Tracee Lydia Garner's Blog, page 8
May 19, 2017
Friday Features…
Pat Simmons
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Author Pat Simmons
Pat Simmons is celebrating ten years as a published author. She is a self-proclaimed genealogy sleuth who is passionate about researching her ancestors and then casting them in starring roles in her novels, in the hopes of tracking down any distant relatives who might happen to pick up her books. She has been a genealogy enthusiast since her great-grandmother, Minerva Brown Wade, died at the age of ninety-seven in 1988.
Pat describes the evidence of the gift of the Holy Ghost as an amazing, unforgettable, life-altering experience. She believes God is the Author who advances the stories she writes.
Pat holds a B.S. in mass communications from Emerson College in Boston, Massachusetts. She has worked in various positions in radio, television, and print media for more than twenty years. Currently, she oversees the media publicity for the annual RT Booklovers Conventions.
She is the multi-published author of dozens of Christian titles, including the #1 Amazon best seller in God’s Word category A Christian Christmas. Her award-winning titles include Talk to Me, ranked #14 of Top Books in 2008 that Changed Lives by Black Pearls Magazine. She is a three-time recipient of the Romance Slam Jam Emma Rodgers Award for Best Inspirational Romance for Still Guilty (2010), Crowning Glory (2011), and The Confession (2016). Her beloved Jamieson men are featured in the Jamieson Legacy series.
About Guilty of Love…[image error]
When do you know the most important decision of your life is the right one?
Reaping the seeds from what she’s sown; Cheney Reynolds moves into a historic neighborhood in Ferguson, Missouri, and becomes a reclusive.
Her first neighbor, the incomparable Mrs. Beatrice Tilley Beacon aka Grandma BB, is an opinionated childless widow. Grandma BB is a self-proclaimed expert on topics Cheney isn’t seeking advice—everything from landscaping to hip-hop dancing to romance.
Then there is Parke Kokumuo Jamison VI, a direct descendant of a royal African tribe. He learned his family ancestry, African history, and lineage preservation before he could count.
Unwittingly, they are drawn to each other, but it takes Christ to weave their lives into a spiritual bliss while He exonerates their past indiscretions.
Guilty of Love is the first release in the Guilty Series of Books. View all of the series’ titles here:
Readers may learn more about Pat and her books by visiting:
her Website
Following her on Twitter
Liking her Facebook, and
view her posts/images on her Pinterest page
May 17, 2017
How Do I Write?
Since I’m up this week I thought it would be fun to do more than just tell you how I write. For the most part, I wanted to go deeper because I already shared how I write, here, in last year’s post, revisit if you’re curious about MY process. While much hasn’t changed about my actual style (um, certified “Pantser” remains) I let the ideas come, I write, write, write as much as I can and when I’m about 3/4 of the way through I have to go back and just create a sort of timeline, rearrange a few things, edit minimally and then push to the end – what I have changed is my approach to writing and it took about a year to really solidify the tweaks and changes I’ve made. Rather than just tell you about the ideas of my writing process, I also wanted to do a bit of a round up to show you the very real things that helped me so I can now shine in my approach to my writing process. Here’s FIVE important, past blog posts that I wrote about, all of them contributing to the joy I have in my current MY Writing Process! Enjoy.
Time Management – I’ve got to have time and that means ultimately I have to, I MUST, I NEED to cut out things that are time wasters. Read about Time Management here.
Prioritize – I get A LOT done, even for me who requires two aides (and thus dependent on others to make life happen) AND use of a mobility device to get around -and while I don’t have kids, I still have family obligations, and I do a lot of community work which has always been a passion of mine. Writing is STILL very important to me and in the last few years, I rearranged some life choices I made to move writing ahead to the forefront. What do you need to do to move your writing time to the top of the list? It wasn’t easy, I remember getting off a board service commitment and I felt lonely, a void almost [image error]and like wow, this is it, just me and my computer and that cursor blinking at me expectantly. Of course, over time, that feeling went away and my writing saw the benefits of moving things around and shaking things up a bit.
Next, I wanted to be even more productive so I had to Find Ways to CHEAT – You’re not really cheating, you’re just, what do they call it now, a hack? You’re creating hacks to life’s routines in order to get them done faster – I talked about some of my Hacks here that helped me increase my output but honestly, the two most important things you’ll see in this list was A. Using my phone at night in bed to dictate about 300 words and 2. Cutting off the television and having quiet. I could really focus. I wasn’t looking at the TV every five minutes catching the tail end of something I likely wasn’t intereted in anyway. THOSE things has made all of the difference but the others are there too just read. I also talk about juggling my many acts of life here with Author, Promotion Guru and Social Media Strategist LaShaunda Hoffman, in a segment on her Podcast here: Click on “Promoting in Real Life”
Remember to vege out – I have some favorite Youtubers I love. One of them is At Home with Nikki and Alexis Giostra AKA Miss Trenchcoat – You have to give your mind a break and while Miss Trenchcoat is a business/internet guru and blogger and would seem I’m not “breaking” I still love to watch, I don’t take notes (I do at other times but not for the Vege out) and I just enjoy. What things can help you really tune out so your brain doesn’t get over loaded and is a kind of mindless entertainment? I also enjoy some funny, less serious videos like ones about thrifting and even Pinterest is obviously a favorite pastime for many.
Last but not least is to remember an air or spirit of gratitude. Prior to now I haven’t talked much about gratitude anywhere on my blog, except in some posts, but I’ll do a full post on it soon. Do you know I consider my words and my ideas living beings? By that I mean I feel as though the ideas are breathing things that require tender nurturing and care. When the ideas come, I let them marinate, they roll around in my head and I have the power- through spoken word and thoughts – to help them live or to die. That’s biblical straight from Proverbs 18:21. I happen to have had a season (or two) of “idea drought”. And I strongly believe that is because when they ideas came, I had no time for them so they all got their friends and went away. Permit your ideas to linger and grown, take root and hold on, encourage them and write them down and catalog them. If you do that, you’ll never be without a story idea to pursue.
May 12, 2017
Friday Features
Sandra Leesmith
Enjoy Chapter One of Love’s Dream Song.
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CHAPTER 1
“Professor. Watch out!”
Autumn grabbed Dr. Davidson’s arm and yanked the elderly man away from the crumbling wall. The archaeologist stumbled into her. They heard a loud roar, and a cloud of dust surrounded them as ancient adobe rolled to their feet.
Dr. Davidson bent to push away a brick that had landed on top of his boot. “Whew, that was close, girl.”
Autumn choked and gasped for oxygen in the dusty air. “Too close. Are you all right?”
“Aye, but I’m more worried about the tablets.”
Autumn straightened and tried to peer through the red cloud of dust to the far side of the walled-in cave. She could barely see the professor as he knelt to inspect the priceless stone slabs.
“Are they all right?” She crawled beside him and brushed away the silt that had already settled from the cave-in.
“Appears so.” She heard the relief in his voice. “We’ll have to clean this up before the crowd arrives tomorrow morning.”
“What caused the cave-in?” she asked.
“Who knows? These walls were built almost seven centuries ago. They don’t last forever.”
“Real Tall Man would say chindi caused it. After all, we’re digging around in their homes.”
The professor glared. “Don’t be giving me any more of that nonsense about these ruins being haunted by ghosts.”
“I only told you what Real Tall Man explained about the Navajo beliefs.” She brushed back the ebony strands of hair that had loosened in the dash to avoid the crumbling adobe. They were coated with red dirt.
“Your grandfather and his people can believe what they want about the ghosts getting upset when their belongings are disturbed, but dead is dead. There’s no way they can cause us any trouble.”
Autumn eyed the tablets and shook her head. She knew the professor was right, but if the streak of bad luck they’d had lately was anything to judge by, it would seem the curses of the chindi—the spirits of the dead—were indeed the cause. “They say you and I are cursed, as well.”
Exploring the Anasazi ruins wasn’t the only reason her Navajo relatives thought she was cursed. To the communal Navajos, accumulated wealth was a sign that one dealt in their version of witchcraft. Only a witched person would amass personal property and money, as the Anglos did.
The O’Neills, Autumn’s adoptive family, were wealthy. The worldwide export-import business they owned was a sign of success in their culture. It was bad enough that Autumn had been raised by outsiders, but the fact that she was three-quarters Anglo herself only reinforced the belief that she was under the spell of chindi.
The professor continued to brush off the ancient tablets they’d discovered the month before. “When are you going to stop worrying about what those clan people think of you? What difference does it make?”
“They are my family—the only real relatives I know about,” she reminded him.
“Some family,” Dr. Davidson said. “They don’t act like they care.”
“That’s because they can’t. They think I’m under the influence of evil spirits.”
The Coyote Pass Clan, máii deeshghizhnii, could welcome her if Real Tall Man—her grandfather and the clan’s medicine man—performed Nda, the Enemy Way ceremony. The three-to nine-day sing would cleanse her and protect them from her contact with outsiders. The fact that they hadn’t offered was a source of heartache for Autumn.
She’d thought applying for the graduate assistant grant to work with Dr. Davidson at Northern Arizona University would give her an opportunity to become acquainted with her natural relatives, who lived on the nearby reservation. But their exploration of the Anasazi ruins had only created misunderstanding.
The professor dusted off the last tablet and stood. “We’re almost done here. Once the scientists and press arrive and record my discovery, we’ll be done with this project. If I were you, I’d go back to your adoptive family. They raised you, and they’re the ones who care for you.”
Her brothers, Donny and Mike, had told her the same thing, but they were natural sons of the O’Neills. They had no idea what it was like to be adopted and wonder why your mother had given you away.
Autumn hadn’t been able to find out, either. She now knew that Dora Ross, Real Tall Man’s deceased daughter, had been her mother, but the clan would not speak of her or give any clue as to why Autumn had been given up for adoption. In fact, Autumn had the distinct impression that the Coyote Pass Clan had not even known of Autumn’s existence before her arrival in northern Arizona.
“It’s crazy foolishness to poke around where you’re not wanted. You have a bright future ahead of you. You’re better off without them.”
Autumn forced back the sharp reply that sprang to the tip of her tongue. The professor’s prejudices never ceased to surprise her.
To change the subject from what she knew would become a heated debate, she asked about the arrival of the scientists. “How many will be coming in?”
“Close to fifty. Jess said he’d arrive with them around midmorning.”
The change of subject had brightened the professor’s mood, but the mention of Jess Barron dampened hers. “I thought Jess was too occupied with ranch business to participate in this.”
“Come on, girl. Don’t let your bitterness toward the man ruin your moment of glory. This is big news. We’ve made the discovery of the century—and on Barron’s ranch. Of course he’s going to be here to keep tabs on the action.”
Jess Barron III was the owner of Eagle Heights Ranch and the man she loved. She wasn’t at all thrilled that he was arriving tomorrow—at least, she told herself that. The fact that her heart rate had increased and the palms of her hands had suddenly become sweaty had nothing to do with the prospect of seeing him.
“Don’t you go letting your personal differences get in the way of our big moment. I want the reporters’ full attention on the discovery.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Autumn assured the professor. “The last thing Jess will want is a public scene.” He believed in maintaining a low profile, and heaven help anyone who didn’t agree.
Autumn wasn’t worried about the press but she was concerned about seeing Jess, especially in front of other people. Her feelings were too raw where he was concerned.
The best course of action would be to disappear. The professor wouldn’t need her right away. In the morning, she could hike to the top of the butte overlooking Coyote Springs and watch the party of scientists arrive from there. The high rocky ledge afforded the best view of the canyon. Maybe Jess would have to return immediately to the demands of his large ranch.
For a moment, she debated about whether she really wanted him to leave without seeing her. Images of his face, framed by chestnut-brown hair, danced in her mind’s eye as she continued to clear away the fallen debris. She remembered how the light sparked in his silver eyes, and the crease of his smile. No, she didn’t want to be near Jess Barron—he might see the longing and hurt.
Autumn tossed aside another crumbled brick and closed her eyes. “Jess,” she whispered. “Where did our love go wrong?”
Jess reined in his horse and waited astride the stallion while the medicine man, who’d ridden with him to the top of the red-rock butte, dismounted. He paid no attention to Real Tall Man, but studied Autumn O’Neill. Her khaki slacks and coral camp shirt were practical enough for her archaeological work, but he knew they sported designer labels. He supposed the Rolex watch was a necessity, but he knew what it cost. With her wealth and sophisticated upbringing, she should look out of place in the Arizona desert, but she didn’t, and that annoyed Jess.
“Hasteen Nez asked me to find you. He came from the reservation to talk.” Jess easily pronounced Real Tall Man’s name in Navajo, but he couldn’t keep the irritation from his voice. It annoyed him how her nearness could still affect him.
She straightened and tilted her head in that haughty manner that he hated. “You don’t need to explain your presence to me. This is your property.” He could tell she minded the invasion of her privacy. She’d probably climbed the butte to avoid him.
He searched for the bracelet he’d given her. It didn’t surprise him to see it wasn’t there. He remembered it, though—the design as it rested against her skin. The silver was heavy, and when he’d take it off her arm, it would retain the heat of her body.
She turned to Real Tall Man. “Yaá át ééh.”
Her heavily accented greeting called up memories of other times she’d spoken the language of The People. He could still hear the whispered words when they had made love; her throaty laughter when she couldn’t pronounce the difficult expressions.
Real Tall Man stepped in front of her and blocked his view. It didn’t matter. He knew every inch of her body—the long legs, slender curves. He even remembered the velvet texture of her skin. Silently, he swore.
The Coyote Pass Clan said she was bewitched, and maybe they were right. In spite of his suspicions that she was involved in a drug ring, he found himself still attracted to her. He hated that. Fighting drug smuggling was a passion of his. As an undercover federal agent on the president’s international task force, he spent all of his spare time pursuing the criminals who used this isolated region of the country as an entry point into the United States. He resented Autumn O’Neill, but he still wanted her.
Leather creaked as his black stallion rapped the red sandstone with his hoof. Jess recognized the gesture and shifted in the saddle. Impatience gnawed at him, also. His eyes narrowed against the shimmering waves of hot desert air. Real Tall Man moved and Jess focused on him to stop his thoughts of Autumn.
In a way, Jess envied Hasteen Nez. The hataali knew who he was and suffered no regrets. That seemed an impossible dream to Jess. He tried to live and think as an Anglo rancher, but traces of his Apache heritage plagued his peace of mind.
From experience, Jess knew it was impossible for a man of mixed blood to determine who he was. Arlo Ross hadn’t been able to resolve the question. Nor had his sister Dora, Autumn’s mother. Jess wondered how Real Tall Man felt about the bitterness of one child and the self-destruction of the other—all because Real Tall Man had fallen in love with a white schoolteacher.
In fairness, he had to consider Thomas and Lee, Real Tall Man’s two oldest sons. Tradition required them to be known by their mother’s name—a white man’s name. Both were successful lawyers, serving in the state legislature. Jess wondered how they had resolved splitting their allegiance to two worlds that were completely opposite in values and culture. Maybe he’d go to Phoenix and visit them, but it would have to wait until he’d put a stop to the smuggling operation. That was top priority.
Real Tall Man shifted and Jess could see her again.
She stood motionless, her black hair tied in a traditional Navajo knot. She had no right to imitate the ways of The People. She was probably a phony.
Autumn and Real Tall Man turned away from the edge of the cliff and sat down, facing each other on the flat butte. Jess straightened in his saddle, wishing he could hear the conversation.
More than likely Hasteen Nez was warning her about the crowd of people in the canyon below. Dr. Davidson had announced his archaeological discovery and the Navajo nation was not pleased with the disturbance of the ancient ones.
The professor’s discovery would create difficulties. The crowd of scientists and reporters might provide an effective cover-up for Autumn’s suspected activities, but he was hoping the confusion would make her nervous. If she made a mistake, he would be around to catch it.
For several moments, he contemplated the problem until her movement distracted him. She pulled on the band holding her hair in place. A cascade of ebony flowed between her fingers. Jess stared as the straight tresses tumbled around her waist.
Jess remembered how her hair had wrapped around their bodies, trapping them in a silken web. The thick strands had framed her face and contrasted sharply with the white sheets of his bed.
Sweat trickled down his clenched jaw. He lifted his hand and wiped his forehead with the once-white sleeve of his western shirt. After settling the black Stetson back on his head, he nudged his horse and moved close to the pair. “I’m going back down.” He gestured to the canyon.
Her glance locked with his. Defiance and challenge glittered in her black eyes. His conscience twinged. He remembered all too clearly how those very same yes had clouded with passion.
Autumn struggled to maintain her aloof expression. It barely covered the pain and confusion she felt whenever Jess Barron came near. She had tried to avoid him, but she hadn’t planned on Real Tall Man showing up. She was glad now that Jess had spotted her on top of the butte.
“Are you staying for the press conference?” In a way she hoped he was, but she knew she’d be better off it he was far from Coyote Springs.
“I’ll be there. I want to make sure the reporters get in and out okay. They aren’t used to roughing it like you are.”
“We have everything prepared for them.”
“I’m sure you do.”
Autumn inwardly flinched at the sarcastic tone.
Real Tall Man nodded and said, “I’ll be down after I talk to Autumn.”
Her glance swung toward her grandfather. He had initiated this meeting. Had he come to tell her he finally believed he was her kin? Not likely, but she could hope.
Jess’s voice cut into her thoughts. “Arlo is unloading the supplies. I’ll see if he needs a hand.”
The news that her uncle was here crushed her hope. Arlo would see that Real Tall Man didn’t make any overtures of welcome.
Real Tall Man said something to Jess in Navajo. She forced her glance to remain on her grandfather. She didn’t want to see the coldness in Jess’s silver eyes—eyes that once had danced with laughter. She didn’t want to see the half smile that creased one cheek. Nor could she bear the sight of his body, which had held her close.
Why, Jess? What had happened? Had Arlo Ross managed to convince the rancher that she was evil?
Her glance lowered to the fists in her lap. Evidently, a simple explanation was too much to ask of the rugged men of this dry and desolate country.
Jess noticed the clenched fists with a small measure of satisfaction. At least he wasn’t the only one who suffered when they met. He kicked the sides of his horse and headed down the path that led to Coyote Springs in the canyon below.
Jess braced himself against the gravity of the horse’s steep descent and shook his head at the absurdity of Autumn’s claim to be Indian. True, the máii deeshghizhnii were a noble clan and Real Tall Man was a famous hataali, respected among the Anglos, as well. If a person had to claim Indian blood, his clan would be an honored family to tie into. But for the twenty-eight-year-old woman to insist she was a relative didn’t wash—not to Jess.
Many who left the reservation never came back. If they did, they often rejected their Native American heritage. That’s what he’d done. Images formed of his return from his stint in the army. Seeing his father drink himself to death had been his final disillusionment.
There were plenty of reasons to reject the way of Dineh, The People, which made it more unbelievable for a stranger to arrive on the scene and start pretending to be Indian.
Autumn played the part well, like women he’d met in Phoenix, who used their trace of Indian blood to appear exotic. The difference was, those women wore feathers and turquoise, but stayed in plush apartments. Autumn had the mystique, yet she dug around in the dirt.
The stallion stumbled and Jess pulled on the reins, his attention momentarily trained on the task at hand. Rocks slipped over the edge, each one loosening the shale on its way, until a small landslide tumbled to the canyon floor hundreds of feet below. Jess tightened his knees against the horse and nudged him toward the wall side of the narrow trail. When the horse regained his balance, Jess’s thoughts returned to Autumn.
The woman was clever, he’d give her that. For over a year, he’d been trying to gather evidence to connect her to the growing cocaine market suspected of coming from the nearby reservation. The ring had begun operations one month after her arrival. Her family, which owned and ran one of the largest import-export companies in the country, had connections throughout the world. She had to be involved, but her alibis were always airtight.
Jess tilted his hat forward and then straightened. Maybe the old professor’s discovery was a boon after all. With all the hoopla on his property, Jess would have to stay on hand. He’d be able to watch Autumn without creating undue suspicion.
The stallion took a final leap and landed on the bottom of the canyon floor. Jess eased his mount across the sandy wash and headed toward the springs. Just as he rounded the bend he glanced up, hoping to catch a last glimpse of Autumn and Real Tall Man. The rim of the canyon stood silhouetted against the blue sky. Jagged spires of red rock lined the steep walls. There was no sign of Autumn, but a movement caught his attention.
The eagle.
In spite of the heat, a chill traced down his spine. Jess shook it off as he watched the majestic bird. It was coincidence—the flight of the eagle at that moment in time—but Daya would not think so. She would tell him that it was a sign—the time of her prophecy had come.
Jess muttered under his breath as he spurred his horse into a gallop. Daya always told tales—myths, legends. They’d been no more than that. Even though he’d loved his grandmother, he’d never believed her prophecy.
As the thought formed, so did the image of Autumn’s hair flowing past her waist. “You’ll meet her here at Coyote Springs—the woman of your dreams, my son.” Daya’s words echoed in his memories. “She’ll have long, straight hair and eyes like Apache tears. But beware. There will be many people. Some of them won’t be who they seem.” Jess shook his head clear. If any of Daya’s prophecy was true, it was the part about people not being what they seemed.
Cottonwood trees loomed ahead as he rounded another bend in the wash. Coyote Springs sat amid the trees, the clear water gurgling from the red rock and collecting in large pools of fresh water. Jess headed for the desert oasis, but not before he caught another glimpse of the eagle. He pulled in the reins and paused at the edge of the greenery, watching its flight.
Ridiculous, he thought. Here he was, a man with a master’s degree in range management, and he was sitting on his horse considering Daya’s stories.
The fact that he’d first met Autumn O’Neill at Coyote Springs held no significance to Daya’s prediction. He no longer believed in the ways of the Dineh. Daya’s claim that Jess would meet the woman of his heart at Coyote Springs was just a wild and superstitious tale, designed to entertain a small boy.
The eagle swooped into the canyon, caught an air current, and soared upward. Jess waited until the bird disappeared from sight and then nudged his horse toward the spring and Dr. Davidson’s camp.
Autumn watched the eagle circle overhead. Suddenly it swooped toward her and then rose to soar above the red rock canyon on a current of dry air. Its shriek carried across the desert terrain.
“You see? Even our brother, astá the eagle, agrees with me.”
Autumn shifted her gaze from the eagle to Real Tall Man. He sat cross-legged on the sandstone, proud and regal. The streaks of silver in his long hair matched the silver belts he wore over the blue tunic shirt. He was the only member of the clan who treated her kindly. Perhaps his position of leadership would influence the others. Someday, with patience and persistence, she’d know what happened to Dora Ross and the clan would recognize her as kin.
As always, she looked for the visual clues that showed she was related to the man. There were few. Autumn had her grandfather’s height, but his flattened cheekbones and broad features were in contrast to the Celtic characteristics she had inherited from her father. The only signs of her Navajo ancestry were the exotic tilt to her dark eyes and the thick strands of black hair.
Real Tall Man waved his arm toward the base of the cliff below them. “You must not bring these scientists and archaeologists to the home of the ancient ones.”
“The Anasazi tablets Dr. Davidson discovered are the main thing we’re interested in. The ruins here are just a few dwellings.”
“They house a secret—a dangerous secret.” Real Tall Man leaned forward to emphasize his point. “They are filled with bad chindi.”
Autumn shifted with impatience. She tried to understand the way of The People, but sometimes the beliefs seemed so illogical. “Are you sure?”
The old man took a deep breath. Worry lines edged the corners of the weathered skin around his dark eyes—eyes she knew better than to look into. “You must tell the doctor.”
Her shoulders slumped in dismay. Just what she needed—opposition from her grandfather. She had no control over the proceedings of the dig, yet he expected her to put a stop to it. His demand would only put another rift in their precarious relationship.
She started to protest, but before she could, he held up the gnarled fingers of his hand in a gesture for her to be silent.
“Last night I dreamed. Chindi live in the ruins—one who will destroy. The eagle came, but it was too late. The evil one disappeared in the earth in a pile of stone.”
In spite of the early morning sun, already hot on the back of her camp shirt, Autumn shivered. Hasteen Nez’s serious expression belied any doubts. Her instincts told her to listen. She had only met her grandfather and her Navajo relatives a few short months ago. She didn’t yet understand all their ways, but she knew about vision quests and the importance of dreams to The People.
Real Tall Man spoke again. “You must tell the others to go home—before it’s too late.”
“You know I can’t do that.” She could just imagine what Dr. Davidson would say if she asked him to cancel the press conference on the basis of a old man’s dream—not to mention the uproar from the crowd in the canyon below. “Dr. Davidson has worked long years on this research for the university. It’s his moment for acclaim.”
“What about our people—your people?”
Autumn’s heart constricted. “Are they my people? I was not born to the máii deeshghizhnii. My mother . . .”
Real Tall Man interrupted. “Your mother was born of it. She was my daughter.”
“You believe that I’m Dora Ross’s daughter?” Hope soared, but was soon flattened when she saw the closed expression on his face.
Autumn let the pain of the old hurt come and go. Now was not the time to think of how her mother had denounced her Navajo blood and left the reservation.
“But if you are with these people who dig through the ruins, you will anger the clan. It may make the path of acceptance more difficult to travel.”
“This is a major discovery. It will change our perception of southwestern history.”
“They should not disturb the ancient ones.”
“They’re scientists. They only want to study the evidence and record the history of the Anasazi. Surely there is no harm in that.” If only she could make him understand.
Real Tall Man stood and gestured for Autumn to rise with him. “I can see you have a stubborn streak.”
“It’s not stubbornness, but dedication to my work.”
Hasteen Nez’s expression let her know he thought otherwise. Autumn sighed. She wasn’t the only stubborn one.
“I want to give you this.” He pulled a silver chain from around his neck and let it dangle from his fingers. A nugget of uncut turquoise swung at its end. “Wear this at all times. It will protect you from the evil in the canyon.”
Autumn started to protest, but Real Tall Man stilled her words with his next action. He draped the chain over her head. Gently, he lifted the long strands of her hair from under the silver and let them settle around the nugget.
His warmth touched her skin, while the aged woodsy scent she associated with him surrounded her. It was the closest she’d ever been to the old hataali.
“Grandfather,” she whispered. For how many months had she wanted him to show her some sign of affection? It seemed like forever.
As if the longing in her voice had warned him, Real Tall Man stepped back. The sadness and pain in his expression mirrored her own. It wasn’t to be—not yet.
“I have called on the spirits to be with you.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. The gift of protection was the closest he’d come to saying he cared. He would never have given it to her otherwise. The cultural gap had narrowed another inch.
“Jess Barron is a good man. If you have trouble, go to him.”
Autumn couldn’t mask her surprise. She trusted Real Tall Man’s uncanny instincts about people, but the owner of the Eagle Heights Ranch had made it clear he wanted nothing to do with her. Surely, the old man had sensed the curt hostility between them.
“I doubt he’d want to help me. Besides, I won’t need it. There are close to fifty people down there.”
Real Tall Man wouldn’t let it go. “I saw him in my dream.” A strange note sounded in the old man’s voice. “Trust him.”
Rather than argue, Autumn smiled and nodded her head.
Real Tall Man’s expression lightened for a moment, but turned serious again. “Don’t trust Riker. He is like the skunk who tricked the coyote.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve been around enough to know about men like him. I’ll be careful.”
Frank Riker would be a royal pain, but Autumn was prepared for that. The Bureau of Land Management ranger had already caused her enough problems. He took advantage of every opportunity to put the make on her. She wasn’t immune to male attention, and she enjoyed flattery, but Frank was rude. Many of the incidents had been unpleasant, and Real Tall Man surely sensed the friction between them.
Frank wasn’t her real concern, though. She could manage him. It was her uncle, Arlo Ross, who worried her the most. Hasteen Nez wouldn’t mention his son—not with the obvious hostility Arlo felt toward Autumn. She didn’t want the Navajo rebel along on this project, but Dr. Davidson had hired him to provide the pack train that brought the expedition in to the canyon. Why Arlo wanted to work for the professor was a puzzle to Autumn. He lived the old ways and he hated the white man. In fact, he had actively protested the dig. Perhaps he’d hired on to make sure the ancient ruins weren’t destroyed. Or, Autumn considered, he could have plans to sabotage the professor’s efforts.
Resolving to keep an eye on Arlo, Autumn spoke. “No one will try to make any trouble. You don’t need to worry. I’ve organized everything for Dr. Davidson and I’ve made sure the scientists will do nothing to disturb the ruins. They only want to see the tablets.”
Real Tall Man didn’t reply, but he didn’t have to. His knowing expression told her what they were both well aware of. Coyote Springs was isolated, hundreds of miles from civilization.
“You have been warned and I have given you the turquoise. I must return home now.”
“Walk in beauty,” she said—the traditional farewell of The People. She longed to embrace him like she did Grandpa O’Neill. Her adoptive parents’ family was large and demonstrative. She was used to shows of emotion, lots of kisses, bug hugs. But if she acted like that with this grandfather, she’d lose the months of progress she’d made to win his reserved affection. Have patience, she reminded herself for at least the thousandth time.
Real Tall Man mounted his horse and descended the sloping side of the butte, soon disappearing between the canyon walls. Autumn walked the few yards to the steep edge and looked down at Coyote Springs.
Dr. Davidson stood in the center of a large group of archaeologists, students, historians, and reporters. Wayne Carson, his undergraduate assistant, was at his side. She shifted, uneasy and oddly excited.
In the months she’d been working as Dr. Davidson’s assistant, there’d never been a crowd like this in the canyon. In fact, she’d wager there hadn’t been a gathering this size since the Anasazi had lived here seven hundred years ago. This group would announce to the world the new discover that would alter history. She grasped the turquoise nugget and worked it between her fingers.
What had it been like in that ancient time? She glanced from the group and let her gaze travel across the broken walls of the ruins. Farther up the side of the cliff and nestled in the moqui cave were more dwellings. Protected by the large overhang of sandstone rock, these walls were still intact. Small windows made dark spots in the expanse of red block. They looked like eyes studying the scene below.
They’d witnessed the village life of the Anasazi. Today, they would see the unveiling of the professor’s great discovery. Autumn glanced back at the crowd, sensing the anticipation they all shared.
Dr. Davidson gestured as he talked and Autumn smiled at the lanky, disheveled man. Never before had she seen him filled with animation. Pride radiated from him as he brushed back the long strands of his thinning hair. This discovery meant a lot to him.
As a young archaeologist, Davidson had been involved in several significant finds in Central American and Mexico. Unfortunately, his move to the Southwest had proven unfruitful—until now. She knew his dwindling prestige had grated on his sense of pride. Even though she couldn’t hear the professor, Autumn knew he was rambling. Dr. Davidson wanted to draw out his moment of glory. And why not? She knew how long and hard the search had been. Over the past months, she’d gone with him to dig in the old Indian ruins scattered across the Barron property. He had been exploring the area for five years—since the ranch had been opened to public research. He figured there had to be uncharted ruins, and he’d been right. He was now preparing to reap the reward of the years of hard work.
Autumn shifted her attention from the professor to scan the crowd. Riker was directing a group who were getting the gear organized. Father down the canyon, Arlo Ross and two other guides were unloading the mules tethered in the shade of the saltbush. She tugged on her nugget as another wave of uneasiness washed through her.
A shrill cry overhead brought Autumn’s attention skyward. The eagle fanned his tail and soared higher, circling again and again. She could imagine what he must see—desert for hundreds of miles, dotted with cactus, juniper, and sage. Like hundreds of church steeples, rock spires lined the canyons where water eroded its way to the Colorado River. The sheer cliffs were a giant sand painting of browns, ocher, yellow, and red.
The eagle glided with ease over his territory, his sharp eyes missing nothing. What did he think of the sudden mass of people invading his domain? As if in answer to her unspoken question, he shrieked and flew toward the distant mountains.
Autumn sighed, almost with envy. She’d been alone in this isolated wilderness long enough, and while it would be stimulating to converse with others who held the same interest in the Anasazi as she did, the sudden invasion of people, noise, and confusion had disoriented her peaceful existence. For a brief moment, she longed to fly away as the eagle had done. Instead, she swung away from the edge of the cliff and headed down the trail.
Sandra Leesmith writes romance designed to warm the heart and make you smile. Sandra loves to play pickleball, hike, read, bicycle and write. A retired teacher, she lives in Arizona with her husband. During the hot summers she and her husband travel throughout the United States in their motorhome, where she enjoys the outdoors and finds wonderful ideas for her next writing project.
Visit with Sandra on her homes throughout the web
Amazon Author Page
Website
May 10, 2017
How do you write, J L?
J. L. Lora
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Visits with me on the Teegarner.com Blog today to tell us how she #writes….
I can’t resist an intriguing story and my characters know this. That’s why they show up out of nowhere and whisper a sentence in my ear. I always have the same reaction to it: huh? What is that all about? Sometimes the characters come with names and sometimes they just talk to me until I figure them out. A full scene unfolds before my eyes and I can only stand there; let it happen.
My name is J. L. Lora and I’m a newbie author.
When I met Alec and Carissa, the main characters in my novel Boss , they were knee-deep in conflict. These two were at odds. I was gifted with a scene that was exciting, confusing, and left me with an irregular heartbeat.
I learned Alec’s not a man you trifle with. He’s not your cookie-cutter anti-hero. He was irate and more than ready to do something about it. Carissa’s not a back-down type of girl. She can roll with the punches and is used to finding her way out of tight spots. I was impressed by her strength, fighting spirit, and courage.
The where and how I found them left me with a mile-long list of questions. So, I began to ask what I wanted to know. How did you guys end up here? How will you get out of this conundrum? But mostly, who the hell are the two of you?
Carissa, sitting in her lovely Queen Anne chair, proceeded to tell me their story with Alec taking over every other chapter.
This is how my stories develop. I meet my characters in what usually becomes the middle of their story, in a situation that so crazy it’s impossible but intrigues me and sets me on pursuit. Once I hear a portion of the story, I set out to make an outline with enough parameters to guarantee I am covering the characters’ natural progression, but loose enough not to limit them.
You see, I’m that weird animal known as the Plantser, 40% Plotter and 60% Pantser. I plot my stories and create scene maps, but I also let my characters frolic on the page and do as they will. I firmly believe in trusting your characters. They know their story and will guide you down the right path.
I start my first draft, which I call the barf, on Scrivener by regurgitating everything told by the characters. The next step is to clean it up and read it. I like to use Microsoft Word for this step. I use my outline to make sure I am hitting all the plot points. Next, I read and clean again and share it with my critique group.
That’s the moment when the story ceases being solely mine. It’s the hardest part in the process. Yes, I know it will develop, grow, and get ready to face an editor. Hardest step but the best thing that can ever happen to your story. Exposure changes perspective and transforms. That’s what you want for yourself and your story.
[image error]Learn more about
J L Lora, visit her
Website
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About J L Lora’s
Boss –
Available Now!
Determined to avoid the violence that claimed her family and friends, Carissa Elliott flees her hometown with a dangerous plan. She has proof that mafia boss Calum DeMateo killed her father—now she just has to catch him. To do so, she’ll have to transform herself from small-town ingénue to New York crime boss.
When her path crosses with Alec McLean, the sexy stranger with whom she once shared a steamy nightclub kiss, things take an unexpected turn. Alec heads his family’s criminal organization, the kind of made man Carissa should want nothing to do with. But he also has a plan to take down Calum, and the flames that flicker between them are irresistible.
Will their vengeful quests jeopardize their chance at lasting love?
May 8, 2017
**Special Post** Historical Romance Author Interview
Lane McFarland
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The Turnberry Legacy Series
At the turn of the fourteenth century, danger abounds with Scotland’s leadership in flux. Amidst rumors of King Edward reinstating John Balliol to the throne, Robert the Bruce commands his most trusted men to resurrect The Turnberry Bond, a pact specifying loyal Scots and Irish nobles band together in resistance against all adversaries. Follow the rebel warriors fighting for the rightful king of Scotland and their struggle with honor and love as their lives become intertwined with the brave women who challenge them.
~~~~~~~
To Support a King ~ Book One
Plagued by atrocities he committed against innocent victims while pursuing his father’s killers, Laird Mangus MacAndrew pledged to defend and provide for his clan. But his leadership is tested when two of his ships are attacked and his crews massacred. Desperate to fulfill his obligation to protect the clan, Mangus agrees to help reinstate The Turnberry Bond. His mission—garner support for the Bruce and avenge the deaths of his men.
The MacAndrew clan provides Catriona Butler something her Irish home could not, a safe haven. But when she receives a missive her brother is imprisoned and will be executed unless acceptable éraic can be obtained, she must return to her homeland.
Mangus agrees to take Catriona to Ireland and vows she will not become a distraction, but he longs to be near her. Catriona witnesses Mangus’s fierce anger and grows distrustful. After a life of suffering her father’s vicious temper, she is skeptical of anyone with a penchant for violence. She attempts to keep her distance, but her traitorous heart pulls her in Mangus’s direction.
With the fate of the kingdom on his shoulders, will Mangus reunite the men of The Turnberry Bond? Can he pursue vengeance against his enemies without taking more innocent lives? And can Catriona free her brother and grow to trust Mangus, staying true to her heart?
[image error] Meet Lane
Lane’s Web HOME
Lane’s BLOG
Although she’s always loved to write, no one could’ve convinced her that someday she’d be a bestselling author. For Lane, it’s truly a dream come true.
Starting out as an accountant, she soon realized the long nights and numerous weekends no longer held their appeal. She decided to hit the road selling financial software. Jumping from one high-pressured frying pan into the other, the stress of the road- warrior life and constant deadlines took its toll. She needed a release and found that through historical romance books, timeless love and happily-ever-after endings. Today, she’s happy and fortunate to have found her true passion in writing spirited heroines and to-die-for-heroes and the romantic love stories between them.
May 4, 2017
Friday Features…
April was a crazy month, but May has arrived full throttle and I’m back with my Friday Features post. Let’s visit a bit with Ms. Amy Schisler – no stranger to the Teegarner.com/blog. Here’s what’s happening with her new project. Enjoy. Remember that if you’d like to take part and be featured on Friday Features, please e-mail me at Teegarner (at) aol (dot) com.
Here’s a synopsis of Island of Miracles below and be sure to read to the end to read a full excerpt.
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Katherine Middleton leads a charmed life in her million dollar Georgetown Brownstone. The daughter of a world-renown anthropologist, she is happily married and employed by the Smithsonian when her world comes crashing down after the discovery of her husband’s secret life. An impulsive decision to hide out on Virginia’s Eastern Shore, in order to re-evaluate her own life, leads Kate to earth-shattering revelations about herself, her family, and her future. Chincoteague Island, Virginia, introduces Kate to a world where people can still rely on each other, where hard work pays off, and where one’s past does not dictate the future. Island of Miracles is a story about rediscovering oneself, restoring trust, recapturing love, and relying on faith.
Amy has been writing all her life as an author and freelance writer. She has published one children’s book and three romance novels. Picture Me, published in 2015, was the winner of the 2016 Illumination Bronze Award. Amy[image error]‘s critically acclaimed novel, Whispering Vines, published in 2016, was awarded the Illumination Bronze Award as best inspirational romance as well as the LYRA for the best ebook romance of 2016. She followed up her success with Island of Miracles in 2017.
Amy grew up in Southern Maryland and now lives on the Eastern Shore with her husband, three daughters, and two dogs.
Here’s how to interact with Amy on Social Media:
Goodreads
Purchase Island of Miracles here
Excerpt:
When Kate walked back into the kitchen, everyone was laying out the food and chit-chatting in a friendly and easy manner. Kate quietly looked for something to do to help as she smeared some cheese on a cracker and tried to be inconspicuous while greedily shoving the whole thing into her mouth. She reached for a crab ball and popped it through her teeth on the heels of the cracker. There was certainly nothing wrong with her appetite.
“Unless you’re interested in all the island gossip, the conversation isn’t very interesting in here. How about helping me fill the cooler?”
Kate turned around and recognized the man from the beach and the Boy Scout ceremony. He was grinning at her with the most adorable dimples and a smile that said he was probably up to no good. He motioned with his head toward what Kate assumed was the garage door.
“Um, sure. I can help,” she said and followed him to the door.
Once they were on the other side, he held out his hand. “Aaron Kelly.”
Kate took his hand, “Kate Middleton.”
“No way,” he said. “Should I bow? Am I allowed to be touching you?” He did a mock curtsey as Kate rolled her eyes.
“For Heaven’s sake, no. I am far from the princess my name suggests.”
“More like your brother-in-law, Harry? A little on the wild side?”
Kate could see that he was teasing her, and she smiled. “Maybe in my younger years.”
Aaron laughed. “Weren’t we all,” he said as he bent down and picked up a cooler. He headed to a refrigerator and began filling the cooler of ice with beer. “There’s another cooler over there that has ice in it, too. Just start opening those cases of soda and put them in the ice.”
Kate did as instructed, and the two worked together for several minutes in a comfortable silence. Kate glanced over at Aaron. He was devilishly handsome and extremely tall. She guessed he was at least 6’4” and was lean and trim. Though he had a shirt on, she could see the ripple of his tight abs when he moved. He had the legs of a runner which Kate appreciated. His hair was cut short in a military-type buzz cut, and he was clean-shaven.
“So,” Aaron began. “You’re not from around here, huh?”
“What gave me away? My royal demeanor or my British accent?”
His rich laugh once again filled the space between them, and Kate liked the sound of it. “I think it was the fact that I’ve lived on the island most of my life and would have remembered seeing you before.”
Kate felt the heat rise to her cheeks as she tried to shove one more can into the packed cooler. Aaron reached in and put his hand on hers. “I think it’s full,” he said with his hand covering hers. Kate quickly pulled her hand away and dropped the can back into the cardboard box. She wiped her hands on her shorts.
“You’re right. I guess we’re done here.” She didn’t look at him, didn’t know how to respond to his flirting.
Aaron was quiet for a moment and then turned and picked up the cooler of beer. “You’re right. Just leave that, and I’ll come back for it. Thanks for the help.” His smile was genuine as he turned toward the open door at the back of the garage. Kate watched him go and took a deep breath.
It was fun for a while, she admitted, but I’m not falling for a handsome face and a sexy laugh ever again, especially one who already has a wife, or ex-wife, and kids. She hurried back into the house before Aaron returned.
May 2, 2017
How Do You Write?
This year marks the 2nd Annual Writing Process blog tour. I will be chatting each week for the next eight weeks with a different author as they discuss their writing process. Enjoy. Up this week to kick things off…
Inge Saunders
I’m one of those authors who love to get input from editors. This usually shapes my writing process and[image error] how I write. In 2012 I started off writing my first novel by the seat of my pants, but once I understood what editors required of me. My process became more focused. Professional.
That’s one thing you have to decide for yourself, is writing going to be a hobby for you or are you going to take it seriously? Make it a career? Because that will definitely change the way you go about your writing process.
Not only will you allocate the right amount of time to finish your work. But you’ll hone in on a process that works for you.
My process might not work for everyone, but I hope it will inspire some to add structure to their planning. So, here are the steps:
I need three things to start a story; a premise, a handle on the characters and a solid idea of the dark moment, or more specifically where the story is going. This might not come in the order stated here. Characters can come first or the dark moment, then the premise. It doesn’t matter, though without these three things, I can write myself into a hole and not be able to get out of it. Remember these things can change as you write your novel. I’m currently on the 2nd daft of a paranormal romance and realized I need to increase the romantic conflict of the characters. This shifted the theme of the novel slightly, but still remained true to the premise of the story.
Now I outline everything. This usually consist of a Word document with bullet points and short paragraphs, outlining characters, setting, the premise, dark moment and where I want the story to go. And if I’m so inclined at the time, how it will end. (Remember to ask the big questions during this time in your process: Where? When (holiday/spring/summer/fall)? Single or series? What are each character’s goals (internal and external)? What motivates my characters? What are their names?)
Then I write a short synopsis, usually 2 to 3 pages. Focusing on the turning points in the story such as what do they want, what will stand in their way and in the end do they get what they originally wanted? Or do they find that they already had what was important? Or do they find something else that fulfills them?
Then I write the 1st three Chapters of the novel. This is when the story solidifies for me. When I get a good handle on the world of the story and[image error] characters.
At this point I decide, do I want to write out a 5 page synopsis, adding more detail, or do I want to go on from the 1st three Chapters and complete the story. Then write out the synopsis. With my current manuscript I had a completed synopsis but still veered off from it. With The Wolf’s Choice, the synopsis was literally the blue print for the book. So feel it out. What makes the writing process so interesting for me is that though there’s a level of structure, it’s not rigid.
I do research as I write and as I edit.
This is just for the 1st draft. I don’t stress about the 1st draft so much anymore, because I know the process of writing a story really comes alive in the 2nd or 3rd or 4th drafts. Don’t get[image error] bogged down by the above, what I consider to be the first phase of the writing process, it’s not the end result. The end is having a submission ready book.
All the best with your writing journey and thank you Tracee for having me again.
Thank YOU Inge for joining us!
A Little More About Inge
Inge fell in love with books when she started reading romance novels with her grandmother. Intrigued by the worlds books unlocked, it was inevitable she would take pen to paper. When she’s not writing about that ‘inexplicable attraction’ she’s reading almost every sub-genre in romance out there, spending time with friends and family and taking hikes in her hometown’s National Karoo Park. She forms part of Romance writers’ Organization of South Africa (ROSA) and currently has three books out with Decadent Publishing; Falling for Mr. Unexpected, Dance of Love and a paranormal romance, The Wolf’s Choice.
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Pick Up the latest releases from Inge at these participating online retailers:
[image error]Get Inge’s newest release The Wolf’s Choice – available NOW!!
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March 26, 2017
Authors In Bloom Special – Farewell Winter Pastry Pie
Hello Friends. Welcome.
Today starts Author Dianne Venetta’s Annual Authors in Bloom Blog Hop. I’m so excited to be participating again this year. And of course, if you’re following and commenting on the ALL the blog posts in the 10 day stop, scroll to the end to see the official rules and how to enter.
I always love Spring and the new opportunities it brings. Did you know I consider Spring my real NEW YEAR?
Why do I consider Spring my “REAL” New Year, well during the winter, things are still a little slow. You are still rendered immobile sometimes by the final threats of severe weather and immobilizing cold and I don’t know about you, but the winter almost always still makes me feel a bit of a grumpy girl. Gotta work on this. I love Spring honestly because I feel my bones and my mind sensing a newness that the earth brings forth, buds, and even thawing my heart and muscles to softer, more pleasant temperatures and attitudes as a result. I also finally have additional daylight hours, rising out of bed just a few minutes earlier to get more done and “get on with it, already!”
What do you like about the Spring?
As we say goodbye to Winter (weather), it is officially Spring by the equinox of course; I have a little recipe you can make that’s still warm and hearty for still cuddling and chilly nights. I’ve been eating this a LOT lately and I’m sad to see it go.
My Chicken Pastry Pie.
Note, I make this very simply, no fuss, no frills. It’s so easy. If you want to do all the frills of egg-wash for the top and a sprinkle of salt, by all means go for it, but I’m here to tell you I make it with THREE ingredients and I don’t use the egg wash at all. Save your eggs for scrambled or boiled eggs and toast in the morning.
INGREDIENTS (just 3 things)
1 Can Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom Soup
1 Rotisserie Chicken – note you can make two pies because one[image error] chicken has enough meat for two Pastries.
1 Puff Pastry sheet – Pepperidge Farm sells a box with two sheets.
DIRECTIONS
Heat the oven to 400°F.
Let your pastry sheet be cool (and pliable) but NOT warm so thaw it out in the fridge – DO NOT cut. Open it like a jacket.
In a bowl – pull off the chicken meat less than half the chicken – maybe enough for about 2.5 cups of chicken meat. Cut if you needed but I liked the rustic shredded look
Mix together the pulled chicken meat with the can of soup
Dump the soup and chicken mixture into the center of the pastry sheet – fold and toothpick the side “flaps” of the pastry closed to keep it from busting open while baking
Bake for about 20 – 25 minutes until the pastry is golden brown – remember the rotisserie chicken is fully cooked.
Some things you can do to make this a real Pot Pie
Add vegetables (cauliflower, carrots, peas) – a bag of steam vegetables also from Pepperidge Farm can be added to the soup/chicken mixture. Remember however, you may need to use less chicken so you don’t over stuff the pastry, or
Add Broccoli to the soup/chicken mixture
You could add a side salad since this recipe is like your chicken and bread all in one.
Depending on the chicken you like, I like something with a little more flavor like the garlic rubbed rotisserie chicken
A little more involved but not super hard, but these would also make great appetizers, simply get the puff pastry cups (or wonton wrappers) and spoon the soup/chicken mixture into each one and bake [image error]
Have fun with it, make it your own. Depending on portion sizes you cut, it could serve 2-4 people. And that’s also why you can get two of these out of one chicken. Here’s mine before baking.
See another version of this recipe here.
Show pictures if you make this and let me know how it goes over with your family.
All Right it’s
PRIZE Time!
To enter and be eligible to win MY prize:
Eligibility and Rules for entering to win Tracee’s giveaway – which, by the way, is a $ 10 gift card to spend at Amazon.com
You can live just about anywhere, you’ll just want to make sure I can send you (via e-mail) the code for your PRIZE (via Amazon.com in the US), a $ 10 gift card.
Be 18 years of age and older
Sign up for my newsletter
Must leave a comment below AND sign up for my author newsletter
At the end of the 10 day blog hop, I will post the winner’s first name on the front page of Teegarner.com and it will be in my next newsletter (which you will get because you subscribed as part of the entry)
To enter and be eligible to Win Dianne’s prize
GRAND PRIZE: Dianne is giving away WINNER’S CHOICE a Kindle Fire OR Nook and a $ 25 Gift Card
Eligibility Rules for entering Dianne’s giveaway
Visit EACH and EVERY ONE of the blog stops in the 10 day hop – you can see them ALL here:
Only those that visit EACH and EVERY stop are eligible for the grand prize
Your Eligibility will be verified at the end of the Blog Hop
Don’t forget to leave your contact information / FIRST name and E-mail address in the comment section or we will have no way to contact you to let you know you’ve won
Winners will be posted on both Dianne Venetta’s author page and the Bloomin Thyme websites.
March 23, 2017
Friday Features
Up today, Ms. Suzette D. Harrison.
Suzette D. Harrison, a native Californian and the middle of three daughters, grew up in a home where reading was required, not requested. Her literary “career” began in junior high school with the publishing of her poetry. While Mrs. Harrison pays homage to Alex Haley, Gloria Naylor, Alice Walker, Langston Hughes, and Ton[image error]i Morrison as legends who inspired her creativity, it was Dr. Maya Angelou’s I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings that unleashed her writing. The award-winning author of Taffy is a wife and mother who holds a culinary degree in Pastry & Baking. Mrs. Harrison is busy cooking up her next novel…in between batches of cookies.
Here’s a little about her latest title, My Joy with an excerpt to follow.
Joy Matthews isn’t afraid of risks. She’s quit her Fortune 500 job and enrolled in culinary school, chasing her dream. Joy wants her own couture cake boutique. Pursuing her dream by day, Joy pays the bills working nights at The Hourglass—an exclusive gentlemen’s club catering to patrons who enjoy “a little extra fine on a woman’s frame.” Joy’s catching up to her dream when a chance encounter reconnects her with Quinton Daley, a childhood friend. Mutual attraction throws the proverbial wrench in Joy’s relationship-phobic, happily agnostic life. A goal-oriented woman who “do[image error]esn’t do men with Bible breath,” Joy sees in Quinton a whole lot of what she likes but doesn’t need. Tall, chocolate-skinned, and born-again, Quinton’s Christianity poses a risk even the tenacious Joy isn’t willing to take. Quinton Daley isn’t fazed. He’s a man of faith who will willingly wait on Joy to come to God…and him. When love and lust heat up, Joy and Quinton face a predicament. Will they indulge? Or abstain? Join this wild mix of custom cakes, a saved, sanctified and sexy man, and an obsessed patron from The Hourglass who’s determined to make Joy’s life a sticky mess.
Enjoy this excerpt!
Chapter One
PAID, NOT LAID
Welcome to The Hourglass where the sands run wide.
Tonight The Hourglass is full like the figures—overflowing with its usual suspects, styling and profiling like diamonds. Bright. Shining. In the dark, on the Down Low. Not as in men liking other men. These playas here like their women, and they like them big.
An upscale gentlemen’s club, The Hourglass’ modus operandi is providing fluffy and plus- sized fantasies. This establishment was created for men coveting the company of women with a little extra fine on the frame. If defined by their wallets alone, most of these patrons can be classified as gentlemen.
I wasn’t aware California’s central valley had so many baller-shot-callers until working here. This clientele has wallets that support their hefty dreams, literally. From the capital to the bay, the foothills and back, these gents are rolling. Not every patron has deep pockets, but trust, The Hourglass hosts men with money in the millions.
That’s why I’m here. Tryna be paid, not laid.
My girlhood goal was never to be swirling around poles, legs flapped open, business on parade. This is my part-time slave. A means to an end in a sexy, safe environment where I don’t slide or ride nothing. I’m not vending machine exchanging coochie for coins, which is why I keep my happy hips on Level One.
The Hourglass has three floors. Level One, where I work three to four nights a week is tame, for no-skin-on-skin, hands-off “virgins” like me. No touching. No licking. Just looking. Second floor employees? Patrons can look and maybe lick. Now, the third floor. That’s what my girl, Diamond, had the nerve to rename The Upper Room.
I’m not religious. I no longer believe in God; and trust, we don’t speak. An ex-child of the cult, I’m not agnostic. I’m indifferent and don’t care to argue God’s existence. Still, naming the top floor The Upper Room is downright irreverent. But that’s Diamond for you.
Chick has to be the coolest white female. In here, she calls herself Diamond Divine. I call her D.D. for that, and the fact that it’s her cup size. Her behind is near-‘bout flat, but her hips are almost curvy-wide as mine. With her ivory skin, flaming hair, and jade-green eyes, chick is gorgeous and could be a cover model: plus-size. Still, she’s like most of us in here tryna earn extra and keep out of collections.
Back to what Diamond calls The Upper Room. It’s not my thing, but my Third Floor sisters do some sexing. D.D.—a former Vegas girl who stripped on the strip and starred in skin flicks— says it’s smoky and theatrical with poles, cages, and butt-naked lap dances. D.D.’s trying hard to get Third Level status and work some skin in, but she has to have a patron sponsor her in. The Third Floor has a $2,500 cover charge. D.D.’s take-home would be a hefty percent. I can’t judge. But that’s not me.
That’s why I stay on Level One where The Hourglass remains, in its simplest form, a gentlemen’s supper club “offering privacy to gentlemen of means gathering, for leisure or business, in the company of women of substance”. No disrespect to my fully-empowered sisters who choose to, but I can’t do tart in a titty bar. I don’t flash these goodies.
“Joy!”
I’d barely locked my purse in the employee lounge before Zaki was in my grill. Please note: I didn’t mind.
With his always professionally styled long locs, Zaki had to be one of the finest Nigerian- American brothers I’d ever had the fortune of being hot and bothered about. Take a cup of Idris, a pound of Djimon, and mix with several slabs of that deep, dark, delicious Michael James Shaw!
Lawd, today! Did you see when he rolled outta Miss Kizzy’s bed in the remake of Roots and showed Massa Tom what he was working with? Bless that wonderful name! Find several needed seats, Massa Tom Lea. You’re not it!
Anyhoo…as I was saying, Zaki is oh so right. And if I wasn’t employed here and didn’t see us cracking condoms as a conflict of interest, trust! I would’ve dropped Zaki some the first, second, and fifth time he expressed interest. Instead, I stood in the hall, ready for him to bug me about old dude yet again.
“Yes, Zaki?”
“You look nice.”
“True,” I teased with a wink. I’m a flirt, admittedly. “What can I do for you?”
“Me.”
See, yet another reason why I like Zaki—other than the fact that he’s a good bartender and
knows how to put extra on those Pink Panties. He’s quick on his feet, and keeps up with me. I wondered if that included horizontally…
“Huh?” I obviously drifted, thinking of what life could be like being nakedly busy with Zaki. “I said, he’s still interested.”
Some boss patron named Randall Cummings had been “requesting the honor of my
presence,” nonstop over the past two months. He’d even sent gifts like gourmet chocolates and spa certificates to sweeten the possibility. I’d declined each. R.C., as I renamed him, haunted floors two and three. We already know those floors are too high. I can’t pay that licking and looking price. “No thanks, Zaki.”
“He’s willing to meet you on Level One to keep things comfortable.”
Shame on me, but my mental calculator got to multiplying. Zaki had approached me like some emissary for R.C at least seven times in the past weeks. Every time he did, I asked what level homeskillet was frequenting.
Zaki’s answer? “The top.”
Multiplying seven by Level Three’s twenty-five-hundred-dollar cover charge was…fix me, Jesus…nine months of my mortgage!
Sorry, but curiosity caught my kitty.
I’d never seen Randall Cummings up close. Zaki pointed him out a couple of times, but always at a distance. The lights in The Hourglass were kept low, so I saw little to nothing. I was suddenly curious about seeing up close what kind of brother dropped five figures at a companion’s club in two months.
“So, what’s wrong with dude that he’s so persistent? Is he Gollum? Lil’ Wayne? Or Flava Flav?”
Zaki laughed like I was crazy, which I am. “Why the brother gotta be unattractive?”
“ ‘Cause he pays for it.”
Zaki shook his head. “Joy, don’t let the smooth taste fool you. These men in here pay
because they want to.”
Sometimes, when I’m not an active companion keeping company, I hang at the bar and talk
to Zaki. I’ve gotten to know him as a pretty laid-back, smooth business kind of brother. But I noticed his voice had a razor’s edge when stating what he’d just said. “You okay, Zaki?”
“I’m straight.” Crooking his head towards the end of the hallway, he invited, “Walk with me to the bar.”
Sucker for a fine man that I am, I did.
“He asked me to give you this.”
Really?! I looked from the Tiffany-blue box and up at Zaki. “Z., you’re fine enough to play
games with, but not tonight. What is this B.S.?”
Zaki shrugged. “Open it and see.”
And that’s when I should’ve run my broad behind up out that piece.
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March 22, 2017
LaShaunda Hoffman Stops By…
Today’s Blog Post, part of the Don’t Rock Fear Blog Tour welcomes Social Media Guru and Authorpreneur Ms. LaShaunda C. Hoffman to discuss help for authors and breaking free from promotion fear.
DAY 3
Thanks for following the Don’t ROCK Fear Blog Tour.
Welcome to day three of the tour. I would like to thank Tracee for letting me share with you today.
Today’s Promotion, Fear – Stepping Out Of My Comfort Zone
Most writers are pretty shy so, getting out from behind the computer can be a little intimidating. However they also know you can’t sell books if no one knows you have a book.
It’s hard to step away from your comfort zone, but it doesn’t have to be if you find a few things that you find comfortable. I recommend social media if you’re not ready to leave your home.
Social media is a fun way to promote and you don’t have to leave the comforts of your home.
Facebook is all about chatting with readers[image error]
Instagram you can share pictures
Twitter you can have fast conversations with your readers.
Find the platforms you like and master them. Before you know it, you won’t be worried about your comfort zones, because you will be building relationships on these platforms and selling books.
When you are ready to venture outside your home, I recommend you start local.
Check out the local libraries they always have events for authors to participate in.
Or you can pitch a workshop or book signings to them.
Become the celebrity author in your hometown; then move to outside areas when you feel comfortable.
Now you don’t have to ROCK this fear anymore. You are ready to move past your comfort zone and become the social butterfly you are meant to be.
I would like to invite you to register for the Don’t ROCK Fear – Promotion Mindset 7 Day challenge and kick fear in the butt.
This challenge is for writers, business owners and anyone who is dealing with fear. Don’t let fear ROCK You. http://bit.ly/PM7Challenge
You are also welcome to join the See Ya On The Promotion Training Group, where we teach you how to be a social butterfly.
Are you dealing with promotion fears? Leave one of your fears in the comments for a chance to win registration to the Don’t ROCK Fear – Promotion Mindset 7 Day challenge.
LaShaunda C. Hoffman took her love for books and turned it into an award winning online magazine, Shades of Romance Magazine. Her mission in life is to introduce as many books as she can to readers. She’s happily married mother of three who believes in dreams and working hard to achieve them. She has a promotion strategy program – Virtual Tea With LaShaunda where writers and business owners learn how to create promotion strategies for their online promotions.
In 2015 she published her first book, Building Online Relationships – One Reader At A Time. A book to help writers stay consistent with their promotion by building relationships with their readers.
Catch LaShaunda online:
lchwriter@gmail.com
SORMAG – http://sormag.blogspot.com,
See Ya On The Net and her personal site – http://lashaundahoffman.com
Facebook – Facebook.com/lashaunda.hoffman
Twitter – @Sormag
Instagram – lashaundahoffman
See Where LaShaunda will be next in the Upcoming Don’t ROCK Fear Blog Tour and learn more about Promotion Fears.
The person who visits all the stops and leave a comments will be entered for a chance to win registration for the Don’t ROCK Fear – Promotion Mindset 7 Day Challenge
March 20. Nothing But Books
March 21 – The Literary Entrepreneur
March 22 – Tracee Garner
March 23 – Sylvia Hubbard
March 24 – Rose Jackson-Beavers
March 27 Ey Wade
March 28 – SORMAG’s Blog
March 29 – Michelle Stephens
March 30 – Read You Later
March 31 – Patricia Saunders
Also catch LaShaunda at my upcoming Facebook Release Party. She, myself and 8 other awesome authors have gifts and prizes galore to give away and fun games just for those who attend. The awesomeness starts promptly at 6:30 p.m. EST 3:30 PDT|
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