C.D. Hersh's Blog, page 19
July 5, 2024
Friday Feature Developing a Shape Shifter World
As we’ve been invited to talk at a book club in the coming month we had to think back to when we started our journey. Even more specifically how we started. So today we’d like to tell you a little bit about the paranormal shape shifter world we created for our series The Turning Stone Chronicles.
To start we began brainstorming our book on a long road trip. A sign, entitled Turning Stone, was the impetus for the series name, The Turning Stone Chronicles. We decided we were going to go with shape shifters in part because we like paranormal books and because the title of the series lent itself nicely to shape shifters. We briefly considered vampires—after all they shift into bats—but ditched the idea because Catherine didn’t think she could sleep at night if we wrote a vampire book. They’ve always scared the life out of her—no pun intended.
While talking about what our shifter world would look like, Donald suggested we do
something different. Typically, a shape shifter has one alternate form—an animal, which is more often than not a wolf. Donald remembered a class he’d taken in college where they talked about the three parts of the human psyche, the id, ego, and super ego. He suggested we take that concept, a tri-personality aspect, and tweak it a bit for our books. Consequently, our shifters have the ability to shift into other human forms, as well as an animal form.
As we talked about how the shape shifting elements were going to differ in our books, we 
began to wonder about the clothing question our characters faced when they turned into an animal. Catherine had done some were-animal research earlier that revealed hiding their human form clothes, when they have shifted into an animal, prevents them from turning back into humans. That makes shape shifters susceptible to easy capture, in our opinion, so we decided to eliminate that problem by adding magic rings to the mix—the Turning Stone rings, carved from an ancient bloodstone by Celtic druids. Because of the magic in the rings, when our characters shift into animals their clothing, the ring, and anything else on their person is transformed, too. However, that is not the case when they are shifting into another human form, which makes for some interesting scenes in the book.
We’ve had a lot of fun designing a new and different shape shifting world, developing
interesting rules for our tri-personality shifters, and discovering who and what each character’s alter ego and animal ego are. We like to listen to our characters and let them give us clues about their other personalities. Here’s a hint about the secret Turning Stone Society shape shifters—it’s a zoo out there.
Do you like shape shifter stories? What’s your favorite were-animal? What animal do you think you would be if you had a Turning Stone ring?
The Promised One (The Turning Stone Chronicles Book 1)
Blood Brothers (The Turning Stone Chronicles Book 2)
Son of the Moonless Night (The Turning Stone Chronicles Book 3)
The Mercenary and the Shifters (The Turning Stone Chronicles Book 4)
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July 2, 2024
Wednesday Special Spotlight America’s Birthday Celebration
As tomorrow is the celebration of the birth of our country we thought it appropriate we take a break from 
featuring books and authors and feature our nation. There have been many who have made it great, sung songs and written about what it means. But one of the most moving we have heard is the story told by Red Skelton of his school master and the meaning of the Pledge of Allegiance.
The following are a few more patriotic videos you might like.
John Wayne “America – Why I Love Her”
Lee Greenwood- God Bless the U.S.A. lyrics
Going Home – Fallen Soldier Bagpipe Tribute 
In The Arms Of An Angel-American Soldiers Tribute
My Name is America by Todd Allen Herendeen- The Official Patriotic Anthem
Angel Flight (Radio Tower Remix) – w/ Lyrics
Star Spangled Banner As You’ve Never Heard It
Trace Adkins’ “Arlington” USA Military Tribute
The history of Taps told by John Wayne.
Brooks & Dunn – Only In America
Kate Smith Sings God Bless America, 1930s
Celebrate the fourth and enjoy your day.
July 1, 2024
Tell Again Tuesday Dreams become stories
On Dreaming and WritingBy Joanne Guidoccio
Last Thursday, I participated in a WFWA (Women’s Fiction Writers Association) webinar with writer, educator, and certified dreamwork professional Tzivia Gover. She is the author of Dreaming on the Page: Tap into Your Midnight Mind to Supercharge Your Writing, The Mindful Way to a Good Night’s Sleep, and Joy in Every Moment.
Tzivia began by reminding us that we are all storytelling beings who dream several times each night, whether we remember the dreams or not. Many of those dreams are filled with . . .
For the rest of the blog go to:June 27, 2024
Friday Feature PIZZA!
Ready for some comfort food? I bet you are! So, let’s go with a fan favorite – PIZZA! Not just any pizza, but one so extraordinaire you’ll toss all those take-out menus and never order in again. The sauce is superb and flavorful and is worth adding the numerous ingredients. This pizza is perfect for game night and gatherings on those cool or damp days at your vacation or stay-cation home. Now that’s Amore!
SAUCE
1 – 6 oz. can tomato paste6 oz. warm water (110° F/45° C)3 tbsp. Parmesan cheese, grated1 tsp. garlic, minced2 tbsp. honey1 tsp. anchovy paste¾ tsp. onion powder¼ tsp. dried oregano¼ tsp. dried marjoram¼ tsp. dried basil¼ tsp. ground black pepper⅛ tsp. cayenne pepper⅛ tsp. dried red pepper flakesSalt to tasteCombine all ingredients in a small bowl. Stir well, breaking up any cheese clumps.
Allow the sauce to sit for 30 minutes to blend flavors. Spread sauce evenly over the dough. Add any of toppings you like.
CRUST
2¼ tsp. active dry yeast½ tsp. brown sugar1½ cups warm water (110° F/45° C)1 tsp. salt2 tbsp. olive oil3⅓ cups all-purpose flourVegetable or olive oilUse a large bowl to dissolve yeast and brown sugar in the water. Let sit for 10 minutes.
Stir salt and oil into the yeast solution. Mix in 2½ cups of flour.
Turn dough out onto clean, well-floured surface, and knead in more flour until the dough is no
longer sticky. You may or may not use all of the remaining 1⅓ cups of flour.
Place dough into a well-oiled bowl and then cover with a cloth. Let dough rise until double, approximately 1 hour. Punch down dough and then form it into a tight ball. Allow the dough to relax for a minute before rolling out.
Preheat oven to 425° (220° C).
If you are baking the dough on a pizza stone, you may spread the sauce and add your favorite toppings on the dough and bake immediately. If you are baking your pizza in a pan, lightly oil the pan, and let the dough rise for 15 or 20 minutes before topping and baking it.
Bake pizza until cheese and crust are golden brown, about 15 to 20 minutes.
While you’re enjoying your slice of mouth-watering, made-to-order pizza why not put your feet up and relax on the couch with a good book? May I suggest a visit to Fairy Falls, or if you’re feeling really adventurous, a trip back in time with The
Last Timekeepers? Whichever you choose, I assure you that either series will take you on a journey far away from the chaos and problems of your world.
The only witness left to testify against an unsolved crime in Fairy Falls isn’t a person…
City born and bred, Hart Stewart possesses the gift of psychometry—the psychic ability to discover facts about an event or person by touching inanimate objects associated with them. Since his mother’s death, seventeen-year-old Hart has endured homelessness, and has learned ways to keep his illiteracy under wraps. He eventually learns of a great-aunt living in Fairy Falls, and decides to leave the only life he’s ever known for an uncertain future.
Diana MacGregor lives in Fairy Falls. Her mother was a victim of a senseless murder. Only Diana’s unanswered questions and her grief keeps her going, until Hart finds her mother’s lost ring and becomes a witness to her murder.
Through Hart’s psychic power, Diana gains hope for justice. Their investigation leads them into the corrupt world threatening Fairy Falls. To secure the town’s future, Hart and Diana must join forces to uncover the shocking truth, or they risk losing the true essence of Fairy Falls forever.
Sharon Ledwith is the author of the middle-grade/YA time travel series, THE LAST TIMEKEEPERS, and the teen psychic mystery series, MYSTERIOUS TALES FROM FAIRY FALLS. When not writing, researching, or revising, she enjoys reading, exercising, anything arcane, and an occasional dram of scotch. Sharon lives a serene, yet busy life in a southern tourist region of Ontario, Canada, with her hubby, one spoiled yellow Labrador and a moody calico cat.
Learn more about Sharon Ledwith on her website and blog. Stay connected on Facebook and Twitter, Google+, Goodreads, and Smashwords. Look up her Amazon Author page for a list of current books. Be sure to check out THE LAST TIMEKEEPERS TIME TRAVEL SERIES Facebook page.
June 25, 2024
Wednesday Special Spotlight New Release For Stella May
Love can heal the rift between them. But can it survive an act of supreme cruelty?
For five years, Natasha Sokolova has loved and cared for jewelry tycoon Dmitry Rostoff’s two children, Peter and Katia, on her own. Her nights haunted with achingly cruel dreams of unrequited love, and promises never made.
Peter’s eighteenth birthday arrives. Dmitry is returning home to celebrate. Nathasha is five years stronger, five years smarter—and she’d rather die than give Dmitry the satisfaction of knowing he broke her heart.
Dmitry put thousands of miles between him and the act of betrayal that nearly destroyed him. Only for Peter does he break his vow never to return, endure the ugly memories of an evil mother, and swallow his bitterness just long enough to make his son happy—then make his escape.
One look at the beautiful woman who stole his heart—and the angelic daughter he once couldn’t bear to lay eyes on—loosens the knot of hatred coiled inside him. The desire to free himself from his past, and his family from the prison of the Rostoff estate, sparks a plan that Dmitry is certain will succeed.
But the Rostoff matriarch has no intention of allowing her grandchildren to slip from her control. To further strengthen her dominance, she plots to create a rift between Dmitry and Natasha that is impassable—and permanent.
EXCERPT
Natasha roamed through all the rooms of the suite ready for Dmitry to occupy during his visit. It became her habit over the past few days to return here and stay for a minute or so. She didn’t know why this particular suite pulled her like a magnet. The fact that he will occupy it, sleep in the huge bed, look out of this window?
Maybe. Probably. More than likely. She drew a deep breath.
You are acting silly, Natasha. He already forgot about you.
But silly or not, she came here every day. And remembered.
Five years, Natasha mused. Five long years since she last saw him, or talked to him. She learned about him from his son Peter, Petya as she preferred to call him in Russian. From the bits and pieces of information he provided, Natasha knew about Dmitry’s life in Paris, his work, his friends. But nothing about his private life. She didn’t want to know. No concern of hers. He wasn’t her concern.
Or so she tried to convince herself. Every day for the last five years.
No, really, she cared less if he found someone else. Svetlana, his true love, died a long time ago. Life should go on with or without people we love as the natural order of things.
So, why is your life going nowhere?
Oh, my life’s just great!
Habitually Natasha debated with her opponent, her inner voice that recently disagreed with her too often.
I have a family, even friends. I have all I need; all the life I can handle!
Yeah? Then why are you coming to his rooms every night? Do you like torturing yourself?
I’m not! Torturing myself, that is. I just…
You just… what? Remember? Dream?
Well, yes. And what’s wrong with that?
Nothing, except that dreams are cruel. You should know that.
She sighed. Yes, she should. And she has. She shouldn’t even think about him, not now, not ever. Except….
So many issues bound them together.
Svetlana, the kids.
And, yes, memories.
He left five years ago without a word. Just like that. Like he never was.
She felt rejected. Betrayed. Even though she had no right to feel that way. He never said anything, never promised her anything. He never even touched her except that night in the gardens, when he held her. Close, but not close enough.
The memory of that one night haunted her for a long time. Instead of ignoring them or locking them inside, Natasha often intentionally dragged her memories from her subconscious mind, forcing herself to face them. That self-imposed torture cost her dearly, but it also helped her to accept the truth. She meant nothing to Dmitry Rostoff. Their chemistry was just a fluke born out of the shared traumatic experience. No less, no more. She accepted it, learned to live with it. But she could never forget.
Whatever happened, or rather not happened, between them five years ago didn’t die a natural death. No, a brutal amputation ended everything. And like any chopped limb it throbbed and bled. Still.
Amazon Buy Link and other noted sellers
Stella May is the penname for Marina Sardarova who has a fascinating history you should read on her website.
Stella writes fantasy romance as well as time travel romance. She is the author of ‘Till Time Do Us Part, Book 1 in her Upon a Time series, and the stand-alone book Rhapsody in Dreams. Love and family are two cornerstones of her stories and life. Stella’s books are available in e-book and paperback through all major vendors.
When not writing, Stella enjoys classical music, reading, and long walks along the ocean with her husband. She lives in Jacksonville, Florida with her husband Leo of 30 years and their son George. They are her two best friends and are all partners in their family business.Follow Stella on her website and blog. Stay connected on Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest.
June 24, 2024
Tell Again Tuesday Wish I knew
Celebrating Five Years as a Published Author!By Jeanine Englert
It’s crazy to think that five years has passed since my first book, Lovely Digits, was published by Soul Mate Publishing on June 12, 2019. At times it feels like yesterday, while at other times, I think of how different my writing path and journey has been from what I expected as a new author. Much of my journey has far exceeded anything I could have ever wished for myself, while a few things were undoubtedly worse. I thought I’d share the 5 things I wish I’d known that surprised me about my publication journey since that fateful morning 5 years ago and how to cope with them. As with any advice: only take what works for you and ignore the rest. 
. . .
June 20, 2024
Friday Feature Summer Solstice
The longest day of the year, every year, in the Northern Hemisphere falls on either June 20 or 21. The 20th is the day for this year. The event signals the beginning of the astronomical summer north of the equator.
“Solstice” means “sun stands still” in Latin. This is because the sunrise on the solstice is the farthest northeast and sunset is the farthest northwest of the year. For a few days before and after the solstice, the sun also appears close to these farthest points before slowly drifting back to rise and set due east at the fall equinox. Therefore, the sun appears to stand still in the sky.
A still sun is most interesting to paranormal/time slip authors such as ourselves. There can be all kind of things that happen because the sun appears to stand still. Does this open a portal to another time period? Another world? Another dimension? The possibilities are endless.
The prehistoric creators of England’s “Stonehenge” thought the sun event important enough to build their monuments such that on the solstice the sun’s rays align with the heel stone of the monument. What did they know that we don’t?
In Egypt, when standing in front of the Sphinx, the sun appears to set between the ancient pyramids of Khafre and Khufu on the summer solstice. Were the Egyptians looking for a way to meet with the dead?
Yesterday you got the most daylight of the year to get things done. What did you do with all that light. Did you sit by a pool to soak up the rays? Work around the yard? Play an extra round of golf? Or was there something else you used the extra daylight for?
For us it was a normal day, other than the light still streamed through the windows at bedtime.
Our big solstice news is our time-slip book, Ghosts and Gardenias, available in print from Amazon. . So put away your e-reader and travel back in time to where print books reigned. You won’t have to worry about the sun reflecting off a screen or the battery dying at a cliffhanger. Hurry and get your copy today before you lose the daylight.
Here’s a sample to get you interested:
[image error]
Susan longed to feel the antique silk touching her body. She flipped her long hair behind her shoulders, then held the dress to her chest measuring the tiny waist to her own. The dress might fit, at least for as long as she could hold her breath.
The gardenia scent grew stronger. Susan twirled around to face the cheval mirror, the dress still held to her. The last rays of the evening sun, coming through a rip in the attic window curtain, glinted off the mirror, blinding her for a moment. She touched the glass, gasping when her hands met the ice-cold edge. Rubbing the goose bumps on her arms she took two steps backward.
Her reflection, misty and spotted by the mirror’s worn silver backing, stared at her. When she stepped closer to the mirror the image blurred even more. She blinked, trying to clear her vision.
As she reached for the mirror, the gardenia scent changed from pungent to rotting. Another flash of light glinted off the mirror. Susan’s breath caught in her chest as she tried to sort out what she saw. Two overlaid images, both her yet different, stared from the silvered glass.
The more prominent image wore a pristine version of the dress Susan held to her body. No yellowed streaks marred the silk. The lace caplet billowed around her shoulders as though caught in a breeze stirred by a midsummer storm. Mahogany curls adorned her head like a crown—a sharp contrast to Susan’s long, flowing hair. A pair of green eyes, a near match to her emerald ones, stared out of the mirror.
Heart racing, Susan clutched the fabric in her fist. She moved to the right. The two images parted briefly then merged. She moved to the left. The same thing happened. Squeezing her eyes shut, Susan willed her pounding heart to slow and ignored her instinct to drop the dress and run.
A trick of the light. Nothing weird is happening. There’s a rational, logical explanation.
Gathering her courage, Susan fluttered her eyes open and peeked at the mirror. Her reflection had been replaced by the Victorian woman. A low moan rolled from the glass. Dropping the gown on the floor Susan skittered backward.
If this interests you in our newest book Ghosts and Gardenias is available now on Amazon, the first book in our Haunting of Garnoa Road Series.
Here are the links for our other books:
You can find our books on our book page, under the menu at the top of the page or on our Amazon Author Page
June 18, 2024
Wednesday Special Spotlight A Gift From Dad
When my dad was 92, he got sick. With the exception of some childhood bouts of pneumonia—the result of growing up in a house full of chain-smoking coal miners—he’d been robustly healthy his entire life. That he survived the twin assaults of Valley Fever and pneumonia was surprising. Before dying just a week shy of 97, he still took ballroom dance lessons, required not a single medication, and read the New York Times every day.
My father was an ice dancer until he was 80. Then he took up ballroom.
However, my dad was not the same as he was before his illness. His mind was altered, leaving him fuzzy in the short-term memory department. Ironically, and like many elderly people, he has no trouble recalling in vivid detail events that occurred many decades ago. The Japanese kamikaze that flew so close to his destroyer escort he could see the young pilot’s eyes before the plane narrowly missed the ship and plunged into the sea. The sailor plucked from dark, oil-slicked water who lay in his arms and asked for a cigarette before dying. The shipmate who worked as Mickey Rooney’s stunt double who sometimes climbed the mast and performed swan dives into the ocean. And the bodies of downed pilots, in a neat row on the deck, tarp covered save for their feet which rocked rhythmically as the ship swayed beneath the night sky, waiting to be buried at sea.
My father served on a destroyer escort during World War II. The men of the USS Ulvert Moore fought in numerous battles, including Iwo Jima and Okinawa.
Bright and clear is another memory my dad carries, one of a ten-year-old growing up in the mining town of North Irwin, Pennsylvania. The small dwelling on Penn Avenue housed immigrants, Irish in my father’s case. But Italians, and Poles, and Russians, and others lived on the street, as well, all sharing something in common. They were poor.
“Dad’s taking you to a ballgame,” his mother called.
Clad in knickers with clasps below the knees, brown shoes and socks, and a white button-down, my father balked when she handed him a sack lunch bearing a chicken sandwich and a small red apple.
“I wanna get lunch when I get there,” he said. “Everyone buys their lunch at the ballgame.”
My grandfather— thin, balding, blue eyes dancing beneath the brim of a fedora—smiled, then ushered my dad to the train station. There was no money to make the trip to Pittsburg’s Forbes Field, but my grandfather worked for the railroad, one of the few members of the Butler clan to avoid laboring in the mines, so they rode the train for free.
My dad still clutched his sack lunch on the streetcar that would drop them in front of the stadium. “I wanted to hide it,” he said. “I put it under the seat because I didn’t want people to see it.”
After disembarking at Forbes Field, they were caught in an excited wave of baseball fans rushing to get into the game. When they settled into their seats, my dad tucked the brown bag out of sight.
The game got underway, but then a strange murmuring swept through the crowd. My dad turned and, up in the stands on the third-base side, he saw a couple approaching.
“The man was young, dashing. Black hair. Big smile. Well-dressed. She was a beautiful lady. Blonde. She looked like a movie star. People were waving at them.”
And there was something else.
“He was carrying a two-handled picnic basket.”
“What are you looking at?” my grandfather asked. “I think there’s gonna be a squeeze play.”
But my dad kept staring at the couple.
“Paul, you have to watch the game. Is there something wrong?” My grandfather turned.
“I don’t understand why anyone would bring a picnic basket to a ballgame unless they were real poor. He doesn’t look poor.”
“Paul, he isn’t poor!” my grandfather said. “That’s Billy Conn, the Light Heavyweight Champion of the World.”
Conn, an Irish-American boxer and local favorite called The Pittsburgh Kid, was known for being cocky and brash, his fights against Joe Louis, and his 63-11-1 record.
My dad continued to keep his brown bag hidden beneath the seat as he watched the game that day, taking a bite occasionally, hoping no one would notice. He wondered about the glamorous couple, sneaking peeks as they snacked on their picnic-basket lunch. He thought about what it meant to be poor.
A chance sighting of world champion boxer Billy Conn had my then ten-year-old father pondering what it meant to be poor.
“I should have been proud to be able to go to the ballgame,” my dad said, blinking blue eyes that look just like mine. “I learned that I shouldn’t worry about what other people might think of me.”
I thought about his wise words, a lesson he learned at the tender age of ten, a time he still recalls so vividly.
Thanks to the G.I. Bill, my father would earn a bachelor’s degree from Penn State University. When I was eight, I watched from the balcony as he received a master’s degree from Seton Hall. Because of his stint in the Navy and his education, we were never poor, something that, as a ten-year-old, he might have been comforted to know.
Here is a brief peek at Anne’s latest release.
Bud Richardville is inducted into the Army as the United States prepares for the invasion of Europe in 1943. A chance comment has Bud assigned to the Graves Registration Service where his unit is tasked with locating, identifying, and burying the dead. Bud ships out, leaving behind his new wife, Lorraine, a mysterious woman who has stolen his heart but whose secretive nature and shadowy past leave many unanswered questions. When Bud and his men hit the beach at Normandy, they are immediately thrust into the horrors of what working in a graves unit entails. Bud is beaten down by the gruesome demands of his job and losses in his personal life, but then he meets Eva, an optimistic soul who despite the war can see a positive future. Will Eva’s love be enough to save him?
Praise for Your Forgotten Sons
“Although a defty crafted work of original fiction, “Your Forgotten Sons” by Anne Montgomery is inspired by a true story. An original and inherently interesting read from start to finish, “Your Forgotten Sons” will prove to be an immediate and enduringly appreciated pick.” Midwest Book Review
“This was a quick, riveting read that really challenged me to think differently about our servicemen and women, especially those who take on the jobs that don’t get heroically depicted in the media or news…I really highly recommend this book to anyone that is looking for a different take on American history. I left it with a newfound appreciation for the unsung heroes.” Bekah C NetGalley
“This is the truth. It’s gritty and painful and bittersweet – and true. When you think you’ve read every perspective of WWII, along comes Bud to break your heart.” Bridgett Siter Former Military Reporter
“Anne Montgomery writes a strong story and I was hooked from the first page. It had a great concept and I enjoyed that this was inspired by a true story…It was written perfectly and I was invested in the story. Anne Montgomery has a great writing style and left me wanting to read more.” – Kathryn McLeer NetGalley
Available at Amazon, Apple Books, Barnes & Noble, Google Books, and Kobo
Anne Montgomery has worked as a television sportscaster, newspaper and magazine writer, teacher, amateur baseball umpire, and high school football referee. She worked at WRBL‐TV in Columbus, Georgia, WROC‐TV in Rochester, New York, KTSP‐TV in Phoenix, Arizona, ESPN in Bristol, Connecticut, where she anchored the Emmy and ACE award‐winning SportsCenter, and ASPN-TV as the studio host for the NBA’s Phoenix Suns. Montgomery has been a freelance and staff writer for six publications, writing sports, features, movie reviews, and archeological pieces.
When she can, Anne indulges in her passions: rock collecting, scuba diving, football refereeing, and playing her guitar.
Learn more about Anne Montgomery on her website and Wikipedia. Stay connected on Facebook, Linkedin, and Twitter.
June 17, 2024
Tell Again Tuesday Rat Race
Okay to unwindBy Lori Deschene
You don’t always need to be getting stuff done.
Sometimes it’s perfectly okay, and absolutely necessary, to shut down, kick back, and do nothing.
June 13, 2024
Friday Feature Perfect Marriage
Since we celebrated our 54th anniversary this week we could not resist sharing this tongue in cheek recipe from Red Skelton.
To Have the Perfect Marriage:
1. Two times a week we go to a nice restaurant, have a little beverage, good food and companionship. She goes on Tuesdays, I go on Fridays.
2. We also sleep in separate beds. Hers is in California and mine is in Texas.
3. I take my wife everywhere, but she keeps finding her way back.
4. I asked my wife where she wanted to go for our anniversary. “Somewhere I haven’t been in a long time!” she said. So I suggested the kitchen.
5. We always hold hands. If I let go, she shops.
6. She has an electric blender, electric toaster and electric bread maker. She said “There are too many gadgets, and no place to sit down!” So I bought her an electric chair.
7. My wife told me the car wasn’t running well because there was water in the carburetor. I asked where the car was. She told me, “In the lake.”
8. She got a mud pack and looked great for two days. Then the mud fell off.
9. She ran after the garbage truck, yelling, “Am I too late for the garbage?” The driver said, “No, jump in!”.
10. Remember: Marriage is the number one cause of divorce.
11. I married Miss Right. I just didn’t know her first name was ‘Always’.
12. I haven’t spoken to my wife in 18 months. I don’t like to interrupt her.
13. The last fight was my fault though. My wife asked, “What’s on the TV?”
I said, “Dust!”.
Can’t you just hear him say all of these?
We adore this list. These were the golden days when humor didn’t need to begin with a four-letter word or become political. It was just clean and simple fun. And he always ended his programs with the words, “And May God Bless”with a big smile on his face.
We do try to put a little levity in the romance in our books. Currently we are writing book two in this series and hope you’ll enjoy this excerpt from the first book, Ghosts and Gardenias, available to download from Amazon.
[image error]
Susan longed to feel the antique silk touching her body. She flipped her long hair behind her shoulders, then held the dress to her chest measuring the tiny waist to her own. The dress might fit, at least for as long as she could hold her breath.
The gardenia scent grew stronger. Susan twirled around to face the cheval mirror, the dress still held to her. The last rays of the evening sun, coming through a rip in the attic window curtain, glinted off the mirror, blinding her for a moment. She touched the glass, gasping when her hands met the ice-cold edge. Rubbing the goose bumps on her arms she took two steps backward.
Her reflection, misty and spotted by the mirror’s worn silver backing, stared at her. When she stepped closer to the mirror the image blurred even more. She blinked, trying to clear her vision.
As she reached for the mirror, the gardenia scent changed from pungent to rotting. Another flash of light glinted off the mirror. Susan’s breath caught in her chest as she tried to sort out what she saw. Two overlaid images, both her yet different, stared from the silvered glass.
The more prominent image wore a pristine version of the dress Susan held to her body. No yellowed streaks marred the silk. The lace caplet billowed around her shoulders as though caught in a breeze stirred by a midsummer storm. Mahogany curls adorned her head like a crown—a sharp contrast to Susan’s long, flowing hair. A pair of green eyes, a near match to her emerald ones, stared out of the mirror.
Heart racing, Susan clutched the fabric in her fist. She moved to the right. The two images parted briefly then merged. She moved to the left. The same thing happened. Squeezing her eyes shut, Susan willed her pounding heart to slow and ignored her instinct to drop the dress and run.
A trick of the light. Nothing weird is happening. There’s a rational, logical explanation.
Gathering her courage, Susan fluttered her eyes open and peeked at the mirror. Her reflection had been replaced by the Victorian woman. A low moan rolled from the glass. Dropping the gown on the floor Susan skittered backward.
If this interests you in our newest book Ghosts and Gardenias is available now on Amazon, the first book in our Haunting of Garnoa Road Series.
Here are the links for our other books:
You can find our books on our book page, under the menu at the top of the page or on our Amazon Author Page
