Anabelle Bryant's Blog, page 4

One Hundred Christmas Proposals ~ That Holiday Feeling

I dream of writing a Christmas novel. I even have the title and characters waiting in my head. But until I get around to it, I can indulge in all the fabulous holiday literature hitting the market. Holly Martin is a fellow Carina author and her newest book, One Hundred Christmas Proposals, sounds fabulous. Take a look!

The eagerly anticipated follow-up to One Hundred Proposals.
If you thought Harry & Suzie’s life couldn’t get anymore sweepingly romantic than Harry asking her to marry him at the end of One Hundred Proposals – think again!

It’s Christmas in a snow-kissed London, and the.PerfectProposal.com have vowed to carry out one hundred proposals in December. No easy task at the best of times – made even more complicated by Harry & Suzie trying to plan their first Christmas and a visit from the dreaded in-laws. But one hundred deliciously Christmassy proposals later they find themselves asking if everything is still perfect in their own relationship….

Welcome back to the divinely warm world of One Hundred Proposals – with a sprinkling of pure, joyful, festive magic.

Have yourself a very merry Christmas indeed with Holly Martin’s Christmas novella.
http://amzn.to/1vwnL4e

 

Guest & New Release ~ Rebecca Raisin’s Gingerbread Cafe

Christmas Wedding at the Gingerbread Café

Released today!

You are invited to the wedding of the year!

Snow is falling thick and fast outside the Gingerbread Café and, inside, its owner Lily is planning the wedding of the year. Her wedding! She never dreamt it would happen, but this Christmas she’ll be marrying the man of her dreams — in a Christmas-card-perfect ceremony!

The gingerbread is baking, the dress is fitted and the mistletoe’s in place — for once, everything’s going to plan. That is until her mother-in-law arrives… Suddenly, Lily’s famous cool is being tested like never before and her dream wedding is crumbling before her eyes.

In the blink of a fairy light, the Gingerbread Café has been thrown into chaos! Lily thought she had this wedding wrapped up, but with so much to do before she says ‘I do’, can Lily get to the church on time — and make this Christmas sparkle after all?

Excerpt

Chapter One

Ten days

The fluffy white meringue hypnotizes me as it swirls around the mixer into soft valleys and peaks. A chocolate cake cools on the stainless-steel bench ready for me to layer with meringue, which will look like fresh snow for the cheery-faced fondant reindeers to graze in. High-pitched voices interrupt my reverie, and I turn to see the small children of Ashford making their way along the icy street, caroling. It’s almost nightfall; through the tinseled window and flashing fairy lights I watch them sing, their faces lit up with the excitement of Christmas. I switch off the mixer, and dust my hands on my apron. Edging closer to the door, I listen to them pitch and warble. I sing along, enraptured by the catchy festive songs.

A couple of young stragglers pull away from the crowd of carolers, and race to the window of the Gingerbread Café. They push their tiny red noses against the glass; their breath fogs up the view. I duck my head around the door. “See those marshmallow snowmen? CeeCee made them especially, so when you’re finished caroling you can take as many as you want. Tell your friends too.” Their eyes go wide, as they squeal and dash back to the group, gesticulating wildly back to the sweet treats on display.

Smiling at their exuberance, I glance back to the window, and see why they’re so animated. At their age and height it must look like a monolithic ode to gingerbread. CeeCee insisted we make our own Christmas tree this year…out of gingerbread. It took us the better part of three weeks to work out how exactly to bake the pieces so they’d fit together to form branches. There were plenty of mistakes made, which were hastily eaten up by our regular customers.

We felt like the most accomplished engineers when it was finally erected and we’d decorated it with golden candy floss ‘tinsel’, and ‘baubles’ made from scarlet toffee. The ‘ground’ is made from marshmallow, and the Christmas presents made from chocolate dusted with edible glitter sit afoot the tree. All the late nights baking seem like nothing when a crowd of children stop and ogle it as if it’s something magical. I can’t wait for Damon’s daughter, Charlie, to see it. For a moment I picture her, with her beautiful blond curls, following the kids along the street, singing. I miss her when she’s gone, almost as if she’s my own child.

The doorbell jingles, catching me mid-chorus. I turn, half expecting the tiny revelers to rush in. “Oh, golly, that’s the voice I love,” Damon teases. His hands snake behind my jacket and he rubs the warmth of my back. “Operatic, and dramatic.”

“Very funny.” I grin. “I would have tried a bit harder if I knew I had an audience.” So, my singing leaves a lot to be desired. I blame my mamma — she’s sings as if she’s being strangled and unfortunately I inherited that gene.

“And I get to wake up to the sound of that voice every day until…for ever.”

Gazing up at him, my mouth hanging open like a love-struck fool, I say, “Ten days until I’m Mrs. Guthrie. Ten days until I swan down that aisle. I’m tingly with excitement even if I do have to wear gloop on my face, and be tortured with hair devices to make my curly hair…curly.”

He laughs so hard little dimples appear on his cheeks. “I’m tingly too, in more ways than one.” He half groans as he leans down and kisses me full on the mouth. I close my eyes as my whole-body throb reaches swoon level. This fine-thing sure knows how to kiss a girl, all right.

Slightly breathless, we pull apart, silent for a moment until the blood rushes back towherever the hell it’s supposed to be. We stare hard at each other, but I don’t dare kiss him again. We’re likely to close up shop and jump into bed for the evening. As tempting as that is, I have cakes to bake.

But…no.

I have cakes to bake.

Damon runs his hands through his hair. “Let’s just close…”

Jelly-legged from his presence, I fight to stay strong. “Nope.”

He hooks his fingers through the belt loops of my jeans and pulls me against him. I step back, but he pulls me close again in an effort to convince me. “Lil…”

“Nope.”

His lips part slowly, and my restraint almost crumbles. Cakes, think of the cakes.

He moans low. “You’re a temptress…”

I laugh. “It’s a hard life.”

“Very hard,” he agrees, winking. He makes a show of exhaling, and shakes away the desire that is plain on his face. Composed, he says, “Let’s stop canoodling in the doorway before we end up in some compromising photos on CeeCee’s Spacebook.”

I imagine a picture of us wrapped together squid-like, flushed, for the world to see on Facebook. I giggle and drag Damon close to the fireplace when my friend Missy ducks her head in and says, “Hello, lovebirds! You’re looking mighty sweet all tangled like that.”

“Come out of the cold, Missy.” I wave her over to the fire. She struts in. Despite being heavily pregnant, she still manages to saunter rather than waddle.

Missy, who owns The Sassy Salon, has all these grand plans for my wedding hair and make-up, and, while it’s not usually my thing, it’s hard not to get caught up in her excitement. She is an expert, after all.

I rub her belly before giving her a hug. As always she smells sweet with perfume and hair products, her heavily made-up face perfection as she fluffs her big auburn curls. “I don’t intend to interrupt you two from whatever it is you were doing…” she arches an eyebrow, and grins “…but I wanted to give you these, Lil.” She hands me a brown paper bag. “Some make-up samples, colorstay, so no matter how much toying you do to your pretty little face, it should stay put.”

I go to protest, but she shakes a finger. “Before you start shaking your head, hear me out.

You need to decide what colors you like…so just try it, OK? I know make-up is not your thing, but you’ll get used to it if you try it out a few times before the wedding.”

Damon lets out a huge belly laugh. I pivot, hands on hips, and give him a fake pout, he stops immediately and claps a hand over his mouth. “You think this is funny?” I tease; ruing the fact that at almost thirty years of age I still don’t understand the basics of applying make-up. I’ve tried, but it feels so unnatural, as if I’ve cemented my face, that I can’t help but mess with it, as a child would.

“No, no!” Damon holds his palms up, stifling a laugh. “Definitely not funny.” I give him a shove with my hip and turn back to Missy.

“I just hope I’m not going to look like a Dolly Parton impersonator.”

Missy rolls her eyes heavenward. “There’s nothing wrong with Dolly Parton, Lil. That woman knows what real beauty is.”

I guffaw.

“She’s my people and I won’t hear a bad word about her!” Missy laughs. I grin back.

Missy dresses similar to Dolly Parton, all tight miniskirts, bold prints, the odd sequin or two. She’s vibrant and sassy and has a heart of pure gold.

“OK, no more Dolly jokes. So are there instructions with this stuff?” Doubt creeps in as I survey the bag full of colorful vials and tubes used for God knows what. Missy knows I’m erring on the side of natural rather than full-on war paint, but so far all I see are pinks and reds so bright they make my eyes hurt.

Missy scoffs. “No, there aren’t instructions! At least try the lipsticks and see which shade you prefer. We can sort the rest at the make-up trial, OK?”

“OK.”

“I better go and close up shop or else Tommy’ll think I’ve run off with another man.”

Laughter barrels out of us at the thought of a heavily pregnant woman running anywhere, least of all off with another man. “See you tomorrow, and thanks.” I hold up the bag. Missy air kisses us both and struts away. From behind you can’t even tell she’s pregnant — all the gingerbread men and slices of pie she’s consumed have obviously gone straight to the baby.

“Only ten more days…” Damon’s voice brings me back to the present as he kisses the top of my head.

Ten more days marks our one-year anniversary, and our wedding day.

I wasn’t searching for love a year ago, far from it, when it fell in my lap — or rather my café — in the form of this tight-jean-wearing, curly-haired, six-packed, glorious man. Some days it still doesn’t feel real, that this kind of passionate, all-consuming love could just happen, in the blink of an eye, but thank my lucky stars, it did.

Nipping my fingers into Damon’s back pockets, I pull his hips close. “Look at them…”

Ashford’s mini carolers huddle together as they wait to cross the road. They’re bundled up in woolen scarves and beanies, their mittened hands holding candles. They chorus Amazing Grace, and I stiffen in Damon’s arms. Oh, no. I bite the inside of my cheek. I wiggle my toes. Isn’t that what people do to stem their tears? It’s too late. My eyes well up; it’s no use. That song kills me. It’s the very heart of Christmas and it speaks to me like nothing else.

“Lil?” Damon says. “You OK?”

I half laugh, half hiccough. “It’s that darn song. It’s even more of a tear-jerker when six-year-olds are singing it.” My voice comes out a little strangled as I try to laugh it off.

“How could I forget?” he says wistfully. “The Amazing Grace blubber-fest exactly one year ago today.”

I cock my head. “Wait…what? You saw that?” This time last year I had my hand wedged well and truly up a turkey’s behind, stuffing the damn poultry to sell in the café as I sang my

little heart out to Amazing Grace, laughing-shrieking-sobbing with the sadness of one whose life wasn’t going as planned. And that very same day, I met Damon.

Damon smacks his forehead. “Whoops. So I may have been spying on you long before you marched across the road to shout at me for stealing your customers.”

The memory makes me smile. I’d been all riled up when this handsome newcomer strode into town selling the same things as my beloved Gingerbread Café. It hadn’t helped matters he was gorgeous and instantly had a shop full of ladies, single or not, flicking their shiny hair, and strutting about, trying to make his acquaintance.

“You were spying on me?” I ask, mock seriously.

He puts a hand to his chest and does his best to keep his face straight, but his lip wobbles as he gulps back laughter. “I fell in love with you that very second. I thought, if a girl can stuff a turkey, simultaneously cry, and laugh, and sing like it’s the only thing that’ll save her, then she’s the one for me.” He presses a fist to his mouth, no doubt reliving the scene in all its sob-fest glory.

I laugh and blush to the roots of my hair. I really did make a spectacle of myself that long-ago wintry morning in the café. I had no idea anyone could see me in such a vulnerable state. “I’m surprised —” I hit him playfully on the arm “— that you’ve never mentioned this before.”

He raises his eyebrows. The deep brown of his eyes is so easy to get lost in, I forget for a moment what we’re even discussing. “You were upset, and I didn’t want you to know I’d seen. I only wanted to make you smile. Little did I know that you’d take offence to my mere presence in town, and that it would become a bit harder than I’d first thought.”

Thinking back to that day, I’m caught up in a rush of mixed feelings. Back then, I was pining for my ex-husband Joel, too naïve to know he was no good, not realizing it was just the idea of love I missed — and not actually him. And that very day, I’d vowed to run Damon out of town because I’d seen him as a threat to my business, and without the café I would have been lost and broke. That version of me, sad and lonely, seems like a lifetime ago.

Shaking my head, I marvel — what a difference a year makes. It hadn’t taken long for me to fall in love with Damon; he truly was a Christmas miracle. And now, we’re about to get married! I resist the urge to pinch myself.

When a man turns every notion you had of love upside down, and shows you what a genuine heart he has, it’s almost impossible not to well up, and again it makes me wonder why I let my ex-husband treat me callously for so long. Silently, I thank the universe he’s out of my life for good, and instead focus on the wonderful man in front of me.

And next year, I vow, I’ll only listen to Amazing Grace when I’m alone, and can bawl for the full five minutes and afterwards will feel strangely refreshed, and altogether festive.

“Where’s CeeCee?” Damon asks, glancing around the café.

Frowning, I push a tendril of hair back. “She dashed out to get some Christmas presents for her grandbabies.” I glance at my watch and shrug. “But that was a while ago. She’s probably bumped into someone.”

You can never really dash anywhere in Ashford. Everyone knows everyone — you can’t get down the main street without stopping to chat to people. Even the inclement weather doesn’t deter the locals from stopping to shoot the breeze.

Outside snow drifts down like white confetti, pitching in the wind, and settling on the square window panes. The sight makes me want to curl up and watch the world go by. With that in mind, I push Damon towards one of the old sofas in front of the fireplace, and sit with my legs over his lap. He’s impossible to resist and the cakes can wait, for five minutes, at least. The fire is stoked up, and crackles and spits as if it’s saying hello. Damon groans. “I’m beat. You don’t realize till you stop for a minute.” He covers his mouth as he yawns, which immediately makes me yawn.

“How’d today go?” I ask. Damon owns a small goods shop across the road, and hosts cooking demonstrations as well as sorting out the finer details of our catering business. No matter what you do, money is tight for shopkeepers in Ashford purely because it’s such a small town. Though the lead-up to Christmas is frantic for us all.

“Busy. I must have made a hundred cups of coffee…”

I smirk. Damon’s fancy coffee tastes like tar to me, but women still flock there, and grimace their way through a cup. He’s totally clueless they’re ogling him as he dashes behind the counter, while they stare, mouths hanging open. I don’t blame them. I’d spend my morning at his coffee bar and stare too if I could.

Find the book here:

Amazon US http://amzn.to/1qIb9VQ

Amazon UK http://amzn.to/1m7wGWP

Amazon Aust http://bit.ly/1uCJVjx

Itunes http://bit.ly/1manX5S

Google play http://bit.ly/ZnNjTF

Nook http://bit.ly/1ria4OQ

Kobo http://bit.ly/ZtC5Na

Pinterest http://bit.ly/1uF18I4

Goodreads http://bit.ly/1t4h1bA

Find Rebecca here:

https://www.facebook.com/RebeccaRaisinAuthor

http://rebeccaraisin.wordpress.com

http://www.twitter.com/jaxandwillsmum

Rebecca Raisin is a true bibliophile. This love of books morphed into the desire to write them. She’s been widely published in various short-story anthologies, and in fiction magazines, and is now focusing on writing romance. The only downfall about writing  about gorgeous men who have brains as well as brawn is falling in love with them — just as well they’re fictional. Rebecca aims to write characters you can see yourself being friends with. People with big hearts who care about relationships, and, most importantly, believe in true, once-in-a-lifetime love.

Slightly Superstitious ~ Prone to Coincidence

What are the boundaries of your beliefs? Do you believe in fate? Destiny? Karma? Do you stand firm that “things happen for a reason” or are we all players in a story where the outcome has already been plotted? How do you feel about Cupid? Soul mates? Kismet? I have a collection of beliefs that are important to me, but I’m not sure they are entirely rational.

Superstitious? Will you walk under a ladder? Spill the salt and toss a little over your shoulder? How deeply does your belief reach into your soul…and is it an honest belief, consistent and part of your personality, or one that is used for convenience?

I often experience deja vu. Sometimes the situation is so clear for me, I can dictate the conversation verbatim in my head and then watch it play out. I don’t know why this happens. A friend suggested I dream my life before it occurs and simply recall those dreams, but I rarely, very rarely, remember any dreams. Or at least I don’t think so. I guess that’s hard to tell.

I’ve always been fascinated with the “why” of things. Some superstitions have strong stories and historical value. They are easy to trace and understand. But other occurrences, whether coincidence, superstition or intuition, are not so easily explained. How many times have you wondered why that package hasn’t arrived yet, only to return home and find it on the porch? Have you ever second guessed something in the morning, ignored the thought, and have the decision thwart you later in the day?

There are so many amazing stories of people who have heard a voice, some level of intuition, warning them of a situation and they heeded the advice that ultimately saved their life. I like to think of that as an angel whispering in my ear…but I’m not sure scientists would agree.

I recently took a connecting flight where the same gentleman sat beside me coming and going albeit we traveled to different final locations. On the flight out, I expressed I was uneasy because I had never visited the city of my final location and was not familiar with the area. The gentleman explained he’d lived for several years in the city I would be visiting and had only recently moved – even though he wasn’t headed to that city now. He easily answered all my questions and then inquired of my success on the flight home. Is that coincidence or Fate having fun? I was grateful…and a little surprised.

So how in tune are you with you? I have strong beliefs and superstitions about a number of things. I have habits or routines that are important to me. I definitely listen when an angel tips me off and I rarely take reckless chances, but I also believe in destiny and soulmates.  I’m not sure my beliefs would make sense to someone else, especially not a logical, concrete thinker, but they make sense to me.

How about you? Do you believe in a metaphysical supernatural element in life, or do you think that it is all a bunch of fiction?

Not convinced? Read these true coincidences: http://abt.cm/1yExEiK

Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder ~ Out of Sight, Out of Mind

I hope the former is true. I’ve been terribly neglectful of this blog. Overwhelmed, over-ambitious, call it what you will. I write so many wonderful posts in my mind as I drive to work, but fail to get them to the computer. Call me a sloth, but I really do try. Just another reminder that I need another Anabelle.

*Note to self – investigate cloning opportunities.

In all seriousness, I’m definitely a person who believes I can do it all. Happy to take on responsibility and disappointed when I don’t meet every high criteria on my list. Worse yet, I push myself to be the best I can be in each area of my life. Without a doubt, something has to give. There aren’t enough hours in the day – enough days in the week. It’s all a matter of priorities and like you, some priorities are choices, others can’t be put aside or ignored. So forgive me. I’ve been tending to many other things.

I know a few amazing bloggers. I don’t know how they do it. Not only do they offer daily inspiration, information and anecdotes, but they deliver it in a way that has one entranced from the first sentence. That is a gift and a talent combined. That is not me. I own it.

I’ve always been one to laugh at my shortcomings. No one’s perfect and it makes little sense to dwell on it. Besides, laughing is a much better way to pass the time. So thank you – if you decided to pass a little time with me right now, even though I rambled about all things and nothing at all. I appreciate you stopping by.

*Note to self: Improve blogging practices.

Before the Fall ~ All’s Well That Ends Well

I write about happy endings – happily ever after where the chapter finishes with the secure assumption both hero and heroine will live a charmed life of bliss and enchantment until the end of their days. Yes, I write fiction. Beyond the pages of a novel, nobody’s life is perfect.

In real life, endings can be difficult. Many leave us less than satisfied and enchanting is hardly the right adjective.

Autumn’s arrival always causes me to embrace a sense of change; the season a good time to invoke a shift of perspective. As much as it represents the end of summer, it also begins the school year. An end to carefree days of sunshine are counterbalanced with productive days filled with accomplishment.

Beyond the world of writing and teaching, here begins the holiday season. If the stores you frequent haven’t flaunted decorations, they’re falling behind.

Yet as soon as we welcome the whirlwind of Halloween, Thanksgiving, Hanukkah and Christmas, we focus on the end of the year ready to begin a new one. Looking forward to another chance to capture something new. We hardly close the door on the past before speeding forward into the future.

Some of us seeking a fresh start and others hoping to find what was missed the previous year.

One of my favorite movies is Sliding Doors. It’s about endings and beginnings and making choices, and then seeing those choices through. I guess, mostly, it’s about life.

I hope autumn brings you every type of change you wish for and the fortitude to chase the elusive endings and beginnings meant for your future. And if you happen to fall in love or out of luck, remember another chance, another change, is never far away.

 

 

 

Looking Forward to Looking Back ~ The Tug-o-War of Two Careers

Summer is ending. As a teacher, I’ll be back in the classroom in less than a week. The paradox of my dual careers is that one nearly precludes the other.

I enjoy being teacher. I knew I wanted to become an educator since early elementary school and never considered another choice before going to college. To this day, I anticipate the new school term with enthusiasm, pride and well-thought out goals for a successful year.

But with that comes a bittersweet farewell to reading and writing time. Teaching is not a job that is done well when done halfway. It’s a full time profession that often comes home in a tote bag to continue after dinner. A good teacher’s mind, like an author’s, is often spinning with ideas. So September abolishes the carefree unstructured days of summer when I make my own schedule, choose my own activities and refresh, rejuvenate, invent.

Please don’t think me selfish or that this is stated in complaint. I love being a teacher. Few things are as rewarding as helping young minds embrace learning or witnessing their personal pride when becoming fluent readers. But like all good things in life, they come with a price.

I read several books this summer; wrote stories, edited, conferenced, traveled and beached. It wouldn’t be right to complain. To have two passions is twice the delight and twice the trouble.

What does the new school year signify for you? Happy to have the kids out of the house so you can finally read the book you’ve wanted? I’d enjoy hearing your thoughts.

 

 

The Diva and the Duke ~A Romantic Time Trip

Jackson D’Lynne is a fellow member of NJRWA and her debut novel was released July 10th. I purchased her time-travel romance and fastened my seatbelt wondering if Jackson’s author voice would be as vivid, fast-paced, and intense as her personality. Yes – it certainly is.

The Diva and the Duke tells the story of Haven Edwards, an exotic dancer who steals a pocket watch and travels back in time. There she meets a duke – Logan Dunham, a man who believes beautiful women are dangerous. As a romance, we know the story will end with a happily-ever-after, but included along the way is captive imagery, intriguing dialogue, paranormal episodes and time-jumping suspense.

Don’t worry if you’re not a fan of either genre. I don’t usually read time travel, but Jackson blurs the line between historical and contemporary, suspense and romance, to capture it all in one storyline. If you’re a stickler for exactitude, suspend your belief a little and enjoy. Did I mention the sensual love scenes (not for the shy) and secondary characters who enrich the plot? Jackson packs a lot into every chapter.

I think the clever juxtaposition of the character’s personalities worked well: an exotic dance who travels to a time period where etiquette, corsets and strict morality were principles of life. A hero who wants nothing to do with modern invention or unconventional females, yet he’s captured by the lure of this fantasy woman haunting his dreams.

The Diva and the Duke is subtitled as Three Goddesses Book 1, so I suspect we will be hearing from the secondary characters in the near future. I can only imagine what they might get into. You can learn more about Jackson and her novel at http://jacksondlynne.com.

 

TBR: To Be Read ~ TBR: To Be Real

My TBR basket was almost empty. There were four books left – books I probably would never read. Books that had wound up there because someone gave me a gift or had a castoff, yet it wasn’t my kind of book and it deserved a happier home. I’m fairly locking into romance.

So I was feeling very happy having read and emptied my TBR basket of everything I wanted to read, and yet I was also feeling a little sad. I needed to replenish. I needed a new stash.

Enter the RWA Conference. I suppose all along I knew it was coming so I hesitated shopping on Amazon. It only takes me a few minutes to click through the historical romances online and grab a few good summer reads but I held off. Summer is my optimal reading time. Being a teacher, there’s very little time to read during the school year.

I might manage a book or two a month, but that’s nothing like the summer where I’m reading a book every two days. Summer holds all the potential of sun, sea and the beauty of words. Reading and writing.

So naturally, my TBR basket was emptied by July and ready to be refilled.

When my boxes arrived from San Antonio I was anxiously in wait. I had shipped two cartons full of books and arranged them, overflowing, in my TBR basket as soon as they arrived. (Yes, my Nerd is showing) Lol.

Of course, quickly following is my To Be Real moment. How do I decide which to read first? Do I give any away? Do I horde them for myself? I only have August left and with so many other things to do, how many will I be able to read before work and life interferes? Another TBR moment occurs when I realize there’s no way I can finish them all before next July when the RWA Conference is in NYC and I’ll be packing books up to my earlobes.

I take a breath and make a selection. Despite I like sweets, this is the true candy shop for me. One book at a time. One little escape. I’ll keep you posted.

What’s in your basket? I’d love to know how you decide what’s next. Picture on the cover? Back of the book blurb? Or do you randomly grab a book and dive inside? Either way, happy reading!

 

 

 

Fan Girl Moments ~ Something Old and Something New

Yesterday I returned from the RWA National Conference held in San Antonio, Texas this year. The weather was hot – 104! The food was spicy – just how I like it! And the week filled with everything an author dreams about – workshops, networking, signings, readers, writers and swag – oh my! This year there was a bonus as the hotel was located two blocks from The Alamo and history fascinates me. I walked over for a peek as soon as I checked in.

Like every reader, I have favorite authors. Authors who have impressed me with their talent and influenced me during my journey. Their stories resonate with me…their characters are lasting, the emotions heartfelt. And it thrilled me to meet several iconic authors and speak with them at the conference, their approachable nature drawing me in just like the first chapter of each book.

 Can you tell I’m a little nervous? My expression says it all. Eloisa James, author of one of my favorite books of all time, A Duke of Her Own, took time to talk to me and pose for a “fan-girl” photo. She asked me about my books! She couldn’t have been more gracious.

Elizabeth Essex was also lovely and she remembered me from the last time we spoke. I was so astonished and excited. I had true fan-girl moments all over the historical section – Lol! Julia London, Sherry Thomas, Tessa Dare, Sophia Nash – the list goes on and on. Such lovely talented women taking the time to chat with me.

There is an added bonus to this story. Something completely unexpected happened for me as an author. People approached me to chat. Friends from Facebook who enjoy my photo posts, an author at the book signing for her own book stopped to tell me she read my book…and a waitress at a banquet paused to talk about To Love A Wicked Scoundrel. It was mind-boggling and surprising in the best way. A fan-girl moment I’ll never forget because this time I wasn’t the fan.

San Antonio had already won me over with the Riverwalk and lush beauty surrounding the hotel.  Having fan-girl moments of both kinds made this a conference I’ll never forget and I’m already thinking about next year. New York City…my neighboring state. I can’t wait!

If the Shoe Fits…Cinderella Syndrome

Hi, my name is Anabelle and I love shoes.

Not that unusual. Many women have the same addiction I suspect, including ladies of the aristocracy, Regency England and further back in history.

So what is it? What makes me dizzy with excitement when I discover the perfect pair of shoes?

The answer is multi-faceted. Shoes are a necessary article of clothing, but they bring me such joy each season: the strappy sandals of summer, the soft supple leather of boots in the fall. Clogs make me happy and ballerina flats are elegant and chic.

Shoes are consistent and dependable. Able to be ordered over the internet without the worry of fit, unlike pants or dresses. Shoes never mind if you gain a pound of two, and instead, reward you with a long lasting life, giving months, years of wear, before they need to be replaced, thus making them a logical investment.

Men don’t get it. Ridiculous statements such as “Why do you need another pair of sandals?” or “Aren’t those similar to the shoes you bought yesterday?” have been heard in the shoe department and dismissed with a wry smile. The male idea of a “perfect pair” has nothing to do with mine. ;)

Every shoe lover knows the right selection completes the outfit - It holds the potential to steal the show. Cinderella would boast the right slipper could change your whole life. It might seem shallow, to adore footwear with such ardent admiration, but before the fancy is dismissed as ridiculous, note there are museums dedicated to this multi-million dollar industry, store chains on every highway, and designers who dedicate their life to pursuit of the newest style.

So while I’ll never have the pocketbook for Louboutins or wear the jewel crusted slippers of the 18th century I adore, I’m perfectly satisfied. I’m sure there’s a reasonable compromise and I’ll keep busy searching for it. If you’d like to discuss shoes, send me an email or come find me in the shoe department. I’d love to hear about your favorites!