Spotlight on Bethany Turner

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Here’s Bethany!

bethanyThe first time I realized I was a decent writer was way back in second grade. Incidentally, at the exact same moment, I realized for the very first time that my creativity set me apart. As a finalist in a state-level writing competition in Kentucky, I was asked to select one living person with whom I would have lunch with if given the opportunity, and then write an essay explaining why and describing how I envisioned the lunch would take place. It was the late 1980’s, and my fellow finalists chose all of the usual suspects ‒ Ronald Reagan, Margaret Thatcher, Mikhail Gorbachev, Princess Diana…

I chose John Stamos. Yes, that John Stamos. At the time he was Uncle Jesse on “Full House”, and I was much more interested in talking about that than I was communism or the economy. I wrote about what was interesting to me, and I was rewarded with a medal. From that moment on, I never looked back.

My Abigail Phelps series of books (I’ve Loved These Days, Scenes From Highland Falls, and Two Thousand Years) have carried on that tradition. My writing is saturated in pop culture, full of my favorite celebrity guys, and most of all, it’s made up of what is interesting to me. When I began writing the Abigail trilogy, I was working more than fifty hours a week as Vice President of a commercial bank which was in the beginning stages of a merger. I was active in my community, on the boards of several civic organizations, and involved in so many different things I couldn’t begin to list them all. More important than any of that, I’m a wife and a mom. What I wasn’t, I thought, was a writer. Certainly not an author ‒ that intimidating title which I was certain I would never deserve. I wrote for fun. I wrote as a release. I wrote because it was nice to spend late nights creating dialogue for George Clooney and JFK Jr.

Now that the books are out there, and I call myself an author, I still do it because it’s fun. I do it because writing dialogue for George Clooney will never be boring. And I do it because it’s interesting to me ‒ and I can’t tell you how grateful and humbled I am to discover that it seems to be interesting to others as well.

Bethany’s Books – On Sale for 99 cents! – May 15th only

I've_Loved_These_Day_Cover_for_Kindle (3)“The very first time you met me you knew that he would never be the same again, didn’t you? For the record, I was never the same again either. And while times have changed and opportunities have been lost, I still know in my heart of hearts that I never will be. But we can’t go back, and we can’t undo. What’s more, I don’t really want to. While my life is not perfect, it is uniquely, ridiculously mine, and I would not trade it.”

Abigail Phelps has written her memoirs, but the world has never heard of her. So why should anyone care? Perhaps no one would, if the letter in which Abigail reflects on changing times and lost opportunities weren’t addressed to Jacqueline Onassis, and the man who would never be the same weren’t John F. Kennedy Jr.

Put aside all you think you know and jump into the greatest love story the world has never known.

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Scenes_From_Highland_Cover_for_Kindle (3)“I knew that Senator Kennedy would not accept defeat. He would not step aside and allow his horrible error to be a wake-up call. He would not reach out to me and suggest we put our bitter feud behind us. He would try again, for Kennedy men do not give up. They don’t give up on their dreams of the White House, they don’t give up once they decide they want to spend their lives with the woman they love, and they don’t give up until they’ve gotten rid of anything standing in their way.”

The delusions of a woman detached from reality? Or the scandalous, well-kept secrets of the greatest love story the world has never known? In the second installment of the Abigail Phelps Series, Abigail’s stories become even more difficult to believe, and absolutely impossible to deny.

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Two_Thousand_Years_Cover_for_Kindle (3)“Women half Abigail’s age would envy her body – a body fitting a star athlete, a Hollywood actress, or a young lady desired by scandalous politicians. Her face showed depth of character, a result of more sorrow but also more joy than most of us could handle. And her hair. The breathtaking auburn curls remained, and though there may have been isolated streaks of gray throughout the voluminous strands, I found it impossible to not picture Christopher Dean playing with the curls in a café in Vienna, and Sergei Grinkov unknowingly causing pain, but more importantly comfort, as he caressed her hair after the attack by Ted Kennedy. And I couldn’t help but visualize John Kennedy’s jaw dropping to the floor when he saw her for the first time in so long, gorgeous in a purple dress, hair down though she so often wore it up. Some things I envisioned had occurred, others had not. But they were all unmistakably Abigail Phelps.”

Abigail Phelps and John Kennedy Jr. weren’t destined to live happily ever after. In this, the dramatic conclusion to the Abigail Phelps Series, we learn that there is something even better than a fairy tale ending. Sometimes it’s better to have no ending at all.

“How do you know your heart is still beating? Do you have to see it or feel it to know? No, you just know. You know because you live. Well, Abby is my heart and I’m hers. We just know.”

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Bio

Bethany Turner was born and raised in Kentucky, but now lives in Colorado with her husband and two sons. She studied theatre at the University of Kentucky before going on to a career in bank management, which eventually gave way to writing. She finally knows what she wants to be when she grows up.

Where to find Bethany…

Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Pinterest

Where to find Abigail Phelps…

Website | Facebook | Twitter


Spotlight on The Missing Mah Jongg Player

I am thrilled to spotlight Iris Wynne’s debut novel…

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Blurb

Steve Wade is an ex cop with an ex-wife and girlfriends he could never commit to. Now he’s a private investigator known for his knack in solving crimes.

This handsome private eye never has a problem finding clients. His newest case involves five frantic Mah Jongg players who are in search of one of their players who disappeared after meeting a man on an online dating site.

Steve Wade is reluctant to take the case. He believes she is just another woman not wanting to be found. But the women are insistent that their missing Mah Jongg player did not vanish on her own. In the meantime, they organize a Valentine’s speed dating gig inviting all the suspects who dated Marilou Dickson, the missing Mah Jongg player, in an attempt to find out what happened to her.

As he watches the dinner play out he begins to realize she may not have gone willingly when all the suspects are presented before him. He even hires his sometime drop dead gorgeous girlfriend for the event to lure the culprit out into the open. Steve just hopes no one goes home with a potential killer.

He has to work fast when the case begins to unravel as lies and betrayal become evident and the truth of what happened to the missing player becomes clear. Will he be able to find the suspect before they choose another victim? This may be his biggest challenge yet.

Excerpt

Marilou Dickson was sitting at the bar, sixty miles away from Toronto on a Saturday night waiting for her date. The only problem was she didn’t know who he was. She got in touch with him on an online dating site and his picture looked great, even though he was much younger than her. A full head of dark hair, straight nose, large hazel eyes and great abs from a previous picture he sent her. She imagined his strong arms wrapped around her as he made love to her. She was tired of being alone as age and beauty were slowly taking its toll while drinking and smoking was becoming an obsession that a good man could help her control.

The noise in the bar was unbearable and she was dying for a cigarette. At least in the old days before cell phones and Internet, you could smoke. The place was packed with pretty girls in floozy outfits, some displaying unwanted flesh. Youth could get away with many things and the sleazier you got, the more attention from the men.

It was like that years ago before marriage and grown kids.

Her phone buzzed which made her spill her drink on her new gold cashmere sweater.

“Damn!” she said.

“May I buy you another drink?”

She looked up and there was her man, looking better in person.

“Hi!” she said tying not to slur her words.

“Let’s get out of here,” he whispered to her.

“What about my drink?”

“Let’s go to my place.” He smiled as his white teeth flashed at her.

She wanted to stay here and enjoy the bar and perhaps dance. She wasn’t ready to go to his place yet. She sighed and smiled up at him.

“Why don’t we just stay here?”

“You’ll get too drunk.”

She grinned at him, thrilled that he should be so concerned about her. Her phone buzzed again. She gave him a shrug.

“Sorry–I may as well answer this or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

She was going to tell him her friends were worried about her, warned her about going out with strangers–blah-blah. She decided not to say anything. She noticed that his hair was an unnatural black hue, almost like a wig. She wouldn’t care less if he was bald–didn’t men understand that? His glasses were tinted unable to really see the color of his eyes. Something in the pit of her stomach was telling her something was off. She answered her phone walking a distance away from him and the bar. He was watching her though, his look almost a leer. Perhaps it was because she was drunk that she thought this. Nevertheless she would not leave alone and go back into an empty house especially on a Saturday night.

“Marilou is that you?” Harriet said, her voice full of concern.

“What’s up, I’m in the middle of a date.”

“Just checking to see if you’re okay.”

“I’m fine really, you don’t have to worry.”

“Where are you?”

“Outside of Toronto.”

“What!”

“Harriet, I’m a big girl.”

She glanced over at him. He bought a drink and was sipping it rather quickly. He was watching her so she waved to him.

“What does he look like?”

“I don’t know, he’s wearing a dark wig and glasses.”

“Marilou, that is not a good sign.”

Harriet could hear a deep voice asking her friend something.”

“Gotta go Harriet, see you Monday night.”

There was a click and the line went dead.

Pre-order on Amazon

Canada | United States | United Kingdom | Australia

Bio

irisphotoIris Wynne is a book lover, a day dreamer and a hopeless romantic. She is a writer of cozy mysteries with an element of romance. She is a mother of two girls and in her spare time she dog walks, plays golf in the summer and of course grabs a game of Mah Jongg whenever she can. ‘The Missing Mah Jongg Player’ is her book debut.


Where to find Iris…

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Pinterest


An Artist’s Prayer

On Monday evening, I participated in another session with The Artist’s Way group, facilitated by Lisa Browning of One Thousand Trees. Lisa shared the following prayer, written by visual arts teacher and writer Marion Reidel.

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I will step out of the shadows
And will accept all invitations
I will seek out play dates
Down the spiritual path
In the realm of the sacred
Paying attention to life around me
I am witness to my own life
I will practice being kind to myself
And experiment with solitude
Welcoming my inner silence
What is unsought, will go undetected
And what I focus on will expand

I will create for my own satisfaction
And be happy with what I create
Giving myself permission to be a beginner
I will evict my inner critic
So I will surrender the need to be perfect
For there are no mistakes
For I have all the courage I need
Yet, I will admit when I need help
Letting go of the negative
I will feel less frustrated
I don’t know yet what I can do
And clarity will find me


Spotlight on Covert Danger

Covert Danger

A Single Woman… A Double Life

Free – May 12, 13 and 14th

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High fashion model, Sadie Stewart, is a dedicated undercover CIA agent used to getting her man. But this time she’s chasing a power-hungry international arms dealer stealing ancient Egyptian amulets. Brilliant, ruthless and slightly wacko, he’s a hard catch. She’s willing to risk everything to stop him, but the handsome Sebastian Wilde, who looks like a modern Viking, keeps getting in her way. Her independence is shaken as he stirs feelings in her that she thought only existed in fairy tales. Can she put their attraction aside and get the job done?

When Sebastian sees Sadie in a high speed motor-boat flying down the Grand Canal in Venice, with the Italian military police hot on her tail, her beauty and courage intrigue him. He has a personal vendetta to stop the trading of looted art, and when it looks as though she’s involved in that shady world, he decides to stop her. Could the femme fatale really be that evil?

Their adventure spans the globe with scenes in Venice, Florence, Amsterdam, Cairo and New York.

Can they work together and stop the heist planned for the Met Museum of Art? Protecting the relics becomes their shared goal, but it’s not all about ancient magic and power. Love hangs in the balance.

A cross between Indiana Jones and Covert Affairs
Award Winning
Smart, Sexy Suspense

Meet the heroine, Sadie Stewart:

Why did you become a spy?

I love living on the edge. I never know what’s going to happen next. I tell people I do it because I’m making a difference in a seriously messed-up world, and I believe that, but the adrenalin rush is what keeps me going.

Does your code name Mata Hari fit?

I love sex, everything about sex… But Mata Hari’s reputation as a femme fatale is hard to live up to. Sensual, sexual… mesmerizing. Being compared to a legend is tough.

But… men say I nail it.

Do you believe in the supernatural power of ancient Egyptian amulets?

Heck no. I value relics for their beauty and history. They belong in a museum where everyone can appreciate them. I don’t believe in magic. But I have to admit I’ve seen some pretty weird things happen around them.

What attracts you to Sebastian Wilde?

Oh my! Where do I start? He’s six feet five inches of man. He looks like a Viking Warrior, with long sun-kissed blond hair and blue eyes the color of the sky at dawn. He smells rugged and when he kisses me my whole world tilts. That’s what first attracted me to him. Then I got to know him and truly lost my heart. There is no other man like Sebastian. There is no other man for me.

Meet the Author, Jo-Ann Carson

DSC01318 Small Web viewJo-Ann Carson has lived most of her life on islands off the west coast of Canada, surrounded by snow covered mountains, lush rain forests and pristine beaches.

Growing up, she dreamed of traveling the world like James Bond, finding archeological treasures like Indiana Jones, and finding true love. In her Mata Hari series combines elements of adventure, danger and steamy romance.

Links:

To acquire a book:

Free on Amazon

May 12, 13, 14

To contact or follow Jo-Ann on Social Media go to her website:

www.Jo-AnnCarson.com

Sneak Peek Saturday

It’s official – The Wild Rose Press will release A Season for Killing Blondes on Friday, June 12, 2015. In the meantime, I will provide sneak peaks on several Saturdays leading up to the release.

In today’s excerpt, Gilda encounters Carlo’s detective persona.

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Carlo had removed his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his light blue dress shirt. His tie lay on the desk. The rumpled look suited him to a tee. And his large black-rimmed glasses accentuated those unforgettable blue eyes. Bluer than blue. Sky blue. Cornflower blue. Robin’s egg blue. Years ago, Adele Martino and I had come up with thirty-seven descriptions of Carlo Fantin’s eyes when Mrs. Gillespie assigned one of her Monday morning English composition exercises. As I tried to recall the other thirty-three, I realized that Carlo was speaking to me.

“…he’ll be taking notes as well.”

Darn! Another officer in the room, and I had missed his name and more importantly, his title. Was he a detective or a constable? I’m sure Sofia would know. In the meantime, I better stop daydreaming and start listening. I nodded in the direction of the beefy officer. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Expertly trimmed moustache. A big bear of a man who reminded me of Magnum P.I.

Carlo cleared his throat. He was ready to get down to business. Police business. “It appears that Carrie Ann was your first client. You haven’t opened this office for business yet. How did that happen?”

My heart raced as I spoke. “After Sofia and my mother left…I’m not certain about the time…um…I…I heard a knock at the front window. I looked up and saw Carrie Ann. Hadn’t seen her in ages.” I paused and then added, “Still wearing the same pageboy hair style and that blonde color—”

Carlo waved his hand. “Stick to the facts, please.”

I felt myself reddening as those piercing blue eyes bored right through me. “Oh, sorry. Um, I let Carrie Ann in.”

“And?” Carlo said when I hesitated.

I shrugged. “We just talked for a while, then, uh…” I closed my eyes and tried to recall the conversation. But nothing concrete came to mind, only Carrie Ann’s infectious laugh and bubbly compliments about the decorating scheme. When I opened my eyes, the other officer offered me a water bottle. I thanked him and gulped down half the contents.

“You scheduled her for a session tomorrow morning,” Carlo said as he held up my appointment book. “Carrie Ann is…was considered one of the best interior designers in town. Why would she need counseling from you?” His dark brows drew together in a suspicious frown. “Were you planning to tell her to give it up?”

Available for Pre-Order

Amazon Canada | Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon Australia | Kobo



From Human Anatomy to the Anatomy of a Murder

Welcome to my Second Acts Series!

Today, we have Dr. Noelle Granger sharing insights from her multi-act life.

Here’s Noelle!

newnoelleI came to writing pretty late, when I decided to retire earlier than I’d originally wanted but realized the time was right!

Act I (a long time ago)

I went to an all-female college, got my Ph.D. in anatomy at a medical school, and after a few stutter steps, started my academic life as a faculty member at a university medical school. Somewhere between high school and graduate school, I figured I was best suited for life in the academy; I’m not sure why – it just happened. I never thought about the fact that I wouldn’t have an easy life because of the requisite parts to an academic career. Maybe I should have.

I taught human anatomy (with real bodies) to medical students and paramedics; this was the most fulfilling part of my profession as far as I was concerned. I did bench research, and this was the toughest part – producing results for and writing academic papers, reworking them when they were not immediately accepted; reviewing for journals; writing chapters and books; presenting your results at meetings; training students and assistants in your laboratory; and last but not least, continually searching for grant support. There is a required service component to this career – serving on boards and committees for your department, the school, the university, your professional organizations, the state and even the country. This service gave me a lot of satisfaction, because through it I helped establish programs and organizations for women at the university.

Act 2 (the somewhat distant past)

I ran out of energy. That’s the long and short of it. I’m married to an OB/GYN who was naturally tied to a hospital and I raised two children. I don’t regret any of it, but I ran out of energy. I also became increasingly frustrated by the fact that all the writing I was doing was formulaic – the research is creative, the writing up of that research is not. I started writing stories for my children about my childhood in my copious free time, and then asked: Why not do this full time?

Act 3 (last six years)

After “retiring,” I decided to write a book and did it in about six months – a murder mystery because I read mysteries every chance I get (okay, even in the bathroom) and could use my medical background to make it real. I thought that first book was wonderful; the critique group I joined did not. Patiently and slowly, the group taught me about writing fiction, dialogue, and scenes.

Finally, four years later, I self-published my first book.

Then I waited around to see if it became popular. Newsflash: you have to work to get your book noticed and read and reviewed. So for the last two years I’ve been on a steep learning curve with social media and marketing. Plus I got hooked on my characters and wrote a second book.

Act 3 (present time)

Right now I am about halfway through my third book. I’ve learned about the value of beta readers and editors and hired a local marketing group. My second book came out a little over a month ago, and this time around I had a launch party, interviews, news releases, some book/signing and readings and the helpful promotion of the book by my blogging sisters. I’m thinking of stretching a little and writing a historical novel, based on one of the Pilgrims who came to the New World on the Mayflower. I grew up in Plymouth, was a tour guide there, and have a deep and abiding respect for the ordinary men and women who also undertook to change their lives, albeit a change far more daunting than mine.

(Aside)

My second act didn’t require much thinking or a lot of bravery, so I’m short of advice on that subject. If you are completely frustrated with your current career, maybe making the change earlier is advisable. Otherwise, you can begin to write on the side. A lot of famous writers started like this (think J.K Rowling). Try writing short stories for magazine; I did that and it built up my confidence. When the mortgage is paid and the nest is empty, it might be a good time to take the real jump. Take the time to learn about writing as a career, then the leap won’t be over an abyss. When the time is right, you’ll know it.

I have a quote from a framed picture in my loft office. It was given to me by my daughter and is from Edgar Allen Poe: “I wish I could write as mysterious as a cat.” Indeed I do.

I wish you a calm wind and smooth seas for your new career!

Noelle’s Books

noellegranger1On an icy February morning, Rhe Brewster, an emergency room nurse with a nose for investigation, is called to a dock in the harbor of the small coastal town of Pequod, Maine. A consultant to the Pequod Police Department, Rhe is responding to a discovery by one of the local lobstermen: a finger caught in one of his traps. The subsequent finding of the body of a young girl, wrapped in a sail and without a finger, sends the investigation into high gear and reveals the existence of three other missing girls of the same age, plus a childhood friend of Rhe’s. Battered by increasingly vitriolic objections from her husband, the pregnant Rhe continues her search, dealing with unexpected obstacles and ultimately facing the challenge of crossing an enormous frozen bog to save herself. Will she survive? Is the kidnapper someone she knows? In Death in a Dacron Sail, the second book in the the Rhe Brewster Mystery Series, Rhe’s nerves and endurance are put to the test as the kidnapper’s action hits closer to home.

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noellegranger2On a warm fall afternoon, the sweet odor of decay distracts Rhe Brewster from the noise and fury of her son’s soccer game. She’s a tall, attractive emergency room nurse with a type A personality, a nose for investigation and a yen for adrenalin. This time her nose leads her to the wet, decaying body of a young woman, sitting in a chair at the far end of the soccer field. Her first call is to her brother-in-law, Sam Brewster, who is Sheriff of Pequod, the coastal Maine town where she lives. Sam and Rhe’s best friend Paulette, Pequod’s answer to Rachel Ray, are her biggest sources of encouragement when Rhe decides to help the police find the killer.

Rhe is thwarted in her investigation by an old frenemy, the Dean of Students at the local college, and her husband, a professor at the college, who resents her involvement in anything other than being a wife and mother. While looking for a name and information about the young woman, Rhe discovers an escort service using college students, which leads her to a high class brothel at a local seaside estate and a company dealing in stolen body parts. She can dodge bullets, but is no match for the kidnappers who leave her to die in a mortuary freezer.

In Sudden Death, Rhe Brewster meets Kinsey Milhone, but with internet access and the struggles of family life.

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Bio

N.A. Granger is a Professor Emerita at UNC-Chapel Hill School of Medicine. After forty years of research, teaching anatomy to undergraduates, medical students and residents and raising a family, she decided to turn her hand and her knowledge of clinical anatomy to mystery writing.

Dr. Granger grew up in Plymouth, Massachusetts, in a century-old house facing the sea. Descended from a family that settled in Maine in the 1700s, she spent her childhood summers on and in New England waters, some of the best times sailing off the coast of Maine. Her time in New England led to the creation of Pequod, Maine, and her protagonist, Rhe Brewster.

In addition to Death in a Red Canvas Chair, Dr. Granger has written for the Deep South Magazine, Sea Level Magazine, Coastal Living and the Bella Online Literary Review. Her next Rhe Brewster mystery is on the way.

Dr. Granger lives with her husband in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, but spends part of every summer in Maine.

Where to find Noelle…

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Amazon

Joanne here!

Noelle, thanks for sharing your inspiring journey. Best of luck with all your literary endeavors.

Change

Welcome to my Second Acts Series!

Today, we have Soul Mate Author Stella Marie Alden sharing her thoughts about change and introducing her debut novel, How to Train Your Knight.

Here’s Stella!

stella“Nobody likes change.”

Twenty years ago, I considered my boss’s words carefully, and unlike the woman I am now, I said nothing. But I disagreed fully. I liked change. A lot.

In fact, it’s when things stay the same, that I am most unhappy. But not everything. For example, I’ve been married for many years. But he has changed, too. So, in a way, I am not married to the same man. I have been married to many. The young man who charmed me off my feet, the middle aged man who steadfastly stood arm and arm as we raised our girls, and now, the studious professor who is studying for a master’s degree in nutrition so he will have a new career as he enters retirement.

Our body cells regenerate completely in x days.

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Blurb

Year of our Lord, 1276.

In the hours just before dawn, blasphemous curses echo throughout the stone manor. A knife clatters to the floor and a feisty young widow is bound, blindfolded, and led to the marriage alter. The king couldn’t possibly have sanctioned this farce of a marriage, could he? After all, she alone transformed a few mud huts and starving serfs into a flourishing town, never once hesitating to pay generous taxes to his royal kingdom. Abandon her beloved people to be ruled by her new husband, an ignorant Templar knight? Never! the Lady Ann vows.

A murderous witch for a wife? The Beast of Thornhill finds himself in the middle of either a cruel jest or an evil conspiracy. After returning from the Holy wars, he accepts bestowment of a small parcel of land in return for saving King Edward’s life. But the reward comes with a warning regarding the estate’s mistress. Despite his insatiable attraction to the black-haired beauty, he allows her time to warm to him while observing her strange, forward-thinking ways. But when all is on the line, will he stand by her through the inquisition or will they both hang for her secrets?

Excerpt

Chapter One

Year of our Lord 1276

“By God, drag her down here! Naked if you must! Bread and water from now to eternity if you can’t!” Sir Marcus Blackwell slammed his fist on the well-worn table and the sound echoed back from every direction. Of all the bad luck. Forced into marriage with a foul-mouthed, murderous widow.

He clenched his teeth when the next bout of high-pitched screams and curses exploded from the floor above. Crashes, clanging, and banging followed. He cringed as the Lady Ann’s strident screaming rang throughout the stone manor and probably into the courtyard.

“He can’t steal my lands this easily. He’ll live just long enough to rue this day. I shall never, ever, turn my people over to a blood-thirsty, gold-grabbing beast. I’d rather be cursed to hell. Nay, verily, I’d rather marry the devil himself than see myself married to him.”

Beast? He’d strangle the minstrel who’d taken his sword’s moniker and baptized him with it instead. He was a holy crusader, deserving of respect, not an animal.

Crossing himself while counting to ten, he paced the dark hall lit by a single weak torch. Shadows danced across dark tapestries, beyond a hearth the size of two horses, and over enough tables to feed a small army. Thatch crunched under his boots, releasing a perfume of lavender and grasses. He stopped for a respite of blessed silence. What in God’s creation have I stepped into?

When the mayhem started up again, it was from his first-in-command, Thomas D’Agostine. “The devil take it, watch out. A knife!” A dagger fell upon stone with a metallic clatter.

“Damnation. The bitch nicked me.” The smack of a hand against skin, a female yelp of pain, then the battle paused momentarily.

“Enough!” The king’s command would be obeyed. Certainly, she’d have to understand that. He stood at the foot of the massive stone staircase and waited for the thundering echoes to cease before continuing at a lesser volume. Envisioning the vile creature, he shuddered. It was far too late to retreat now. He’d wanted the land and bedding the ancient hag was part of the bargain. “I said, do her no harm. Gag, bind, and blindfold the wench if you must. For the love of God, she’s, but one woman.”

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Bio

Stella Marie Alden loves Zumba, yoga, watercolor painting, and fixing up her house.

Her first book, ‘How to Train Your Knight’, won Romance Writers of America coveted Molly and Show me the Sparks Contests, and placed in three others. Truly remarkable, considering she’s only been writing for three years.

Growing up in Vermont, she loved to make up stories. Crayons fought each other over size and placement in their cardboard box and imaginary friends crowded the house. Her brother often complained. “Tell her no one’s here, Mother.”

Her career paths have varied. She’s been a librarian, a classical clarinetist, recording studio engineer, broadcast electronics repairman, and now she architects software programs. She lives in Bergen County, NJ with her life-long hero and their two cats. Her two girls are grown but ever supportive. You go Mom!

Where to find Stella

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Amazon

Joanne here!

Stella, you are a poster child for reinvention. Thanks for sharing your story and good luck with How to Train Your Night. Happy Release Day!


Spotlight on Sins of the Heart

I am happy to feature Sarah Hoss and her latest release.

Tag Line – In searching for a stolen heirloom, he found something more valuable.

SinsoftheHeart200 (2)Blurb

Abigail Crenshaw is an antiques dealer searching for the perfect item. When she stumbles across a warriors shield at a flea market, she knows she can’t leave without it.

Grant MacFie is the Scottish Laird of Clan MacFie. When he discovers his great grandfather’s shield has been stolen, he will stop at nothing to get it back and punish the one who stole it.

Now, in America he has found the shield but discovering the truth behind who stole it and falling in love with Abigail could cost him his life. How far will he go to get the shield back?

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Bio

sarahhossSarah Hoss grew up believing she could try anything and if she set her mind to it, she would succeed. Sixteen years of dance lessons, Cheerleading, and school plays proved to her that her parent’s words rang true. Writing was no exception. Reading the Outlander series made her fall in love with time travels and the historical places books could take her. Always a child with a vivid imagination, she realized as an adult, she could put her imagination to good use and began writing. Marrying her very own hero, they live in Indiana in the town where she grew up. They have three beautiful children and one hyper dog. When Sarah isn’t writing, she enjoys gardening, camping, and watching her kids’ play sports.

Where to find Sarah

Website | Blog | Twitter | Facebook

Don’t Just Dream It!

Welcome to my Second Acts Series!

Today, we have Tracy Noble sharing her entrepreneurial journey.

Here’s Tracy!

tracynobleBriefly describe your first act

Throughout university and after I graduated, I worked in media coordination as well as in print advertising at a major daily newspaper, and then at a magazine, for nearly ten years combined. I loved the hustle and bustle of these jobs, and particularly enjoyed exercising my writing muscles when given the opportunity — which unfortunately, wasn’t very often.

What triggered the need for change?

When I found out I was pregnant with my daughter, the shock forever altered how I looked at life. My husband and I had been told we couldn’t have children, so when we found out we were pregnant, everything changed. I couldn’t help but think there was more to my working life than just settling for what I was doing simply because it paid well and fit in with what I had studied in school. I decided to take some time off and spend my daughter’s younger years at home with her and really think about what I wanted to do with my life.

At one point I went back to school and took some library technician courses, but upon realizing that the glory days of working in a library are gone and that the reality would be only part-time hours, including nights and weekends, I decided that was not where I wanted to be.

After that I decided to look more seriously at freelance writing. I found myself writing for pennies for an American writing farm (4oo words for 25 cents!), but from there I built up my portfolio and started ghostwriting for various blogs, websites and fellow writers.

Where are you now?

I now call myself a virtual assistant, but unlike traditional administrative virtual assistants, my main focus is content creation, ghostwriting and writing. I work from home, which allows me to be there for my daughter before and after school. It also means I can walk my dog in the middle of the afternoon if I want to. But perhaps the best part is that I get to exercise my writing muscles every day. I love writing and I had forgotten just how much until I started this entrepreneurial journey. Now writing is all I want to do!

I am also in the process of writing a book. I love writing for other people, but it’s about time I write something (big) for myself.

Do you have advice for anyone planning to pursue a second act?

Just do it. Life is too short to not follow your passion – even if that means starting out part time or on a casual basis. I realize that people have different situations and not everyone can just quit their job to pursue their passion, but do take the time to think about it, write it down, and plan it out. Don’t just dream it. Also, surround yourself with supportive people and ignore the naysayers. You only live once – you might as well live doing what you love.

Any affirmations or quotations you wish to share?

It’s a bit crass, but Nolite te bastardes carborundorum, which is from Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale. It means, “don’t let the bastards grind you down.” Whenever I am faced with a challenging person or situation I repeat this in my head. It reminds me that each and every person has faced adversity and challenges. It’s how each person chooses to deal with a particular situation that determines their overall success and happiness. It’s important to always have a positive outlook; without that, you cannot be happy. There is no room for self-pity in happiness.

Where to find Tracy

Website | Facebook | Twitter

Joanne here!

Tracy, thanks for sharing your inspiring journey. I look forward to the release of your book and would love to feature it on this blog. Please keep me posted.

The Writer’s Prayer

Yesterday evening, I joined The Artist’s Way group, facilitated by Lisa Browning of One Thousand Trees. One of the tasks in Week 4 involved creating an artist’s prayer. While reflecting, I found inspiration in the following prayer written by Sandy Tritt.

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Open my mind, Lord. Grant me the talent to write with clarity and style, so my words go down rich and smooth, like fine wine, and leave my reader thirsty for more.

Open my heart, Lord. Grant me the sensitivity to understand my characters–their hopes, their wants, their dreams–and help me to confer that empathy to my reader.

Open my soul, Lord, so I may be a channel to wisdom and creativity from beyond my Self. Stoke my imagination with vivid imagery and vibrant perception.

But most of all, Lord, help me to know the Truth, so my fiction is more honest than actuality and reaches the depths of my reader’s soul.

Wrap these gifts with opportunity, perseverance, and the strength to resist those who insist it can’t be done.

Amen