Emilie Richards's Blog, page 105

Sunday Inspiration: Kindness

Most people, as they age, become less selfish and more loving… Since…your life is going to be a gradual process of becoming kinder and more loving: Hurry up, Speed it along. Start right now. There’s a confusion in each of us, a sickness, really: selfishness.  But there is also a cure.  So be a good and proactive and even somewhat desperate patient on your own behalf — seek out the most efficacious anti-selfishness medicines, energetically, for the rest of your life.

These wise words, delivered by George Saunders, a noted writer, as part of his convocation address at Syracuse University’s College of Arts and Science this spring, were quoted in a column by Chautauqua Institution president Tom Becker in a recent column as a reminder to all of us to “Be kind today.  And keep it up.”

We can so easily be overwhelmed by all the problems in the world and in our own lives, but I know from my own experience that simple acts of kindness can be both satisfying and successful.  I also know how easy it is to forget.

Wouldn’t it be great if at least once a day we suggested to ourselves nothing more complicated than:  ”Be kind.”  Maybe a sign on a bathroom shelf or inside a kitchen cabinet as a reminder?  Those words might pull us toward  the smallest act of kindness.  And who knows where that might lead?

Be kind.

How powerful.

Fiction Friday: Kangaroos, Koalas and Wallabies

Welcome to Fiction Friday, a chance to share snippets of my books with you.  Some are old, some might be books in progress, eventually some may be entirely new content.

Today’s excerpt is from the fourth and final book of my Tales of the Pacific series, which was originally issued in 1988-89, and tells the story of a group of travelers who meet as a hurricane closes in on the island of Oahu.  I’ve given you a taste of From Glowing Embers, Smoke Screen and Rainbow Fire, and today I’ll share a bit of Out of the Ashes.  

You might notice there are links with each of those titles in the previous paragraph.  I’ve linked  to Amazon, but the books are available at all online bookstores.  You can find links to each one here.  Just scroll down to the book you’re interested in and click on the store you like.  Easy-peasy.

Some of you have asked if the books are also available in print.  I don’t have the rights to publish them as print versions, only the e-versions.  If you find the originals at a used bookstore, they will not be identical to these since I’ve done some tweaking and editing.

Kangaroo Island, off the coast of South Australia, where Out of the Ashes takes place is one of my favorite places on earth.  I think you’ll see why when you read the book.

Alexis Whitham has escaped there with her young daughter to begin a new life.  (Note the mama kangaroo and joey on the cover, hint, hint?  Is that perfect or what?)  Alexis finds that her new home isn’t quite as isolated as she had expected.  A nearby national park houses rangers, one of whom is inextricably tangled in her life immediately, although he desperately does not want to be there.  They share more than location, though.  Alexis and Matthew share wounded hearts.  You can find the opening of the book at my website, and this is what follows.

Enjoy this excerpt from Out of the Ashes.

***

Matthew Haley was having his second cup of tea. He had drunk the first an hour before dawn. That was the time when memories took over his dreams, forcing him into a sweating awareness that he was alive and the two people he loved were not. The tea was a ritual cleansing of dreams, a cup of reality, a passage into daylight.

Two cups were required to produce the desired effect. He drank it steaming hot and as dark as the sky when he awakened. He sweetened the first cup with Kangaroo Island’s own honey, a honey that was known nationwide. He never drank that first cup without thinking of the way Jeannie had always sneaked an extra spoonful into her morning tea when she thought he wasn’t looking.

But Matthew had always been looking, because everything Jeannie had done delighted him.

Invariably he drank the second cup plain as he stood at the cabin window and watched the sun climb past the tree shadowed horizon. And each time the sun cleared the treetops, he put all thoughts of the past out of his head and concentrated on that day alone.

He had no reason to believe that today would be any different. He stood at the window wearing little except the expression that had become as much a part of his face as his long, straight nose or the dark brows that sheltered cold blue eyes. The expression said, “Don’t touch me. I know you mean well, but I don’t want you in my life.” It was an expression that had chilled the heart of every man and woman who had tried to get close to him in the three years since his wife and son had died on a ferry plane to the South Australian coast.

The sun had scarcely peeked through the straight, tall trunks of the park’s sugar gum trees when Matthew heard a banging at his door. He set his half-finished tea on a wooden table and, cursing softly, climbed the stairs to pull on a pair of khaki walking shorts before he responded. There was no need for anything more. He knew who would be waiting patiently on the steps. Harry Arnold, another Flinders Chase ranger, was checking on him. Harry checked on Matthew each morning, just as he checked on the park’s kangaroos, emus and koalas. No one else could have gotten away with such a blatant show of concern. Harry did.  Simply because he was Harry.

“A bit early, even for you,” Matthew said as he opened the door.

Harry wasn’t on the stoop. A woman with cornsilk hair and china doll features stood blinking at him, a music box figurine come to life. Beside her stood a pigtailed pixie who was investigating the hair on his chest with curious eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” the woman began.

Matthew crisply cut her off. “The park is closed. If you’re campers, the ranger station opens at—”

Alexis didn’t move. “I’m not here to see the park, Mr….” She waited for him to give his name. When he didn’t, she stepped back to look at the brass plate beside the door. “Haley?”

He nodded, frowning. “I don’t mean to be rude, but as I said, the park isn’t open. I’m not on duty yet.”

“That’s okay,” Jody said before Alexis could speak again. “We don’t care if you’re official. We just want you to come take care of my koala.”

Alexis silenced Jody with a look. She had the distinct feeling that the scowling brown-haired ranger was about to close the door in their faces. “I’m Alexis Whitham, and this is my daughter Jody. We live on the Bartow farm, at the park border. There’s a koala in our front yard, and he’s sick or injured. We have no idea what to do and no one to help us. If you don’t want to help—” she leaned on “want” just a little harder than she needed to “—perhaps you’d be kind enough to tell us who might?”

He noted the accent. The china doll was an American, which didn’t surprise Matthew; he placed her immediately. She and the little girl had been the source of Kangaroo Island gossip for the last month. Americans weren’t unheard of; they visited along with the throngs of other tourists who swept on and off the island with the regularity of the tides. But few Americans had ever chosen to make their homes here. From what the locals could tell, this one and her daughter planned to stay.

Matthew had heard all sorts of conjecture; he had even heard how lovely the foreign stranger was. And he had to concur. She was small and delicate, with features sculpted by a master craftsman and pale gold hair that didn’t quite skim her shoulders. Her eyes were a blue so light they were startling.

No, the gossips hadn’t exaggerated, but now, as then, he wasn’t the slightest bit interested. “Koala? Are you certain?”

Alexis forced herself to be polite, even though the adrenaline rush of the morning had stripped away much of her natural courtesy. “I’m certain. He’s lying under some bushes in our front yard, and he was alive when we left.”

“He knows we’re trying to get help,” Jody added. “I told him.”

Matthew’s eyes flicked to the little girl. He didn’t smile. “And he listened?”

“Of course.” Jody tilted her head. “Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

“Because it’s five o’clock in the morning.”

“I’m sorry,” Alexis apologized, pulling Jody toward her to silence her. “We won’t bother you any longer.”

Jody gasped in protest. “But—”

Alexis tightened her grip on her daughter’s shoulder. “Come on, Jody.”

Matthew couldn’t deny they were bothering him; they were. He’d barely had time to shake off his nightmares, barely had time to escape behind the walls that were his only way of making it through each day. But neither could he deny that they had done the correct thing by seeking him out. Even if koalas hadn’t been protected under Australian law, he would have been the right person to ask for help. He knew about suffering, and he’d be damned if he let any creature suffer needlessly.

“If you’ll wait just one minute, I’ll come with you,” he said gruffly. “Just let me get some clothes on.”

As if drawn by his words, Alexis’s eyes dropped to his bare chest. The ranger was tan and fit, a man who spent his days outdoors under the sun. He was broad-shouldered, but narrow hipped and long-legged. Somehow the strong, rangy lines of his body were more comforting than the austere contours of his face. He was a handsome man—or would be if he smiled, but there was nothing warm or reachable about him. Even though he’d said he was coming with them, it still wouldn’t have surprised Alexis to have him shut the door in their faces and never open it again.

“We’ll wait in our car,” she said, raising her eyes to his face. Nothing there had changed. He was still regarding them with an expression she could only characterize as frozen.

She had a sudden flash of compassion. Wounded recognizing wounded. She had never learned to cover her own wounds so thoroughly, but then, women were taught in childhood to be wide-eyed and vulnerable. It was training she had never quite been able to overcome.

She wondered what had put the sorrow behind the ice in his dark blue eyes.

***

Out of the Ashes is available at Amazon, B&N, Smashwords, Kobo and iTunes.

The Write Way: Finding Ideas for your Novel

I’m sitting at my desk in my new writing home. I wish I could tell you it’s the perfect study, soundproof, light-filled, roomy enough for all my books and research material but not the least bit barny.

Actually this room is light-filled, because I’m working in the glassed-in porch of our old, old cottage in New York. And it is a good size, only it’s also filled with sofas and my husband’s desk and at times very much like Grand Central Station.

I was chased out of my real study by a leak in the brand-new ceiling from a brand-new air conditioner and since no major repairs are allowed here until the end of the summer season, I’m temporarily displaced. It’s a small inconvenience, but it does play havoc with my work schedule. There is so much going on.

For instance, right now children are whizzing by my windows on their bicycles on their way to Boys and Girls Club. Club is where children at Chautauqua Institution go to have fun so their parents can have fun elsewhere on the grounds. We live on one of the busiest bike lanes, so I witness this migration every  morning, smiling at the variety of bikes and helmets and at the very small children who feel safe enough to find their way around these 70 acres.

I watch the multitude of dog walkers.I listen to snatches of conversation, and quite often the cell phone calls of adults who like the crossroads in front of our house because it’s sunny and warm and our temperatures have frequently been in the 50s at night this summer.

What does any of this have to do with finding ideas for your novel?

Let’s backtrack, shall we? What are the possibilities in the mundane details of my incredibly ordinary morning?

1–A temporary displacement can suddenly change the way a character sees the world.

2–The fate of a child who leaves home in a perfectly safe environment and doesn’t return that afternoon because:

He runs away.
He is kidnapped (non-custodial parent? Angry grandparent?  Stranger who is worried he/she is not being well cared for?)
When he crosses Thunder Bridge (it does sound like thunder, by the way) on his way to activities he enters a new dimension, or he is sent back to another time in history.

3–Someone inadvertently eavesdrops on a telephone call at my sunny intersection and becomes worried that:

A possible terror attack is about to ensue.
A spouse is about to leave him/her
Somebody she loves is keeping an important secret that could change her life.
A friend is about to do something foolish and should be stopped.

4–That innocent dog walker who’s gone back and forth in front of my house is actually a private investigator trying to get information about a neighbor who:

Left his wife without child support
Is drawing hefty disability checks but managed to run the annual 5K this weekend

Or maybe he’s checking the area to see how secure it is because the president is about to make a surprise visit.

Are any of these ideas good ones? Well, I see possibilities in a couple. Of course they have to be padded, twisted and turned inside out. But if I needed a new story, these might give me a place to start, a jumping off point, a glimmer.

Don’t ever let anybody tell you that you need more than a glimmer to begin your story. Because that’s where a story always begins. One idea, maybe not even a good idea, but a notion that intrigues you and sets your imagination free.

Don’t wait for lightning to strike. It rarely does. Sit down with a cup of tea and stare out your window. Then pay attention, and if your mind wanders, so much the better.

We novelists call that working.

Sunday Inspiration: The Dismantling of Barriers

“Compassion isn’t just about feeling the pain of others; it’s about bringing them in toward yourself.  If we love what God loves, then, in compassion, margins get erased. ‘Be compassionate as God is compassionate,’ means the dismantling of barriers that exclude.” 

I heard Father Greg Boyle speak this week, and I was deeply moved and inspired by his words, including those above.  Father Boyle is the director of Homeboy Industries, which employs ex-gang members and provides opportunities so that they can get off the streets and make a life for themselves.

Businesses that Father Boyle have started are Homeboy Bakery, Homeboy Silkscreen, Homeboy/Homegirl Merchandise, Homeboy Diner, Homeboy Farmers Markets, Homeboy Plumbing and Homegirl Café.  In addition to giving young people jobs with dignity, Father Boyle gives them hope.

May his work continue to inspire.

 

Fiction Friday: Opal Dreams and Barroom Brawls

Welcome to Fiction Friday, a chance  for me to share bits of novels written or novels in progress.

I spent much of the past month editing my Tales of the Pacific series written in the late 1980s so I could reissue each of the four as ebooks.

For the past two Fridays I’ve introduced you to the first two books, From Glowing Embers and Smoke Screen.  Today I’m featuring Rainbow Fire, book three, set in Coober Pedy, South Australia, a town that exists almost entirely because of the treasure under it’s barren red siltstone hills.

I visited Coober Pedy to research this book, and I was utterly fascinated by this contemporary Australian “Wild West” town.  Re-reading and editing brought back so many wonderful memories of that trip.  It’s a place like none other I’ve been to.

You can read the opening pages by scrolling down a bit here, but I thought you might enjoy a peek into a scene later in the book, too.

Kelsey has come to Australia to find the father, Jake Donovan, who abandoned her as a toddler.  On arrival she learns Jake’s in a coma after falling into a mine shaft, and the local police sergeant has pointed the finger of suspicion at her father’s partner, Dillon Ward, who had the most to gain from Jake’s death.  Unable to help her father any other way, Kelsey makes a decision during a conversation with a woman named Melly and shows the men of Coober Pedy what she’s made of.  And what better place to do it than the pub?

Enjoy this excerpt from Rainbow Fire. 

***

“Are you gonna do a little mining?” Melly asked.  ”You know, find a few opals down in Jake’s mine while you’re here?”

Kelsey couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of that possibility. Sergeant Newberry had as much as suggested it, but she had been too immersed in grief. Now she considered the idea. There was nothing she could do for Jake in Adelaide. She couldn’t even see him. But there was something she could do for him in Coober Pedy. She could keep an eye on the Rainbow Fire mine and Dillon Ward at the same time. Maybe she could even find some opal.

“Yeah, I think that’s exactly what I’m going to do,” Kelsey said, warming to the idea. “As his only living relative, I’m sure I must have the legal right, especially if I don’t intend to sell anything I find.”

Dillon broke her train of thought. “You’re not going down into the mine.”

Kelsey hadn’t expected enthusiasm from Dillon, but neither had she expected him to forbid her. “You don’t think so?” she said casually. “How do you plan to stop me? I’m not as easy to sneak up on as my father.” She heard Melly draw a sharp breath, but Kelsey didn’t take her eyes from Dillon’s. “I have all Jake’s good reflexes, and I know how to guard my back.”

“There’s nothing you can do here that would help matters.”

“No? Whose matters wouldn’t I help?”

Melly stood, obviously uncomfortable. “Well, I’ll leave you two lovebirds to settle this by yourselves.”

Kelsey stood, too. “I think I’ll take that beer after all.”

“Kelsey.”

She turned her head over one shoulder and raked Dillon with a haughty gaze. He had said her name with all the finesse of a drill sergeant. “What?”

“How do you plan to mine the Rainbow Fire without my help?”

“I imagine Sergeant Newberry will help me think of a way.”

“Newberry’s a toad, but even he won’t want a woman down that mine.”

She tossed her hair behind her shoulders. “We’ll see.”

Kelsey was halfway across the room before trouble came looking for her. A young dark-haired man who was shooting pool backed in her direction. With some fancy footwork, Kelsey just managed to avoid cushioning the wrong end of his cue in her thigh. She frowned briefly before she started toward the bar again.

She stopped when strong fingers bit into her shoulders. Kelsey allowed herself to be turned.

“Y’almost lost the game for me, doll.”

The words were as ridiculous as the accent. The man wasn’t a native Australian. Wherever he was from, he had learned to speak English by watching old Hollywood gangster movies. Kelsey knew a Jimmy Cagney imitation when she heard one.

“If you almost lost the game,” she said politely, “it’s because you weren’t paying attention.” She lifted her shoulders to dislodge his hands, but the young man gripped them harder.

“I’d rather lose the game than you.”

Kelsey put all body systems on alert. “I don’t like being manhandled.”

“Maybe y’haven’t been handled by a real man.”

The macho pretense was so overblown it was laughable. But Kelsey knew better than to smile. “Please let go of me,” she said as pleasantly as she could.

“Let her go, Serge. We’ve got a game to finish,” said the man standing beside the table.

“Let go of me, Serge,” Kelsey echoed, her eyes locked with his faintly bloodshot ones.

“A kiss to make up for causing trouble.”

Kelsey had never been the kind of woman who could flirt her way out of situations. She knew that Serge was slightly drunk and showing off, but he was really no more than a boy just coming into manhood. Melly would have wrapped her arms around him and kissed him until he was embarrassed enough to push her away. Kelsey’s response was different.

“Let go of me now,” she said quietly, “and we can both forget this happened.”

“Forget?” Serge laughed loudly. “How’m I gonna forget you, doll?”

Kelsey sighed as he pulled her closer. “I’m afraid you’re not,” she said just before she twisted and brought her elbow sharply against his ribs. His howl of pain accompanied the release of her shoulders. He bent over momentarily, hugging his midsection.

Kelsey backed away a step. “Are you all right?” she asked solicitously.

He straightened, snarling in a language she didn’t understand. When he lunged at her in an excess of ruined manly pride, she simply danced aside and watched him sprawl to the floor.

The room was suddenly silent. Even the taped music had come to an end. Before anyone could reach them, Kelsey squatted beside Serge. “Are you all right?” she asked loudly enough for the men nearest her to hear. “I’m afraid you slipped on something. The floor’s pretty slick.”

“Leave me alone.”

“I’m so sorry. I guess you just had some bad luck.” She stood, almost colliding with Dillon. Since the entire episode had taken only seconds, she knew he must have left his chair at the first sign of trouble.

He took her arm with all the courtesy of a grappling hook and guided her away from the other men. “You’re Jake’s brat all right. Nothing he likes better than a barroom brawl.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That’s me. Born to fight.”

***

Rainbow Fire is available at Amazon, B&N, Kobo and Smashwords as well as the iTunes store.

Agendas in Fiction. Really?

I always enjoy receiving email or letters from my readers. But a recent email really made me stop and think. Not so much because the questions were particularly disturbing, but because of the message behind them.

Here’s how the email ended: Does your publishing company encourage a certain style of writing? A certain viewpoint? Do most of your writings express liberal views or conservative views?

The email also talked about the “liberal agendas” of publishers, not to mention all entertainment media, and asked, essentially, if my publisher required me to follow a certain party line.

I’m still shaking my head over this, although I’m sure this reader meant no harm. I’m not even sure where to start. But start I must, because these are the issues we have to talk about before we can talk together.

One, nobody has ever, ever told me what to write. Nobody has ever, ever, told me what political or spiritual slant to follow in my writing.

Two, despite years and years of communication and friendship with a variety of writers, I have never heard anyone say that a publisher asked him or her to lean in a certain political or spiritual direction in their novels. Yes, if you have decided to write inspirational fiction, there must be inspiration in your books, most commonly a Christian message, or you will need a different kind of publisher. But that’s it. And inspirational publishers really want people who agree with their viewpoint. They would never ask someone who clearly didn’t believe what they do to follow the “party line.” They simply would reject their manuscripts.

Three, even if somebody did tell me what I had to write, what are the chances I would listen? Were my parents alive today they would testify that telling me what to do was always an uphill battle. Telling  me what to do when I don’t believe it’s the right thing to do was then and is now a complete waste of time.

As for the second question?  Do my writings express conservative or liberal views?

I like to think I write to tell a good story.  Along the way my personal values show through.  I believe in bringing people together.  I believe in compassion.  I believe in people reaching out to help each other.  I believe that words like “agenda” were invented by politicians to keep us apart, both liberal and conservative.  I believe that good people need to listen carefully to other good people and try to find common ground.  I believe this is not happening in Washington today and our inability to compromise and find solutions that most of us can live with is tearing our nation apart and adding to the escalating divide between the rich and the poor.

Does that make me a conservative or a liberal?  You tell me.  But does it matter if I’m telling a good story with values you share whether I vote Democratic or Republican or not at all?

No, it does not.

Do we now have to pass a political litmus test before you can say, “Gosh, I really enjoyed that book?”  I sincerely hope not.

Let’s stop talking about agendas.  Let’s stop assuming we must all agree or some of us are bad people.  And let’s stop assuming that publishers want anything more than a riveting novel from the authors who write for them.

Because that’s what they want, and that’s what we always hope we’ve given them.  I hope that’s what my readers want, as well.

Sunday Inspiration: “Happiness comes from giving…”

Happiness comes from giving, not getting. If we try to bring happiness to others, we cannot stop it from coming to us also. To get joy, we must give it, and to keep joy, we must scatter it.

~John Templeton (November 29, 1912 – July 8, 2008) was an American-born British stock investor, businessman and philanthropist.

The theme for the week at my beloved Chautauqua Institution where I spend my summers is The Pursuit of Happiness.  The lectures and programs have been outstanding, but I’ve heard nothing more inspiring than these words by John Templeton on the Charter for Compassion website.

Do you think giving, not getting, is the real secret of life?

If so, how have you found it to be true?  Is this as easy to practice as it is to preach?

Fiction Friday: Tough Guys and Sophisticated Women?

Welcome to Fiction Friday.  I can see it’s going to be lots of fun finding excerpts for you to enjoy from books I’ve written. Clearly the four ebooks I’ve recently put on line are the ones on my mind and therefore the ones I’ll be sharing with you for a while.

This is an excerpt from Smoke Screen. Since you can read the opening at my website, I thought I’d choose a section farther into the book for you to enjoy.

Paige Duvall, a sophisticated young woman from a well-to-do family in New Orleans has come to New Zealand’s North Island to evaluate a large piece of property left to her mother near Rotorua and to recover from a failed romance. (Paige is introduced in From Glowing Embers, the first book of the Tales of the Pacific series.)

Nothing’s turned out quite the way she’s expected it to. Among other things she finds herself drawn to a mysterious and irresistable Maori sheep farmer who lives nearby, as well as his young son. And Rambo, of course. Rambo? Read on.

In this excerpt, Paige learns she’s not the no-nonsense business woman she believed herself to be, and Adam, her neighbor, may well not be the hard-hearted farmer. A ewe that Adam has carefully bred dies giving birth, and the question hovering over them is what to do with the newborn lamb. No one has the time to hand raise it.

Enjoy.

***

Paige swallowed. “Adam?”

She heard his next sigh even though his back was turned. “What is it?”

“Umm… What are you going to do with him?”

“Do you really want me to tell you, kaihana?”

“Suppose somebody raised him for you? Would he just end up on the table as Easter dinner?”

“He’d probably end up in a pen with all the little girl sheep his heart desired,” Adam said sarcastically. “But discussing his future is nonsense.” He opened the door and started outside.

Paige watched him go, his shoulders hunched, as if, even now, he was still protecting the lamb from the cool wind. “Adam!” She started after him. “Adam, how much work is it to raise a lamb?”

Adam headed toward the barn. “Hardly any, if you’re a sheep.” He stopped. “Go on back to the house, please, and let me get this over with.”

“What if you’re not a sheep? What if you’re a city girl who never even had a kitten?”

“About as much work as a baby. In other words, more than you’d want to do.” He started toward the barn.

Paige watched him go. Adam was right; she had no desire to miss sleep. She had no desire to subject herself to messy feedings, messy cleanups, messy anything. She didn’t like animals. She didn’t understand animals, just as she didn’t understand children. She wanted no part of this.

Adam disappeared into the barn.

For a moment she stood perfectly still. Then she began to run. “Adam! Wait!”

There was no response. She pulled the big door toward her, struggling with its weight. Inside, the barn was dark and smelled of fresh straw and manure. Her eyes adjusted too slowly. “Adam, wait.”

She saw him finally. He was sitting on a bale of straw, cuddling the lamb in his arms. She was surprised by the lump in her throat at the sight.

She joined him on the bale, and her arm crept around his shoulders. “Such a tough guy,” she murmured, resting her head against his neck.

Adam felt the silky tickle of Paige’s hair. The spiciness of the scent she wore struggled with the odors of lamb and straw and won. He turned his face to hers and kissed her. Afterward he wondered if every kiss they shared would feel new.

In his arms, the lamb baaed, then hiccupped. Paige laughed. “Once I was the queen of a Mardi Gras krewe,” she said, not knowing if he would understand what that meant. “I’ve been featured on dozens of society pages, and once I was rumored to be sleeping with the governor of a state larger than this island. Now I’m going to be a lamb’s mother.”

“Were you sleeping with the governor?”

She pretended affront. “He was a Democrat.”

Who Doesn’t Love Bargain Books?

At last I can tell you more about the promotion for From Glowing Embers that I mentioned in my last blog.

You might have noticed (did you?) that I didn’t ply you with links as I introduced my newest ebook. That’s because I knew you might want to buy it as part of this wonderful  bargain ebook collection.  Ninety-nine cents each for four novels and a novella, too.  Bestselling authors, classic romance themes, and ninety-nine cents!  Can you imagine?

From Glowing Embers is part of the Reunion collection, and some of my good writer friends are in it with me.  You can read it as part of the collection, enjoy their books, too, then, if you want to finish my Tales of the Pacific series, you can find out about the subsequent books here, (be sure to scroll down and read the excerpts, too) and use the provided links to order them at your favorite booksellers.

Easy-peasy.

Next month three more collections will debut and I’ll be sure to tell you about those, too.

You can buy the collections  at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Kobo.

The collections are also available at Itunes.

Who doesn’t love bargain books?  I’ve found some of my favorite authors because I’ve taken a chance on a sale-priced book to see if I would enjoy their writing.  Now it’s your turn.  If you like romance and love these classic themes, these books are for you.

Enjoy!

Sunday Inspiration: A Greater Appreciation

Our painful experiences strengthen us in becoming more empathetic, more caring, and deeper human beings. We grow in depth of understanding, with greater appreciation for the miracle of life. ~ Alexandra Stoddard

This quote resonated for me because it’s a major theme of my books, especially Somewhere Between Luck and Trust.  I can look back at the things that have hurt the most and see not just the pain, but the  growth and empathy for others that have come from them.  When the pain subsides I know that you can, too.

How have you turned your painful experiences into a greater awareness of the miracle of life?