Susanne Matthews's Blog, page 115

New Year’s Resolutions.

New Year's Resolutions..

Goodbye 2013, Hello 2014

So many changes in one year! The last thing I expected to be at the end of 2012 was a published author with not one, but six books published in 2013, and all of those books soon to be available in paperback as well as e-book. 

In 2014, I have one book scheduled for release in june, a short story in January, and a few others yet in the works. One is still be examined by a publisher, two others have been requested, and hopefully they’ll sell. In my to-do file, I have three to revise and submit. I hope 2014 will be as successful for me as 2013 has been. 

I would like to take a moment to wish you all a very Happy New Year. May 2014 bring joy and prosperity into your lives. May you be healthy, able to enjoy all the good things life has to offer. May you be gracious in your victories, more so in your defeats, and never forget, life is what you make of it.

A Visit from Santa

Last night I went over to my daughter’s house for the annual family get-together and a visit from a very special guest. My daughter has four children–8,7,6, and 4 and a half. My 7 year old grandnephew and my 6 year old grandniece were there as well as my granddaughters’ 7 year old best friend.

There is nothing like the glow of happiness on the faces of children when Santa enters the house, his sack bulging with gifts for everyone there–not just the little ones, but the the 10, 12, and 18 year old as well as the rest of the adults. Each of us got to sit on Santa’s knee and get our gifts. My husband got a can of cashews, and I got a reindeer-shaped photoframe ornament. I think I’ll put the image of my first published book in it.

Each year, my daughter opens her home to all of us and arranges for the jolly old elf to make a call. We were 22 last night. We brought appetizers and wine, but she looks after everything else. It’s her contribution to the holiday. This year, all the kids were the perfect age. No one was afraid or cried, and even better, those under 10 still believe. We sang, had a few drinks, and the kids all loved their gifts–lego, knights in armor, and  zombie dolls to name a few. 

There is nothing as magical as Christmas through the eyes of a child. Merry Christmas. 

Do You Believe in Angels? I Do.

A few years ago, I had an experience that changed me, and the way I look at life. I ended up in the hospital with a staff aureus infection in the chest wall just above my right breast. None of the antibiotics were working, and I kept getting worse. Finally, I was transferred by ambulance to Ottawa on December 22, and since I was  in critical condition, the poison having moved through my blood stream, emergency surgery was performed  to remove a baseball-sized abscess. 

I’ve been sick before, and I’ve been in pain,  but never like that. I was the only patient in the room, but I swear I never felt alone. At times, the pain seemed almost unbearable, but I felt someone there to support me. I was pretty out of it with the drugs and all, but I know how I felt, and that was loved. 

That Christmas Eve, my daughter came to the hospital and sat beside my bed. She read The Night Before Christmas to me from the book I’d read to her all those years ago. After she left and the nurses did what they could to make me comfortable, I had that sense of love again, the feeling that someone was there to watch over me, and make sure I made it through the night. By dinner time on Christmas Day, I’d turned the corner and everyone knew I was going to recover. 

I spent four months on IV antibiotics, but eventually, I was pronounced infection free. Each Christmas Eve since that night,  I’ve gone back to celebrating as I always did, with attending church and watching A Christmas Carol, but I will never forget the Christmas Eve when the angels watched over me. 

Comment on my blog,leave your email address, and you could win an ebook Holiday Magic gift set, Book One , Second Chance, and Book Two, The Perfect Choice. 

May the angels be with you in your hour of need not only at Christmas, but all year through. 

Don’t forget to check out other blogs too. Click the link below to access the list of bloggers. 

http://www.linkytools.com/wordpress_list.aspx?id=181905&type=basic

 

 

 

Holiday Magic and Christmas

Christmas is all about love. The first two books in my Holiday Magic Series were written with the holidays in mind. Everything is possible at Christmas when love and goodwill abounds.

Christmas is my favorite time of year. I’m a Christmas music junkie. I could listen to those songs twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week for the entire month and never get tired of them. I’m particularly into Neil Diamond’s Christmas albums. He does a great job on the traditional carols, but no one can sing Blue Christmas like Elvis.

There are some traditions in our family that I treasure above all others. My Christmas tree isn’t a themed one, unless you consider the theme the story of my life. I have ornaments that belonged to my grandparents–crystal icicles that hung on their tree when I was a child. I also have ornaments that were gifts from grateful students over the years–much better than scented soap and bath salts, although at one point I had an impressive collection of coffee mugs. I have ornaments I’ve made and ornaments made by my children. I also have ornaments from the places where we’ve holidayed over the years, and of course, there are ornaments to commemorate the birth of each of my grandchildren. 

In addition, I have well-over 100 pewter ornaments in there too–some from the city of Kingston, others to mark the passing of the years. I’ll get another one this year for 2013, the year that marked my debut as an author. 

Attending church on Christmas Eve is a big part of my celebration as is coming home afterwards and drinking egg nog and watching A Christmas Carol. Now that my grandchildren are older, four of them take part in our church’s annual Christmas Eve pageant. This year, they and their mother were the ones to do the first Advent reading and light the Candle of Hope. 

Here’s hoping your Christmas is filled with love and magic. 

 

 

Look Who Dropped By Today: Bethany-Kris

Thanks Bethany-Kris for joining us today. What’s a typical writing day like for you? 

A Day in My Writing Life…

Very rarely do I ever get a full day of writing in. I am, after all, the mother of an almost four year old and an almost three year old. Both boys. Both hyperactive. Both seemingly part monkey and part human with way too much of me in their mischievous blue eyes.

So, my days plotted out from point to point as a writer never really work out well. I have to work it around these crazy children of mine and write when they say it is okay for me to write…or give me time, you know what I mean. Add in the fact that I work a full time job from eleven at night until seven in the morning, and I get to a point where I wonder how on earth I can crank out a story at all.

There are a few things I could not live without to make my writing happen. My laptop—it goes with me everywhere in the day around the house. I’ll jot down a sentence through breakfast, force out a couple of paragraphs while the kids are bathing, and hide on the couch while they’re zooming around the living room as I try to get all the dialogue out of my head while I still can. Secondly, my spouse. He’s a very understanding man when it comes to this artistic, crazy person I’ve somehow become in my efforts to be an author.

These two things make it all possible for me. I write between the breaks I get when my kiddos lay down for bed, hiding outside on my deck with coffee and cigarette—two vices I can’t live without—and just vomit words. I used to need quiet (before I had kids and just plain old loudness), but now I almost swear I need the noise to get anything done. Otherwise, my head is too quiet and I somehow can’t think.

I get a few short amount of time after my children lay down for the evening to when I have to leave for work that I am able to write, and I use that time to the best of my ability. Clothes will go unfolded. The dishwasher will not be unloaded. These characters have a story to tell, and I’m just the instrument they’re using to get it out. 

And while I am at work, my mind isn’t at rest. My tote is full of papers that are covered back to front ni little jots of notes that I’ve stopped to scribble down throughout the night because hell, I might forget it come morning, or I’ll just be too busy to write it.

I’m always writing something…always, I just need to find the time. It’s crazy and hectic. I write what wants to be written when it says it has to be written. There’s no rhyme or reason to me, or how it all works, but it usually does.

Thanks to Susanne for letting me stop by to ramble out my thoughts!

About A Mile High

Blurb: Olivia wants a vacation, that’s all, but when the airline screws up her plans for a week getaway to the beautiful Barbados, instead putting her on a new path that intertwines with the handsome, funny, and charming Sal, she can’t say no to his offer of joining the mile high club. Their meeting is explosive, attraction intense, and when the flight ends, Olivia is unwilling to part ways but unable to voice her wants. Still, fate is at work with its own plan, and where it finishes just might not be where it ends up.

There’s nothing quite like sex at a mile high. 

Excerpt from A Mile High

“Doubt it,” Sal put in quietly. “Pilot’s all ready to go, we’re away from the gates, and there’s another plane bussing in to take off behind us right now, probably. We’re taking off. Her friend will likely give her some Gravol, set her up in their little section there, and we’ll be on our way.”

A quick, vague apology sounded over the plane’s announcement system, informing the passengers it would be another minute before takeoff. Given I had a bit of time to do whatever, I decided to use the bathroom. Excusing myself from our comfortable little cubby, I made my way through to the back of the plane, ignoring the questioning gazes of other passengers in coach who were likely wondering what had happened up in first class.

 In the panic-worthy, small as hell bathroom, I washed my face and hands, checking my face out in the mirror as a ding sounded above me. I looked up to see the seatbelt sign had appeared just as the pilot’s voice sounded over the speakers, asking everyone to buckle up and ready for takeoff.

Making my way back to my seat as quickly as possible, I had just moved in to sit down—Sal drawing in his stretched out legs to let me through—as the plane jerked forward. I yelped under my breath, trying to catch myself but between the black, peep-toe pumps with a four-inch heel on my feet, and the sudden movement, I ended up on something warm…and hard. Something that breathed, chuckled, and touched me.

Sal.

My brown hair created a curtain over my face. Huffing a breath and blowing strands out of my line of vision, Sal laughed in my ear, rocking both our bodies. I felt his hands skim above my knees where the flimsy material of the skirt I wore had risen up. Gooseflesh pebbled at the motion and I tried hard not to shiver when fingers grasped tightly to my legs.

“You okay?” he murmured. “Because I think you’re just fine.”

I nodded, trying really hard not to be embarrassed. I didn’t want to show how turned on I was by his palms to my flesh and the suggestive tone to his words. “Yeah, just surprised. I’m so—”

“Don’t be,” he interrupted, voice turning huskier than I expected. “Unless you plan on moving, that is.”

Teeth cut into my bottom lip as I fought the urge to exhale harshly. “I have to. We’re just about to take off, right?”

The dismissive sound he made under his breath didn’t help the lust raging through my senses. Those warm hands of his skimmed a little higher under my dress, making me groan quietly, grinding my backside shamelessly against his jeans when he whispered, “You ever join the mile-high club?” 

Available for purchase at the following:

Evernight Publishing

Amazon

Bookstrand

All Romance ebooks

Kobo

Barnes & Noble

Author info: Bethany-Kris is a twenty-four year old Canadian author, lover of much, and mother of two young boys, two cats, and two dogs who works more than she should, writes when she can, and loves every moment of it. Living in a small town in Eastern Canada with her family and pets, she’s nearly always writing something…when she can find the time. Find her on Twitter, Facebook, and Blogger. 

Look Who Dropped By Today: Robyn Neeley

Robyn Neeley,author of the popular Crimson Romance book, Destination Wedding has dropped by to tell us all about her latest book, Christmas Dinner. 

Hi Robyn, thanks for stopping by and bringing along this delicious fudge recipe!

 

About Robyn
Robyn Neeley is an East Coaster who loves to explore new places; watches way more reality TV than she cares to admit; can’t live without Dunkin Donuts coffee, and has never met a cookie she didn’t like. If you have a must read romance suggestion or a fabulous cookie recipe, she wants to know. Visit her at http://robynneeley.com/

 Delicious Holiday Fudge!

2/3 cups evaporated milk

2 cups sugar

1 square of baker’s chocolate

1 stick margarine or butter

4 Hershey candy bars

½ cup of nuts

1tsp.vanilla

Stir first three ingredients well and bring to a boil.

Boil for three minutes. Add margarine or butter the last 1 1/2 minutes stirring all the time

Take fudge from heat and stir in Hershey bars (broken up) and nuts. Beat until thick, add vanilla, and pour in an 8 x 8 buttered pan. Add nuts to the top if you’d like. Put in the refrigerator until set, then cut into squares.

  About Christmas Dinner

News anchor Amanda Turner used to love everything about the holidays—the eggnog sugar cookies, the tacky family Christmas sweaters, and a lawn decorated with so many multi-colored lights that 747s could land safely. That is until her boyfriend dumped her in front of the whole town on Christmas Eve. Humiliated, she fled her small town start a new life. Two years later, she’s finally ready to return to the scene of the emotional crime, until she learns that her ex is engaged. Now, the only thing worse than going home is going home single.

Tate Ryan, her tall, dark, and arrogant co-anchor, offers to pose as her boyfriend. There’s one problem, though: they barely like each other and he recently scooped her story on live TV. But she needs a ride home and a boyfriend fast, so Tate will have to do.

As she watches Tate interact with her family and town residents, fully embracing the spirit of the holiday season, she starts to see his kindhearted side. She can’t help but wonder if she was wrong about him. Perhaps he isn’t the conniving co-worker that she once thought. And her new feelings for him would definitely put her on the naughty list.

Tate has his own agenda for the weekend that includes telling Amanda he’s been in love with her since the first time they met. He’s ready to reveal all during Christmas dinner but fate has other plans.

Purchase on Amazon or Barnes & Noble

Enjoy an Excerpt from Christmas Dinner!

           ”I’ll have another, please.” Amanda waved her empty wine glass and glanced up at the mounted television. Their explosive local story had made national news. “I really need to get out of this town,” she muttered.

             “Excuse me?” The bartender picked up her glass. He was wearing a Santa hat.

             “Oh, nothing.” She pointed at his head, changing the subject. “Do they make you wear that?”

             “Nah, I just like to get into the Christmas spirit.” He grabbed a bottle of wine, refilling her glass.

             “Christmas spirit,” she echoed dryly. She remembered that feeling. It was only two years ago that it was her favorite time of year-two heartbreaking years. “Thanks.”

             She took a long gulp and went back to brooding over Brad’s status update. What if she ran into him and his fiancée this weekend? Oh, God. What if she knew her?

             “Hey, Santa, think you could bring me a boyfriend to take home this weekend?” she asked sarcastically. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flicker of a man in a suit. She knew its owner immediately.

             “Why, Ace, are you taking resumes?”

             She spun around and shook her head. Tate had taken the empty seat next to her. Her knees briefly touched his. “What the- where did you come from? Are you following me now?” She drank her wine. “I hate you,” she mumbled.

             “I’ll take that as a no.” He pointed to her fresh glass. “I see you’re celebrating. Mind if I join you?”             

             She pushed off her seat. “Sorry, I was just leaving.” Her legs wobbled, and she felt a little tipsy. When had she become such a lightweight? She sat down to regain her equilibrium. “On second thought, I was here first.”

             The bartender came over. “Sir, can I get you anything?”

             “A stocking full of coal would be appropriate,” Amanda interjected sweetly. She glared at Tate and raised her finger directly at a group of women on the other side of the bar who were looking their way. She suspected they were gushing over Tate. Most women did.

             “See that cougar in the tight sequined silver top and black hooker stilettos? I’m sure she’s one of your fans. I’d bet my paycheck she’d love to have the great Tate Ryan make her night.”

             Tate nodded to the woman and pulled Amanda’s arm down. She felt his hand linger.

             “I think I’ll pass.” He signaled the bartender and said, “Hey, buddy, could I get a Manhattan?” Then he turned back to Amanda. “Okay, talk to me, Mandy. Why so glum?”

             “Don’t call me that. My brother calls me Mandy, and I’m angry with him right now, too.” She stood once again and reached for her purse, determined this time to get away from her co-anchor. “I think I’ll get a table-for one. Merry Christmas, Tate,” she said flatly.

             She walked over to the dining area and scanned the room for an empty table. There was one near the window. She plopped down in a chair.

             Tate sauntered over.

             “Oh, no. No, no.” She raised her hand in protest. “You are not sitting here.”

             “Look, you can’t still be angry with me for what happened earlier.”

             “Why can’t I?”
            
            ”Ace, you know I didn’t sabotage you.” He pulled out a chair and took a seat.

            Amanda sighed. “I know.”

             “Listen, let’s order some dinner. My treat. I’m starving, and I’ll bet you are, too. We’ll eat, and you can tell me why you’re here drowning your sorrows because this can’t all be my fault. Start from the beginning. I’m a great listener.” He scrolled through his iPhone. “Was it really that bad of a day?” he asked, glancing up.

             “You can’t be serious. You did not just ask me that.”

             Tate shrugged. “It’s one story. There will be others.”

             “Not like this one.”

            ”You really believe that?”

            Amanda shrugged. “I don’t know what I think anymore. Let’s just order. Will you promise to leave me alone after we eat?”

             “Deal. Okay, where to begin? All right, why do you hate me? No. Wait.” Tate jerked his hand up in the air in a halt. “Don’t answer that. Let’s start with a softball question. Why do you hate the holidays?” He grabbed the other menu on the table.

             “I don’t hate the holidays.”

             Tate smirked. “Amanda, you pretty much tell anyone who wishes you a Merry Christmas to go to hell.”

             “That’s not true.”

            ”Not to mention I had to twist your arm for you to do the kick-off story on this year’s toy drive.”

            ”That hardly makes me a scrooge. I agreed to it, didn’t I?”

            He pointed at the window. “Speaking of toys, did you see that huge Santa and sleigh on the flatbed truck in the parking lot? It’s filled with all kinds of fun things. What do you think they’re doing with all those toys?”

            Amanda followed his gaze out the window. In the darkness, she could just make out a life-size Santa and sleigh. God, she hated sleighs.

             She could also see Tate’s reflection in the glass. The man certainly knew how to wear a suit. Why did he have to be so incredibly good looking? His eyes met hers, causing her cheeks to warm. She glanced away and reached for the breadbasket. “Does it really matter?”

             “I’m just trying to lighten the mood.” He flipped his menu to the other side.

             She sighed. He was right. It was common knowledge around the station that she wasn’t a big fan of the holidays.

             “You’re right. I do get somewhat uptight this time of year,” she admitted. “I was planning on going home tomorrow, but now I don’t know-”

             Tate looked up and interrupted. “You’re not going home for Christmas? Why?”

             “I don’t know what to do. My mother will kill me if I don’t. My older sister’s about to have a baby.”

             “Everything okay?”

             “With her, yes. It’s just I received some unsettling news about my ghost from Christmas past.”

            ”Huh?”

            ”Never mind.” She slid back in her chair and took a drink. “It’s just hard to be single during the holidays, I guess.”

            Tate studied her. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as the type of woman who gets down in the dumps for being single this time of year.”

             “I’m not.” She paused. “Well, maybe I am a little. You think you’re headed down this precise path to achieving all of your carefully planned out goals-good grades, great college, solid career, the guy, perfect marriage, great sex-”

             “Why, Ace, I could help you with that last goal.”

             Amanda rolled her eyes. Of course he could. She continued, “Adorable kids and a nice house.” She sat up in her chair. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy in Wilmington. I’ve got a wonderful career, good friends, and my beautiful beachside condo bought and paid for. It’s just . . . I don’t know. You think everything is on track and then a-”

             “Teleprompter jams,” he finished.

             Her eyes started to water. “Something like that.” She immediately looked out the window to hide the evidence. Tate could not see her cry.

             “So how long has it been since you’ve been home?”

             “Two years.” Amanda grabbed a piece of bread and broke it apart.

             “That’s nothing. What’s kept you away?”

            ”Long story.” Amanda grimaced and shoved the bread in her mouth.

            ”Might help to talk about it.”

             She swallowed. “If you must know, my boyfriend of five years dumped me two years ago on Christmas Eve in front of all my family and friends.”

             “Ouch.”

             “Tell me about it.” She picked up her glass and swung it up in the air. “Then I get a text tonight telling me to check my Facebook, and guess what?” she asked, her voice rising. She didn’t wait for Tate to respond. “The bastard’s getting married!” She slammed her glass down. “Freakin’ engaged.”

            ”Is it really the end of the world?” Tate motioned for the waiter to bring Amanda a glass of water.

             “Clearly you’ve never been in a relationship.”

             “You just said you were happy here.”

             “I am.”

             “Are you still in love with him?”

             “No.” She shook her head. “He might have broken up with me, but I realized we really weren’t meant to be. It’s just . . .”

            ”Just what?”

             Amanda stared at Tate. Why was he so interested in her love life? “I guess I don’t understand why Brad gets to have his happy ending before me. Two years ago he didn’t want it.” Her eyes watered. This time she couldn’t hide the evidence as one tear slid down her cheek. “At least not with me.”

             Tate grabbed a napkin from the table dispenser and handed it to Amanda. “Let’s turn this around.”

             “How?” She sniffed, dabbing her eyes.

             “Okay, here’s how I see it. Your sister is radiantly pregnant and about to pop out your mother’s first grandchild. Is your brother in a relationship?”

             “Yes, with my best friend from high school.”

            ”I see.  It’s all making sense. There you will be at Christmas dinner, sandwiched between both couples. You have a great career and some would say a pretty good life here down south, but the humiliation of what happened with Brad will be the unspoken elephant in the room all weekend. Am I painting an accurate picture?”

             With each stroke of his verbal brush, he certainly was. “I think you should order your dinner to go,” she said icily. It had obviously been a bad idea to share her love life with Tate.

             “I think I can help-no, I know I can help you.”

             “Help me? How?”

             “If you brought a new man home, it would show everyone that you’ve moved on.”

             “Maybe, but it’s not like I can rent one.” She thought for a second-could she?

             “No need.” Tate reached for his drink and took a sip. “You can take me-free of charge.”

            Amanda studied Tate. Was she hearing things?

            ”Take me home with you and introduce me as your boyfriend. I’ll fill that seat at Christmas dinner this year.”

      “I was kidding with the bartender.” Amanda scoffed. The idea of bringing home a handsome boyfriend was intriguing. It would prove to everyone she was over Brad and past the humiliating breakup. But this was Tate. Handsome, yes. Her boyfriend? She didn’t think so. He rattled her on most days. They’d never pull it off.

Look Who Dropped By Today! Christy Newton

Check out Christy Newton’s latest book, Trust Again. 

Once broken, can the heart really trust again?

Dreams of escaping her small town brought Ellie Oliver to New York only to find that life there wasn’t all she’d hoped. Seven years later, she is returning to Pleasant Valley, Indiana with new hopes and secrets. She wants nothing more than to fade into the slow pace of small town life and forget about the demons of her past.

 Jacob Jones is at loose ends. At twenty-six a man shouldn’t be starting his life over from scratch. Finding himself out of work, Jacob looks for a new home in PleasantValley. He is ready for the single life just enjoying the company of close friends. All that changes when he takes a job remodeling the town’s toy shop and comes head to head with its new owner.

 

Ellie and Jacob bring out feelings in each other neither were looking for, but both can’t deny. Can they truly trust again or will their shattered hearts refuse to mend?

Trust Again Excerpt:

      “I want to tell you about my past and why I am so untrusting. I’ve never told anyone this. Not even my dad.” She paused and looked down at her hands resting protectively in his.

     “Please tell me,” he whispered and kissed her cheek next to her ear.

     Ellie nodded and moved her eyes back down to their intertwined hands. “I lived with an abusive man in New York.” She didn’t look up to see Jacob’s reaction. “The first time he put me in the hospital, I convinced myself it was the booze and he convinced me he would never hurt me again.” Tears crept down her cheeks. Jacob’s fingertips gently wiped them away. “The second time he put me in the hospital, I knew he’d do it again. But it was too late. He had me right where he wanted me. Alone and afraid. He said if I ever left him, he’d kill me. Because if he couldn’t have me – no one could. I accepted the abuse as part of my life and learned to cover it up well. Not even my coworkers knew. Sure they thought I was clumsy, coming in with little bruises on me now and then. But what they didn’t see, were the larger ones underneath my clothes.” Jacob’s hands tensed around hers.

     “The hospitalizations were covered up as car accidents and in New York that isn’t so uncommon. If I came into work sore, I just shrugged it off as over-excising from eating too much candy at work. The city isn’t like PleasantValley – people don’t get into your business. If you say you’re fine, they take your word for it. Bryce doesn’t know where I am. I never told him where I was from because he was big city and –” She paused for a tight laugh. “And I was embarrassed of being an inexperienced, small-town girl.”

     Jacob wrapped his arms around her and hugged her as if she were a fragile china doll. “He’ll never hurt you again.”

Look for more about Trust Again at

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/19082863-trust-again

You could win a free copy at:

http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/1a24cd6/

NaNoWriMo Is Over.

NaNoWriMo, November 2013, is over, and I’ve learned something about myself as a writer. I am not flexible. I do not adapt well to change, and the pressure to perform does not make me a better writer. I spew out verbal diarrhea–the words are there, but how good they are is another story.   In other words, this old dog can’t learn new tricks!

I wrote a 70,000 word novel during Boot Camp in April, and I had a great time because I did it my way. In Plain Sight,  currently available as an ebook and available as a paper back in January,  was my boot camp effort. But this time, the results are not the same. Why?

I absolutely cannot write a decent, effective novel by simply adding words each day. Opening the file and adding content  may have provided lots of words for the challenge, but I have no idea how many of them will be of any use in the long run. I’m sure I repeated information numerous times. I may even have made errors in the story as new thoughts came to me, but I couldn’t go back and change them–very frustrating! What it comes down to are twenty-five more or less connected chapters that need to be revised, cut back, and put together into something I can be proud of someday.

I’m not a plotter, and I think that’s the problem. I tried to use a beat sheet, but it just wouldn’t work for me. I made a synopsis and tried to stick to it, but when my characters wanted to take a different route, I felt honor-bound to force them back in line. I usually let the characters drive the story; this time, I did it the other way around, and I’m not happy with the results. It did not make for a pleasant writing experience.

I may be a pantser, but I’m an organized, editing pantser. I am a constant revisionist. As a rule when I write, I always start by reading the previous day’s work, editing it, sometimes going back to the beginning if I change story-line, and then I add new words as they come to me in that way.  If the story seems to be going one way and needs to change direction, I have no problem hacking as many words as necessary and starting again. Not being able to go back and revise as I wrote drove me crazy.

I suppose if I’d wanted to, I could have done it my way, but that would have meant straying from the synopsis and deleting words, and that would have affected my Suspense Squad team mates. That was another thing I found difficult. Being part of a team in the Entangled SmackDown added pressure because, like everyone else, I wanted my team to win. I wanted to do my best for them, and so I avoided doing what my heart, fingers, and brain told me to do, sacrificing my need to revise as I went along on the altar of higher word count.

I have no idea at this point  as to what comes next. I’ve got the document saved, and I’ll start revising it — probably in the new year. I have another book to revise and edit, and I’ll probably work on that one first. I may drop the paranormal elements in the story and make it a simple suspense–I’d be more comfortable with that. We’ll see. 

Participating in the Entangled SmackDown for NaNo was a great experience. I did meet new writers, and I enjoyed the sprints and chatting with others. I also think that learning that I can’t work that way is valuable too. The more I know about myself as a writer, the better I’ll be in the long run. 

NaNoWriMo Update

Well, I’m more than half-way through my first official NaNoWriMo novel, and I’ve clocked in at 59,185 words to date. My original idea called for 60,000 words, but I think I’ll be closer to 65 K when all is said and done. I’m writing for Suspense Squad with the Ignite imprint as part of the Entangled Smack Down activity, and expect the novel will be done within a few days. I’m not sure how I’ll manage my mandatory 1667 words per day after that when I start revising and editing, but I’m sure I’ll figure something out. I have a novella to finish for the end of the first week of December, so maybe they’ll let me count those words–after all NaNoWriMo is all about counting words, right? 

My NaNo book,tentatively entitled Echoes of the Past, is a paranormal/romance/suspense, and I hope to be able to submit it to a publisher once it’s done. This picture is one of the Lake of the Mountain in Prince Edward County, Ontario. The various legends surrounding the lake are what gave me the idea for the story. John and I visited the Lake of the Mountain Resort and had lunch there on Labor Day weekend, and I thought it would make a great setting for a book. I spoke to one of the resort’s owners and got her blessing–any publicity is good, right?

Believe it or not, that little lake is two hundred and sixty plus feet above Lake Ontario. The water level never changes, yet it empties into the Bay of Quinte through a small waterfall and has no obvious source of water to account for the constant water level. When you consider rainfall, evaporation, etc. it really is a mystery. Add to that, it’s suppose to be bottomless. One legend says it has its own version of the Loch Ness monster; another claims it’s a lake sacred to the gods of the Mohawk people, specifically the Three Sisters–Corn, Beans, and Squash–who lived there. Toss in  a story about the ghosts of doomed lovers, and it’s the stuff books are made of.

There will be a book contract awarded as part of SmackDown, but while I’d like to walk away with that prize, there are a lot of talented writers competing for it.  As of today, my team is in third place. I’ve done well, only missing one day of writing, but I hope I made up for it today. I managed over 5K words, and that earned me a couple of bonus points. If I can do as well tomorrow, it’ll help my team a lot. 

So, to all the others out there who are working on NaNo, may you have lots of words.For those who prefer to read,  I’m posting my first chapter for your enjoyment. Let me know what you think. 

Chapter One

He lay on his side on the animal hide, his head propped up on his elbow, watching her sleep. He’d have to wake her soon. The sun was well-passed its apex. Someone would come looking for her. How long did she think her excuse of being out gathering roots and snaring rabbits would last, especially when she had little to show for the time they’d been together?

He looked down at the naked woman slumbering beside him. She was tall and lean, with copper skin that glowed. Her ebony hair was spread around her head. Her features were fine, her lips lush, begging to be kissed, and her almond-shaped brown eyes with the flecks of gold, added to her exotic beauty. She was unlike any white woman or the Nanticoke squaws he’d known in the colony before he’d fled Washington’s armies. He loved this woman! It was craziness to remain here, but he couldn’t leave without her. She’d cut his bonds and helped him escape. She’d saved his life and hidden him from her people. The odds of getting caught increased with every visit she paid to his secret grotto, but she was a drug he couldn’t resist.

He reached for her, ran his hand down the side of her torso. Her skin felt alive beneath his hands. Her nipples puckered in anticipation of his touch. Her eyes opened, and she smiled. She reached up to him and pulled him down. His lips met hers with a hunger that never seemed to be assuaged. His tongue delved into her warm, willing mouth, and he felt himself harden to the point of pain.

The dreamscape shifted, and he was running through the brush trying to escape something chasing him. Twigs and branches tore at his clothing. A thorn bush raked his face. He knew if he were caught, it would mean his death, but he wasn’t worried about himself; he worried about her. He ran farther away from his haven. It was important they not find it. If he weren’t caught and brought back to the village…There was still a chance they could use it until they could flee the island. Had she gotten back to the others? He slowed his pace; through the trees, he looked over at the far side of the lake and saw her standing there on the beach with the women. They were pointing and screaming, but she stood still, wrapped in the woven blanket she’d shown him not two hours ago. He didn’t dare stop to get a better look. He knew she’d made it back, and she was safe. His heart thundered in his ears, his side ached, but he increased his speed. The pursuers were getting closer…

Tony awoke with a start. His heart pounded, and he was covered in sweat. His breathing was ragged, and it seemed as if the room lacked the oxygen he needed. It wasn’t hot in the room, but his body felt the way it did when he’d finished a particularly grueling cross-country race. He got up, went to the window, and opened it slightly, hoping the night air would cool him. He concentrated on slowing his breathing. He noticed Aaron’s car was back, parked beside his.

The old Chevy hadn’t been there when he’d gone to bed well after midnight. The storm had intensified, and he’d wondered where Aaron and Lindsay had gone. He’d been worried they’d had car trouble and had been stuck out there on the road in this weather. He’d thought they might have decided to go into Belleville and take in that movie after all. Jackson didn’t like sci-fi, and Lissa wasn’t feeling well. If she didn’t pick up soon, he’d insist she see the local G.P.

Feeling cooler, he shut the window and padded into the bathroom. His cheek stung, and when he touched it, his fingers came away wet. He turned on the light and stared in the mirror at the ugly red scratch on his cheek. The skin was torn and bleeding. He must have scratched himself in his sleep.

Damn! I need to cut my nails.

He went down the stairs to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and took out a bottle of water. He drank half of it in one gulp. He still felt disoriented. These dreams seemed to have taken on a life of their own. In some ways, he felt like a voyeur peeking in the window at someone else’s memories. He wondered out onto the screened-in porch and looked out on the lake. It seemed to boil. He’d never seen it whipped to a frenzy like that as if the water itself was angry. He thought about the legend Joseph Brant, the Tyendinaga shaman, had told him about the lake. If there were gods living in it, something had made them furious, and he was afraid he knew exactly what it was—someone was dumping poison into the lake.

According to the story, long ago one of the Mohawk gods, Sky Woman who lived high above the land, came to earth and gave birth to a daughter. Sadly the child didn’t survive. In her grief, Sky Woman buried the child, and from the child’s body sprung the Three Sisters, Corn, Beans, and Squash, the great providers of life.

The Three Sisters chose to remain here and dwelt in the special waters of Onokenoga—the Lake of the Gods. The Mohawk people visited the lake often, making sacrifices, offering thanks for the bountiful harvest, and requesting things like plenty of fish and game. The Three Sisters answered their prayers and carried others up to Manitou, the Great Creator. There were serious penalties involved for those who violated the sacred waters.

Tony sighed. Although he wasn’t a fan of mythology, he’d always been fascinated by the lake, and the story of the lovers, Tayouroughay and Gowanda, had touched something deep inside him. The Mohawk maiden, with the beautiful eyes and raven hair, was the chief’s daughter. She was a beautiful, kind, and caring woman and every brave wanted her for his own, but she’d fallen in love with an enemy named Gowanda. When her father told her the time had come to marry, he told her he’d chosen Annosothka to be her husband, but rather than marry a man she didn’t love, Tayouroughay fled her village and threw herself into the lake. Gowanda drowned trying to save her.

Tony stared out at the roiling waters. For as long as he could remember, he and his family had travelled from Toronto to spend two weeks at his Uncle Pierce’s cottage near the Sandbanks. When Tony was fifteen, the first winery on the island opened, and his parents had decided a tour was in order. They’d found the Lake of the Mountain by accident, and Tony’s fascination with the place had started. They’d come back each of the next five years until his mother’s death and his dad had found the memories too painful. By then, Tony had been in university and between working, running cross-country, and his studies, he’d had no time for summer holidays and visits to nostalgic places.

He checked his watch. Being awake at two in the morning was a nasty habit he needed to break. He’d been having these unusually vivid dreams ever since he’d arrived at the resort, but they’d been limited to exquisite, erotic fantasies. Tonight’s dream had started that way, but it had somehow transitioned into a flight for his life. Dreams usually had meaning that had nothing to do with their content. This research project into the source of the water in the lake meant everything to him personally and professionally. He was afraid something would happen to ruin it. That explained being chased, but it didn’t explain the sexual fantasies—those he could explain without a dream interpretation manual.

The woman in his dreams was the stranger who walked along the beach every now and then. She was beautiful and exotic, the way he supposed a Mohawk princess would look. He’d always preferred women who didn’t look like carbon copies of others. He was a collector of sorts, and his apartment teemed with paintings and sculptures of the type of women who attracted him. He’d paid a small fortune in July for a reproduction of Botticelli’s Venus which had used a First Nations’ model. After the letter from the Dean telling him he’d been granted tenure, it was his most prized possession. The woman in his dreams was always naked, with her hair unbound, and the same shy smile of his Venus.

The first night he’d arrived, he’d had trouble sleeping, and when he’d gone out on the porch like he was now, he’d realized he hadn’t been the only one awake. A woman, a blanket wrapped shawl-like around herself, strange since the night was unseasonably warm, her hair in a long braid down her back, walked along the edge of the sandy beach. She moved southeast toward the edge of the lookout. He’d gone outside to get a better look at her, maybe say hello since the light on the tree house would illuminate him, but she hadn’t come back that way. He assumed she’d walked behind the house, and he’d missed her. He’d looked for her during the day, but he hadn’t seen her. He’d figured she’d left the resort.

The next night, his imagination and libido had taken over, and in his dreams, he’d not only introduced himself, they’d had mind-blowing sex. The things he’d done to her… Thank God he woke up before his body finished responding to his fantasy. He was a little old for shot spots on the sheets!

Tony had gotten up, frustrated as old hell and gone downstairs as he had tonight. Unlike now, the water had been so still, it had looked like a mirror reflecting the stars on its surface. It was as if the water and the heavens were one, and he felt suspended between them. He’d heard the sounds of animals scurrying in the brush nearby. He saw bats swooping overhead. An owl hooted, and he shivered. Just as she had the previous night, the woman walked along the beach from the marshy area to the north. He called out to her. She turned at the sound of his voice and stopped. He was about to run out to her when he realized he was naked. He hurried inside, grabbed his swimsuit, and went out again, but she was gone.

Tonight’s storm was one of the worst he’d ever seen. The rain was coming down in sheets. Thank God the kids had made it back. He was about to go inside when a flash of lightning, the first he’d seen tonight, illuminated the beach. He blinked.

What the hell?

The woman was there, wrapped in her blanket, walking along the beach as if all hell wasn’t breaking loose around her. She’d get sick out there like that. He ran to the door. It didn’t matter if he was going to get soaked, he needed to catch her. He raced across the short expanse of grass, looked up into the rain, but he was alone. She’d vanished. The wind screamed in his ears and whipped the skeletal branches of the trees around him.

For the first time he wondered if Steve the bartender was right, and he was seeing things. Wet through, he walked back through the rain toward the tree house. He noted the light go off in Jackson’s room. That guy must have pulled an all-nighter again. He wondered if his student had ever noticed a woman on the beach.

Tony went inside, stripped off his wet clothes, and tossed them in the kitchen sink. Naked and shivering, he climbed upstairs and went into the bathroom. He took a hot shower to warm himself and then dried his shoulder-length hair. He really should consider getting it cut. It was a pain at times. He grabbed a clean pair of boxers out of the drawer and fell into bed. Between the news Lindsay and Aaron had given him today, and the nightmare, he hoped he’d get some sleep.

***

The sound of frantic pounding on his door and Jackson’s voice yelling incomprehensibly woke Tony from a sound sleep. He looked at the alarm beside the bed. It was barely after eight. He tried to focus on what the boy was saying.

“Professor Steele! Wake up! Please wake up? I don’t know what to do. They’re dead, professor, they’re dead!” Jackson was hysterical, his voice laced with panic.

The words didn’t seem to make sense, but suddenly, they jolted Tony into full consciousness.

What the hell? Dead? Who’s dead?

Tony jumped out of bed, grabbed the jeans he’d left on the chair, and hurried barefoot down the stairs to open the door. Jackson’s fist was in mid-air preparing to pound on the door again. The boy was dressed in his running gear as he always was at this time of day. A fanatic runner, he did his ten mile run each morning, rain or shine. He hadn’t let today’s lousy weather deter him. He and Lindsay hoped to qualify for the next Canadian Summer Olympic Team.

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. His breath came out in pants. Tony forced himself to assume a calm he didn’t feel. Something was very wrong, and he needed to be strong to support the boy in his distress.

“What happened, Jackson? Who’s dead?” His tone was abrupt, as professorial as he could make it.

Jackson pointed to the beach, to the spot where Tony had seen the woman the night before. On the beach, next to a canoe and assorted branches and other debris, there was what appeared to be a lump of rags. Fear coursed through his veins, and his heart leapt into his throat. Had he been wrong last night? Instead of vanishing, had the woman been swept into the angry water? In that storm it would have been easy for a rip current to form and pull 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. He knew Jackson had followed him. He stopped beside the body—no bodies. The feet were on shore, but the heads were still in the water.

“Oh my God!” he cried out as he recognized Aaron who was on his back, his face barely submerged. The head tucked under his, the body bundled inside the zippered jacket, had to belong to Lindsay. 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. The police will be here shortly. I know it doesn’t seem right to leave them that way, but we have to.”

Tony heard a shrill scream just behind him and turned in time to see Lissa collapse to the ground. Jackson stood numbly beside her. The boy had made no move to help the traumatized girl.

“Jackson,” he yelled, but the boy obviously in shock, didn’t respond. Tony walked over to him and shook him. The boy blinked his eyes. He looked like a lost, frightened child. Tears continued to course down his cheeks. Tony wanted to sympathize with the boy, but he couldn’t.

“Help me get her inside. She’ll catch pneumonia out here. She’s wet right through.”

Tony looked up and saw Kara running across the grass toward them. The girl didn’t need to see the bodies. It was bad enough that Lissa and Jackson had. No doubt that image would remain with them, as it would with him, for the rest of their lives.

He called out to the girl. “Kara, come here. I need your help.” The girl turned and ran over to him, but her eyes were fixed on the shoreline.

“I called nine-one-one like Isaac said. The dispatcher promised someone would be here shortly. What happened?”

There was no point in hiding the truth from her. She’d know sooner or later.

“Two of my students have had an accident. They’re dead.”

She gasped.

“Follow me. Lissa has fainted. I’ll need your help getting her undressed and into bed.”

She nodded. He watched the tears fill her eyes. “She and Aaron were going to get married in the spring. Poor thing, and I think she’s pregnant too.”

Tony’s head snapped up. Son of a bitch. That’s why she’s been so sick lately. What the hell am I supposed to do now?

Jackson had lifted Lissa up into his arms and was walking to the cottage she and Aaron had shared. Tony hurried ahead of him, and opened the door.

“Take her into the bedroom. Tony and then wait for me. Kara, help me get her undressed.”

With Him holding Lissa more or less upright, his eyes averted to preserve Lissa’s modesty, Kara removed the wet pajamas and replaced them with a dry nightshirt. Tony carried the girl to bed and tucked her in. The fact that she’d yet to come to worried him.

He went out into the other room.

“Jackson, I need you to stay with Lissa. Don’t leave her. The police are on their way, and I’ll send the paramedics in to have a look at both of you as soon as I can. Whatever you do, don’t let her come down to the beach.”

He followed Kara out of the cottage. He heard the sirens.

“Go back to the office. There isn’t anything else you can do.”

The girl nodded and retraced her steps to the resort’s office. The police car pulled into the lot followed by the ambulance. Tony knew there was nothing he could do either, but he needed to know what the hell had happened.