparing to enter college.

It’s Here! On His Watch Cover Revealed

It isn’t easy having two books released a month apart, but the anticipation and excitement are awesome. My latest romance suspense from Crimson Romance will be released August 11th and I can’t wait to see how well it’ll do. A lot of blood, sweat, and tears went into this one–not just on my part, but on the part of the editors as well.

Book Blurb: On His Watch

What starts as a quiet evening alone watching football turns into the night from hell for FBI agent Jason Spark, who is covering sheriff duties for his honeymooning brother. He thought the 911 call was a butt dial but instead stepped into a bloodbath, complete with writing on the wall. It’s a scene straight out of a slasher movie—a dead physician, his son, and his wife so badly beaten, it’ll be a miracle if Nikki Hart survives.

When Nikki Hart awakes from a coma, she’s terrified. She doesn’t know her name, recognize her face, or remember anything about herself and her past. She clings to the memory of the angel who comforted her in her darkest moments, but no one in the world she wakes up in resembles the good guy.

Evidence in the case leads Jason to The Butcher, a hired assassin usually contracted by the Sicilian mob, a man who doesn’t quit until the job’s done. News of Nikki’s recovery puts her in the killer’s sights again. Jason will do whatever it takes to protect the woman he’s learning to love. But can he save her from a vicious killer intent on earning his million dollar fee and his employer bent on revenge?

And when the smoke clears, can Nikki ever forgive the secret role he played in her injuries?

Excerpt to whet your whistles:

The sound of breaking glass coming from downstairs shattered the stillness. Nikki tensed. Had the sound come from the kitchen? Had she left a window open? She’d shut the bedroom window a few moments ago because the wind had picked up and its whistling sound bothered her. Could it have knocked over the crystal vase of roses Sam had sent her this morning? Perhaps Mrs. Olsen’s tabby had jumped in the window and knocked the vase over. The cat had been a regular visitor when the previous owners had lived here, and he saw no reason to curtail his visits. She’d almost had a heart attack the last time he entered, bringing her a gift—a dead mouse—and Danny had laughed himself silly at “Mommy’s girliness.” Sam, not an animal lover, had threatened to poison the animal if it came into the house again. If the cat had broken the vase, its days were numbered.

Or what if someone was in the house? She’d noticed a lot of strangers in town, some looking more unkempt than others. There were plenty of family campers, but every now and then, she’d seen so-called gold prospectors combing the Larosa hills. Trudy, Mandy’s best friend Lily’s mother, had said they were harmless but to a girl like Nikki from San Francisco, dirty, half-starved men meant trouble. They could easily be junkies desperately needing a fix.

She took a deep breath. She didn’t hear any other suspicious sounds. As Sam would say, she was letting her imagination run wild. Most likely it was one of Larosa’s minor quakes that had caused a glass to slip off the table. Just a few miles off the San Andreas Fault, the town was constantly trembling. She barely noticed the Earth’s slight shaking anymore.

Even though she’d convinced herself nothing was amiss, Nikki tiptoed to the guest room, got down on all fours, and peeked under the bed. Mandy was asleep. The child slept like the dead once she was out. Nikki reached for the flashlight, turned it off, and used the bed to leverage her body upright again.

She picked up the cell phone she’d left on the dresser earlier, made sure it was on in case Sam called, and dropped it into the right pocket of her pajama top. Carrying the flashlight, she slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Maybe getting a dog’s a good idea. It would keep the damn cat out of the house.

Nikki stood still in the hallway and listened. The only thing she could hear was the sound of the television in the den. Someone was buying a vowel.

She reached Danny’s room and opened the door. When she saw his bed was empty, she relaxed and shook her head in resignation. As much as it annoyed her to admit it, this time Sam was right. Her imagination did tend to look for boogeymen where there weren’t any. Clearly her eight-year-old and his bottomless pit of a stomach had decided to have another bedtime snack. No doubt he was the culprit. She left the room and placed the flashlight on the hall table where it usually sat in case of a power outage.

“What did you break this time?” she called as she headed down the stairs. “I swear, you’re like a bull in a china shop.”

The sound of the garage door opening indicated Sam’s arrival. Although the clinic was nearby, since he carried major opiate drugs back and forth, Sam always took his car to work. He’d enter the house through the garage, leaving his lab coat and shoes out there and washing his hands at the sink he’d had installed for that purpose.

“Let’s get this cleaned up before your father comes in.” She turned the corner into the kitchen and stopped cold.

The fridge door was open, the pitcher of orange juice shattered on the floor beside what was left of her crystal vase full of roses, the red petals vanishing in her son’s blood. So much blood! Danny lay there, his head at an awkward angle, his eyes open, looking into the face of death. A scream froze in her throat as arms grabbed her from behind, and the sting of the knife bit into her upper back.

Watch this blog for more about On His Watch.

Look who Dropped By: Jane Godman

Today, I’d Like to welcome Jane Godman. Take it away, Jane.

I have two books launching on July 7th. One is my first ‘stand alone’ Harlequin Shivers title, VALLEY OF NIGHTMARES, which is part of the third Shivers four book box set. The other is the second Jago Legacy book, ECHOES IN THE DARKNESS.

 

HARLEQUIN SHIVERS BOX SET 3

Savor four chilling tales of lust and longing

Valley of Nightmares by Jane Godman—It’s 1938, and war is looming as Lilly Divine leaves London for life as a governess in a crumbling mansion. Her employer, Gethin Taran, a man as remote and compelling as the mountains encircling his home, soon has Lilly intrigued and enthralled. But there is danger as well as passion in the valley, and its ghostly source begins to stalk Lilly’s nightmares….

His to Possess by Delores Fossen—Haunted by erotic memories that are not her own, Olivia is shaken to her core. She and enigmatic Lucian Wilde discover they’re hosts to the souls of two lovers murdered decades before. Time passes, but passion and the desire for vengeance endures.

The Girl in Blue by Barbara J. Hancock—Trinity Chadwick once helped Samuel Creed cheat death. That long-ago kiss of life kindled an obsession both sensual and macabre. When Trinity, plagued by misfortune, returns to her hometown, Samuel is already there. Is he watching over her…or awaiting some dark chance?

The Ghosts of Cragera Bay by Dawn Brown—Declan James is the reluctant heir to a crumbling Welsh estate with a deadly history. He’ll never sell Stonecliff with a parapsychologist poking around fueling ghostly rumors. But his truce with beautiful Dr. Carly Evans is destined to end in bloodshed.

Mood, mystery…romance that makes you shiver.

Amazon link: http://tinyurl.com/qxhma34

Harlequin link: http://www.harlequin.com/storeitem.html?iid=52857

 

ECHOES IN THE DARKNESS by Jane Godman

Amazon link: http://tinyurl.com/nkjvk4t

Harlequin link: http://www.harlequin.com/storeitem.html?iid=52852

Blurb

Not betrothed, but beguiled.

In artistic circles she is the Divine Dita, Paris’ most sought-after nude model. But now she’s not so much posing as playing a role: fiancée to the next Earl of Athal. The charade is a favor to Dita’s friend, Eddie Jago, a dissolute painter…and the aforementioned heir. As deceptions go, it is innocent compared with what will come.

On the grim Cornish coast, from the ashes of a ruined castle rises the Jagos’ sumptuous new manor house. The fresh-hewn stone, however, cannot absorb the blood of centuries or quiet the echoes of past crimes. Dita struggles to decipher the family: the infirm Earl and his inscrutable wife; resentful Eddie; sheltered sister Eleanor. And Cad: the handsome second son whose reputation is spotless in business—scandalous everywhere else.

Drawn by friendship, ensnared by lust, Dita uncovers a sordid tangle of murder, desire and madness. It will lay her bare as no portraitist has done before.

Echoes in the Darkness Excerpt

My journey to Tenebris started many months before I actually crossed the channel to England. I suppose it really began on the day I found a very beautiful, very naked man asleep in my apartment.

It was one of those pure, perfect April days when the Parisian sky was endlessly blue, skylarks sang and sunlight glinted on the crowded rooftops. The scent of just baked bread and freshly-poured coffee lingered in the still air. An accordion player provided a wailing accompaniment to the chatter of cafe goers as they sipped cloudy Pernod or rolled aromatic cigarettes. A group of young men, clad in the studied bohemian garb affected by poets and artists hailed me by name as I ran lightly past them. I waved a hand and hurried on. The tiny attic rooms I rented were close to the Élysée Theatre in the Montmartre district. The cobbled streets were steep and, panting, I burst in through my door, casting my hat and cloak aside. I had lived here since I first arrived in Paris, almost a year ago. It was beginning to feel like home, and the thought was bittersweet. 

I must have let out a squeal, or made another sound of surprise, because the stark naked man lying full-length on my sofa came slowly awake. I had time to notice the striking blue of his eyes and that his bare limbs were long and well-muscled, before he sat abruptly up, managing to adroitly cover his exposed groin with an embroidered cushion. The thought that it was hardly the action of a dangerous attacker alleviated my shock slightly. We regarded each other warily before he unexpectedly burst out laughing.

“How did you get in here?” I demanded furiously. Later, I would look back and wonder why it didn’t occur to me to be afraid.

“You should lock your door,” he said, yawning to show very white teeth.

“I always do! And I know I did just that before I left here this morning,” I informed him. It was true. No-one had more cause than I to be meticulous about security.

He laughed again, a little sheepishly this time. My memory processed the fact that I had seen him before. He was one of the group of younger, wilder artists who frequented the theatres and bars of the Montmartre. I had noticed him because of his height and remarkable good looks. “Very well, perhaps I should have said ‘You should make sure your door can’t be unlocked by anyone with half a brain and a pen-knife’.” The subtle trace of an English accent caught my ears.

Those words should, of course, have been my cue to run screaming to the gendarmes. But, bizarrely, I didn’t feel at risk from my unclothed intruder, and I like to think I have a well-honed sense of danger. So, instead of fleeing, I asked the most incongruous of the many questions that were racing around my head. “Why have you taken all your clothes off?”

“They’re wet,” he pointed out. And he was right; every item was soaked through. He had flung all of his discarded garments haphazardly onto a chair, and a puddle was forming on the floorboards beneath. I clicked my tongue disapprovingly and busied myself arranging his jacket, shirt and trousers so that they might actually begin to dry out. He lay back again, still holding the strategically placed cushion, and watched me.

“And, if it’s not an impertinent question,” I said, with an attempt at sarcasm, “Might I also ask what you are doing here?”

“It was a wager,” he said, as though that explained everything. And, in a way, it did. The group I had seen him with were heavy drinkers, wild to a fault and legendary gamblers.

“You broke into a complete stranger’s apartment for a wager?”

“The bet was not to break in, but to persuade you to let me paint your portrait,” he explained. “Your face, I mean. You weren’t here so I decided to wait for you.”

I had been bustling about in a diffident, house-wifely manner, straightening chairs and hanging my hat and cloak on a peg, but I stopped at that and turned to look at him. “I pose for nudes,” I said quietly. But he knew that. I remembered the first time I’d seen him was in a class for which I’d modelled at the ateliers des arts. I remembered the appreciative look in his eyes when I took off my robe. “I don’t do portraits.”

“Why?” He made an impulsive movement as though he was about to stand up, but my raised hand and look of horror forestalled him. He collapsed back on the sofa with an apologetic grin. “You are the most incredible woman I have ever seen. That was how the wager started, we were discussing the perfect shape of your face, the drama of your colouring, the glory of your eyes. The Divine Dita. That’s what they call you. No-one can understand why you’ll let them paint your tits but not your face.” He seemed to feel I might be offended by the comment and added, “Don’t get me wrong. Your tits are glorious too! But you could earn a king’s ransom from portraits, you know.” 

“No.” I shook my head firmly.

“Privately?” His tone was low, and very persuasive. “Just you and I, alone. The artist and his muse. A portrait no-one else will ever see? I will pay you well.” He named a figure far in excess of anything I had ever earned.

I studied him thoughtfully. He really was quite alarmingly attractive and not remotely self-conscious, apparently, about his own nudity. “If it was just between us, how would you win your wager?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t, of course. But I would have the satisfaction—private satisfaction—of knowing that I had succeeded where others had failed.”

His smile was heart-breaking, but I couldn’t help noticing that, in contrast, his eyes were sad. It was a curiously irresistible combination.  The offer was enticing, but I couldn’t risk it, even for the sum he had mentioned. To avoid any further temptation, I changed the subject. “How did your clothes get so wet?”

“Some of my so called friends decided to throw me into the fountain before we parted company last night.” He frowned in an effort to remember. “I mean, this morning.”

“These things will take forever to dry. I can go to your apartment, if you wish and bring you back something to change into. You’ll have to give me a key, of course. I’m not as skilled in the art of house-breaking as you.”

“Ah,” he said, as though another memory had just occurred to him. “When those clothes are dry, I’d better get out and start looking for somewhere to live.” He glanced around my neat, little apartment, taking in the two box-like bedrooms, tiny bathroom and this comfortable parlour with its views across the rooftops and curtained-off kitchen area at one end. “Unless—you wouldn’t happen to be looking for a room-mate, would you, sweetheart? I’m house-trained and harmless.”

I eyed him thoughtfully while my mind raced through a series of arguments. Against the dangers of allowing a dissolute, undeniably charismatic—but probably penniless, and almost certainly lecherous—artist into my home and my life, I weighed the previous day’s stern warning from my landlord. “Pay the arrears by Monday, or take up residence on the street corner.” And, of course, it wouldn’t be a bad thing to have a man about the place. Another girl had been found dead just yards from my front door. My restless mind flitted back again to the arguments against the idea. The biggest of them all lurked in the shadows of my imagination. Thankfully, he had not yet appeared in the shadows of my reality. But I knew it was only a matter of time. I had made myself a promise that Sandor would never be allowed to hurt another person because of me. Could I keep that promise if I allowed myself to become close to this engaging rogue? 

“The rent is due on a Friday and I will need two weeks in advance,” I blurted out quickly, before I had time to apply either caution or sense to the situation. I could always throw him out if he proved to be a nuisance. He held out his hand with solemn courtesy. Averting my eyes as the cushion slipped slightly, I returned his warm grasp. His eyes twinkled, briefly dispelling the discordant air of sorrow that prevailed in their depths.

That was the day on which Eddie Jago and I became room-mates. And best friends.

About the author:

Jane Godman Bio:

I am an avid reader and I have always enjoyed writing (I still have a copy of the medieval novel I wrote, in felt tip pen, when I was 14!).

Gothic romances—love stories with a dash of horror and a creepily ever after—are my favourite genre. I write my own gothic mysteries for HarlequinE in their Shivers line. These stories are heavily tinged with the supernatural and elements of horror, with haunted characters tormented by dark secrets.

I live in England and love to travel to European cities which are steeped in history and romance. Venice, Dubrovnik and Vienna are amongst my favourites. I am married to a lovely man and am mum to two grown up children. 

I love to hear from readers and can be contacted at:

Website: http://www.janegodmanauthor.com/

Twitter: @JaneGodman

Email: janegodman@ymail.com

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Jane-Godman-Author/

Goodreads: 

 

 

 

 

 

What Would I Do Without A Friend Like Anca?

Have you ever wanted to do something so badly that it consumed you? That’s how I felt about publishing my historical romances. I needed to self-publish one because the publisher closed shot without so much as a by-your leave, taking royalties and in some cases almost ruining careers in the process.

 

When it came to self-publishing I figured it out quickly until I got to the cover. Let’s make this perfectly clear. I am a moron when it comes to anything remotely connected to creating art on a computer. Thanks to my wonderful son, Greg, I have an awesome website. http://www.mhsusannematthews.ca/

 

I was pulling out my hair when the lovely and talented Anca, from Classy Designs came to my rescue. She designed beautiful covers for both the e-book and the paperback.

        
When I sold my second historical to Solstice Publishing, I was given the opportunity to provide my own cover. Anca surpassed herself.

 

I now have two of the nicest covers out there. She’s promised to create other covers for me in the future. I can hardly wait. So, as I said before, thank goodness for good friends.

 

Echoes of the Past Is Here

Wow! What a day! My latest novel, Echoes of the Past is available for pre-order from the publisher website. SCP I’m super-excited about this release. It’s my first paranormal/suspense/romance, a whole new sub-genre I’ve created for myself.  It’s also a touch more sensual than some of my other books, but not anywhere as explicit at the heat level indicates. 

Book Blurb for Echoes of the Past:

 Born Mohawk, raised white, forensic pathologist, Michelle Thomas is trapped between two worlds—this one and the spirit world where the ghosts of those who’ve drowned speak to her. Haunted by crippling nightmares of her own drowning death and erotic dreams of a phantom lover, she strives to make sense of her life. When two suspicious deaths occur at the Lake of the Mountain Resort, she’s sent to investigate. She’ll face the greatest challenge of her career when her past and her present collide. One of these men is her future, but which one—the rich and powerful Mayor Ron Davies, or Tony Steele, the hydrology professor who may be responsible for his students’ deaths? Charged by the spirits of her Mohawk ancestors to atone for her previous sins by protecting Lake of the Gods, can Michelle solve the murders, save the sacred waters, and fulfil her destiny?   

 Check it out. There are excerpts in previous blogs to tempt you! Here’s one more:

Excerpt from Echoes of the Past:
Tony recognized the woman in his dreams as the shawl-wrapped stranger who walked along the beach every now and then. Beautiful and exotic, something about her called to his soul. He preferred women who didn’t look like carbon copies of others, and this one intrigued him. He thought about her now.

He’d noticed her the night he’d arrived. He never slept well in a new bed. Unable to settle, he’d stepped out onto the porch and noticed someone else apparently suffering from insomnia. A woman, a blanket wrapped around herself, her hair in a long braid down her back, strolled along the edge of the sandy beach. She’d moved southeast toward the edge of the lookout. He’d stepped outside to get a better look at her, but she’d vanished.

The next night, his imagination and libido had taken over, and in his dreams, she’d entered his leafy grotto, and they’d had mind-blowing sex. The things they’d done to one another. Thank God he’d awakened before his body had finished responding to his fantasy.

He’d gotten up, frustrated as old hell, and had gone downstairs. Standing in the screened-in porch, he’d looked out at the lake. Unlike tonight, the water had resembled a mirror reflecting the stars on its surface, and he’d been suspended between the water and the sky—everything brighter, crisper, and clearer than he’d expected. Animals scurried in the brush nearby. Bats swooped overhead. An owl hooted, and he’d shivered. Didn’t some of the Native American tribes believe death followed the cries of an owl?

He’d turned to go back inside when he’d glimpsed his mystery woman coming along the beach from the marshy area to the north. He’d called out to her. She’d turned at the sound of his voice and stopped. In the moonlight, he’d seen the sparkle of silver tears on her cheeks. Naked, he’d hurried into the kitchen, grabbed his damp swimsuit off the drying rack, and rushed out, but she’d disappeared.

He blinked, and the memory passed. He’d never seen a storm as vicious as tonight’s. The rain came down in sheets. Thank God the kids had made it back safely. He turned to go inside when a flash of lightning, the first he’d noticed tonight, illuminated the beach.

What the hell?

The woman, wrapped in her blanket, walked along the beach as if all hell wasn’t breaking loose around her. He ran to the door and raced across the short expanse of grass. He stopped at the edge of the water. Where had she gone? As she’d done every time he’d tried to catch her, she’d vanished. Wet through, he hurried back inside. He saw the light go out in Jackson’s room.

Tony entered the cabin, stripped off his wet clothes, and tossed them in the kitchen sink. Naked and shivering, he climbed the stairs and went into the bathroom. He took a hot shower and then dried his shoulder-length hair. He needed to get it cut. He grabbed a clean T-shirt and a pair of boxers out of the drawer. Exhausted, he fell into bed hoping for sleep.

Mid Week Tease: Echoes of the Past.

Good morning and a belated Happy Canada day to my Canadian readers. I had a great day–lots of sun and fun topped off by fireworks. For my American friends, Happy Fourth of July. I hope Mother Nature cooperates for you, too.

Since Echoes of the Past is scheduled to be release on July 11th, I thought I’d share another taste of it. If you check out the post immediately before this one, you’ll find the scene that precedes this tease! Enjoy.

Michelle turned on the tap, and the image vanished replaced by her own. With trembling hand, she held a glass under the spigot and filled it with water. She opened her cosmetic case and took out two acetaminophen tablets to ease the headache pounding in her skull.

She returned to the bedroom, turned up the heat, sat on the bed, and wrapped herself in the comforter, searching for solace, knowing she’d find none. Ghosts didn’t frighten her, but something about this manifestation unsettled her. Madam Mohawk, as she referred to the spirit, represented her past, an ancestry she denied vigorously. Her birth mother may have been Mohawk, but those people had tossed her away as an infant. She’d been “reborn white” to kind and loving adoptive parents she missed terribly, and by God, she’d stay “white” no matter what.

She’d recently investigated reincarnation, and while skeptical about what she’d read, there were aspects of the haunting which fit the pattern more than she’d like to believe. She’d also taken time to study mental illnesses, which might present the same way. She didn’t have Multiple Personality Disorder, but the ghostly presence and her increased aversion to water disconcerted her. Something was wrong, and she needed to fix it before it drove her crazy.

Michelle stared into the quiet darkness. She hated the silence. It reminded her of the before-time when she’d been normal like everyone else. She’d fallen out of a canoe at summer camp at age twelve. It had taken time to find her in the murky waters of the lake, and even more time to get her to shore. When she’d awakened in the hospital after nine days in a coma, she hadn’t been alone. She’d heard voices no one else heard, saw people who weren’t there, and all of them had something in common—they’d all drowned. She hadn’t understood what had happened to her, but it hadn’t taken her long to realize her little quirk needed to be kept secret, even from those closest to her.

Because of her near-drowning, Michelle disliked water. Although her parents had insisted she learn to swim, she always thought she’d rather undergo root-canal surgery than go swimming in a lake. Helping those who’d died that way find peace and comforting those who grieved, helped control her distress. Unfortunately, her fear of water had escalated into a serious problem lately, one she wasn’t prepared to share with anyone.

Nestled in the blanket in the warm room, she recognized the various sounds emerging in the darkness—crickets, bullfrogs, an owl, and the screech of car tires. Outside, gusts of wind blew against the windows rattling the screen. Inside, the ticking of her alarm clock matched her heartbeat. Who was her mysterious, faceless lover? The things the man could do to her body! Even now, the memory of his rough hands against her skin sent waves of need through her. Tonight, there had been a different aspect to the dream, one that upset her more than usual. What atrocities would she have witnessed if she hadn’t awakened? She didn’t know how much more pain her poor heart could tolerate.

She suspected whatever the ghost needed was tied up with the erotic dreams far more vivid than any real-life experience she’d had. Everything centered on the man. She chuckled, the sound loud in the silent room.

Okay. I’m desperately in love with a man whose face I can’t see, who’s been dead for a couple hundred years. How pathetic is that?

She closed her eyes and imagined his hands moving slowly across her naked flesh, enflaming her. Desire pooled in her stomach. She imagined her hands roaming across his beautiful body, tracing every scar there. She ran her fingers through his long, wavy, honey-brown hair. She felt his full, warm lips on hers, tasted him when his tongue invaded her mouth and tangled with hers.

Who are you? Her heart begged.

She shook her head, blinked, and forced herself out of the fantasy. The last thing I need is to go there again tonight.

Unfortunately, the ghost she saw didn’t speak, so wherewould she find the two-hundred-year old ghost of the man she loved, the one who obviously needed her help? Most likely in this area since the haunting had started here, but duty called her back to Toronto tomorrow.

“I will come back and find you.” Her voice echoed in the silence of the room. She looked at the clock—two a.m. She had to get up at seven to catch her flight. Feeling a bit calmer, she stretched out on the bed and closed her eyes. The vision in the mirror filled her mind, and wept as she always did.

Don’t forget to check out the other teases for this week. 

1.
Sandra Bunino




2.
Living the Dream




3.
Siobhan Muir






4.
Kiru Taye




5.
S. J. Maylee




6.
Nicola Cameron Writes






7.
Doris O’Connor




8.
Erin M. Leaf




9.
C. R. Moss






10.
The Reese Ryan Diaries




11.
elodie parkes erotic romance




12.
London’s Scribbles






13.
Raven McAllan