Priscilla Brown lacks discipline

For mechanic Billie, repairing cars is easier than perking up her love life,

until a chance encounter with an old friend

races her under-nourished hormones into overdrive.

Find details of this recently-released contemporary romance and my other novels at

http://www.bookswelove.net/authors-brown-priscilla-romance

and visit Priscilla Brown at your favourite e-book store

I like to participate in writing workshops and meeting other writers there; last month I attended a three-hour class designed for fiction writers at any stage of their careers. The presenter asked us to consider whether we spend time on reading and on researching which could be allocated to writing, and to evaluate whether our reading and researching habits are normal or addictive, whatever is normal may be normal in this context. The learning outcome was to develop a strategy to overcome reading addiction and/or over-researching a writing project.

We were given questions to decide how much time we spend reading material not connected with current writing, and how much time we take on research for this. My responses indicated that I spend too much time on both these, plus that I don't feel guilty as apparently I should.

Yes, I am addicted to reading for pleasure. Yes, I'm aware it does sometimes hinder my writing processes. Do I plan to reduce this amount of reading time? I'm not convinced I should do this; although I've always been a slow writer, this is the way I work. Do I over-research? Yes, I do. I love browsing in lending libraries for books to borrow, and in the State Library for reference books. I don't particularly enjoy researching on the internet, but this has become a necessary source of information (hopefully accurate). I've collected reams of hard copy notes, some of which had no bearing on the subject I was researching but are interesting anyway, several were marginally useful, and others definitely required. I still have these notebooks and associated printouts, photocopies, pamphlets, newspaper and magazine clippings long after the novel they were used for has been published. Perhaps if I didn't spend so much time reading, I'd find the inclination and hours to clear out this pile!

For Finding Billie, I needed to check several aspects. She's a mechanic; I'm ignorant about anything to do with cars except how to drive and how to re-fuel, but I didn't need to know anything specific about their innards. I did need to be sure that her workshop and shop area appeared authentic, and checked out repairers and service stations large and small. Zac is a professional photographer; being in the aim and click category myself, I investigated camera stores for details. Neither of these occupations involved research either in print or on the internet, being simply tasks that must be done physically on site. Other essential elements entailed various research sources, but the piece of research I truly enjoyed was generated by a handsome century-old two-storey building in perfect condition (currently used for a library and offices) which I discovered during a road trip in country New South Wales.

I had rough ideas for Billie's story, and suddenly I wanted a similar building to become a crucial plot point. It was constructed from limestone, something about which I knew nothing and so set about researching. This became the material most used for buildings in her fictitious historic country town; mainly on the internet, I learnt about its properties, quarrying, building construction and restoration. There's no limestone where I live: I revisited my original building, and located several other limestone areas and a quarry. All this took a long time, and was it over-research? Probably, and I had such good time doing it.

Back to the reading/researching addiction. I failed to develop a strategy to overcome this, and can't summon the discipline to attempt to do so. And in the end, does this matter? Writers are individuals with differing time availabilities, priorities and interests; as long as we get the job done to our and our publisher's  satisfaction, let us read and research as much as we want, not necessarily only as much as we need.


Enjoy your reading! Priscilla

http://bwlpublishing.com

https://priscillabrownauthor.com

Priscilla Brown overhauls a manuscript

A contemporary romance set on a dreamy Caribbean island

This and my other contemporary romance novels are available on Amazon and on Kobo. For details, visit my Books We Love Author page.

www.bwlpublishing.ca/authors/brown-priscilla-romance-australia

Fiction writing and working with textiles are my creative interests. I attended a textile class where we layered differently textured fabrics and embellishments to assemble a small wall hanging. My piece was based on handmade felt. The next three layers were of frayed-edge organza in decreasing sizes from red through gold to white, this last with holes burnt into it for a different look. On top of these I randomly placed various sizes of kitchen foil scrunched into ridges and painted, and scraps of pretty fabrics formed into tiny flowers. Dabs of glue, beads and stitching with wool and embroidery threads held it all together.

As I worked, I thought how constructing fiction is similar, and how 'layering' concentrates on aspects of a manuscript, structuring them into a cohesive whole and bringing the story to life.

An early draft of Where the Heart Is was too long and such a mess that it had no chance of credibility as a publishable piece and demanded a major re-write. While the basic plot idea had potential, the story's 'building blocks' were at best shaky, at worst crumbling. I attempted this overhaul by employing a 'layering' process.

The first fresh layer concentrated on the two lead characters, whose motivations for their actions and emotions needed to be much stronger and more credible. What is Cristina's agenda on this particular island? Why is Cameron so cagey? Questions such as these led to the development of their backstories; in this novel, these personal histories became a layer in  themselves, only to be condensed and slotted in as the storyline proceeded. Another layer dealt with secondary characters, establishing their credentials for their presence and making sure they were there to move the story along while not allowing them to take over. I found several secondary and tertiary characters and plot episodes involving these to be superfluous; their removal resulted in a tighter faster-paced story.

A further layer worked on strengthening physical situations, including a hurricane, a hazardous motorbike ride in a forest, a risky sea incident, and intensifying the characters' responses to danger.

This led to heightening the emotional layers throughout the story. These can, perhaps especially in a romance, be sources of tension and conflict between the lead female and male characters. Such emotions may be temporary in reaction to an immediate situation, or they may include 'baggage' held due to past events and experiences, an undercurrent of strong emotions such a lack of trust, anger, confusion, insecurity, impacting the characters' relationships and actions. Cristina brings these and more to her relationship with Cameron.

Now the layer which holds it all together, like the glue, beads and threads.This involves fixing any plot holes, tying up loose ends, checking the ms for spelling, grammar and punctuation errors, and for repetitions and inconsistencies. The final layer for me, undertaken after the ms has been allowed to hibernate for some time, is a comprehensive re-read, extremely valuable as I always find something previously missed. The ultimate layer consists of the professional editor's revisions.

Layers are everywhere in our daily lives. Right now, it's getting cold so I'll put on a warm sweater layer, then I'm going to bake a multi-layer chocolate cake. After writing about layers, I deserve to eat them.

Enjoy your reading! Priscilla

http://bwlpublishing.ca

https://priscillabrownauthor.com 

Laurel's Gift by Tricia McGill

Laurel's Gift and all my other books are now available at numerous online stores. Find out where on my BWL Author page

I’ve always believed in ghosts (but strangely do not like horror stories) so for the life of me can’t understand why it’s taken me so long to come up with a story containing one. I am primarily a romance writer and like my stories to have a happy ending. Although my books cross a few sub-genres, including Time-Travel, Contemporary, and Historical they always have romance at their core. I really enjoyed writing Laurel and Eli’s story even though it is a tad different to my usual offerings, and at the beginning really had no idea where it was going to end up. But as usual the characters more or less told me what they wanted to do and led me on a merry chase.

Here’s the blurb for Laurel’s Gift:

The plaintive singing of a ghostly child in the night sets off a chain of events that lead to Laurel learning the dark secrets that dwell in her Great Aunt Maggie’s house in a Melbourne suburb. When Eli comes into Laurel’s life, instead of instantly uncovering the secrets that have been buried in this house for many years, their joint efforts lead them to discover even greater mysteries.

Eli’s past is tied up with the ghost of the child who haunts the house, and there are many hurdles to cross before he discovers just why he also sensed strange vibes in the old house as soon as he entered.

In their search for the answers to an extraordinary mystery they uncover a passionate love affair shared by the people dear to them or those who dwelt in the house at one time of another. Despite their shared psychic abilities can the couple also find such a love?

*~~~~*

As you see this is really two love stories blended into one and this is one of my short poems featured in the book:

My life was dull, my future stark and bare.

Days, weeks, stretched before me with nothing there.

But then you came along.

Not dashing in like some bold knight, 

More like a gentle hint of summer, so good so right.

I’m glad you came along.

Dreams long buried were fulfilled by you.

You did not ask; I gave my heart, my soul too.

When you came along.

Your gentle touch, your sweet lover’s kiss,

Stole this autumn heart, taught me of bliss.

Please stay awhile.

The permanence sought by most is something we may never know.

But my heart is yours, whichever way our paths may go.

To find out about my other books please go over to my Web Page where you will also find links on where to buy from your online retailer of choice. This book and most of my others also now come in Print if you prefer a hard copy.

Tricia McGill's Web Page

A tale about a snake by Tricia McGill

Find all my Books We Love titles here on my Author page

I am primarily a romance writer, but in the past I have written some really odd short stories that are far from romantic. I blame my Muse who tends to go off on tangents of her own. But bless her (of course it’s a her) she helped me overcome obstacles along the writing path. My life has been blessed, so I blame her for some of my drearier stories.

I’m never sure what prompted me to write in the first place. If I couldn’t see to read or write I feel my life would have no purpose. People who don’t understand writers think we’re strange. How have you got the patience they ask? How can I answer them when I don’t know myself? All I know is that I often wonder what my mind would be doing if it wasn’t toying with new ideas. Perhaps I would have continued with my first love, painting. But the urge to paint was never as strong as the urge to write. When I read a book or a passage of writing that stirs me to strong emotions I yearn to have the same effect on a reader.

So, I hope you enjoy this little tale. Incidentally I love most of God’s creatures but I am sorry, snake lovers, but I can’t stand them.

All God’s Creatures

            “Leave it Red,” Joe warned the orange-tinted dog, and at the sound of the man’s voice the lizard scuttled off the rock where it had been sunning itself and disappeared down a crevice. With an adoring glance at its master the dog settled down for another nap. A water rat surfaced with a small splash, then, as it caught sight of the two fishermen and the dog, dived under the water, departing as swiftly as it appeared.

            “Snakes!” Willy announced, piercing another maggot with a hook and casting his line in to the murky water of the river. “If there’s one thing I can’t abide it’s them long scaly reptiles. Rats I can stomach--and I can put up with lizards--but them darned snakes I can’t abide!” He grimaced as he wiped his hands on a piece of dirty rag.

            Joe gave him a sidelong glance and chuckled. He knew what was coming; he’d heard this story so many times he knew it word for word. Quite used to being the listener rather than the talker he sighed resignedly as he stared at the bobbing red float on the end of his line. He could have a doze as Willy told his story in his soft monotone.

            Willy pushed his battered hat back a bit on his greying head as he gave his companion a quick glance to ensure he had an audience. “We were on our way to Queensland when I had the encounter with the old Joe Blake--face to face so to speak. Have I ever told you about how the bludger fell on my head?”

            Joe didn’t bother to reply; Willy would carry on regardless of his answer. “Lovely little spot it was, just outside Mackay. We were all set to spend a night at this caravan park, and I decided to nip in the loo. Good job I didn’t bother to unhitch the caravan before I went in there, for I was standing up doing what had to be done when this blessed snake--all of six feet long--fell off the rafters and hit me on the shoulder on its way to the ground.”

            The length of the snake had grown with each telling of the tale but Joe wasn’t about to interrupt his mate and tell him that once it was about two feet long, if that.

            “If I was ever going to flake from a heart attack, I would have done it then,” Willy went on, warming to his tale. “Then, what does it do? It slithers into a cubicle between me and the way out. I’m telling you, I didn’t have much choice about which way to turn; so I hops up onto the nearest toilet seat. Five minutes later I’m still yelling for help when I heard my Dot outside wondering what had kept me so long. I peered through the slats of the window high up the wall and told her to fetch help as quick as she could because I was sharing the space with a bloody Taipan.

            “I’m telling you, it felt like hours that I stood there waiting for Dot to come back, and I was watching the space under the door until my eyes were nearly popping out of my head, and also peering upwards in case the bludger had a mate up there waiting to join him. At last Dot came back and wondered where it was. I didn’t have a clue where it was, and I told her so as I poked my nose through the slat in the window.

            “Dot had brought the owner’s wife with her and this dear little soul was all of three feet high and was toting a rifle she could barely carry; it was so long and heavy. I got a bit hysterical then I suppose, for I began to yell a bit when I questioned her as to what she was going to do with the bloody weapon. ‘I’ll take a shot at it if I see it move,’ she tells me, and I thought, God, if the snake doesn’t get me she will. And the thought occurred that if she fired the blessed thing the recoil would knock her off her feet and she had a good chance of killing me before she ever hit the snake. Can’t you fetch your husband to see if he can catch it? I asked forlornly, but she informed me that he was out for the day. She seemed to have a sudden brainwave, for after mumbling something about fetching the snake man, she marched off.

            “Ten minutes later my legs were getting a bit shaky and it was growing mighty hot in that concrete block. When I asked Dot if she had any idea where she’d gone my dear better half decides to get smart by cracking that the woman may have gone to send a smoke signal to this snake charmer bloke. I quickly informed her that I didn’t see this whole episode as a subject for her cute jokes. My dignity was wilting, along with my temper after so long atop a toilet seat.

            “It must have been fifteen minutes before she came back with this joker who was covered from head to foot in red dust. You could barely see his tatty shorts for dirt and his singlet and hat were filthy. On bare feet as big as dinner plates he marched straight in to the toilet block and with not so much as a qualm walks out again with the snake’s head held firmly between a finger and thumb. ‘It’s harmless,’ he says. ‘You can come out now, it won’t hurt you.’

            “I didn’t care if it was as harmless as a new born babe, I wasn’t coming out until he’d fixed it, and I told him so in no uncertain terms. Ignoring me, he turned to the owner’s wife with a disdainful shrug. ‘It’s only a tree snake,’ he tells her. ‘You don’t want it killed, do you? They won’t attack you if you leave them alone. Even the venomous ones wouldn’t hurt you if you let them go their own way. Any snake that climbs is no threat to us and even the ones that crawl will not bother you if you stay calm and ignore them. They all deserve the right to live.’

            “She decided she wanted it killed, and despite this joker’s quaint ideas I thoroughly agreed with her. ‘It’s the fourth one I’ve seen this week, and they’re scaring my goats,’ she proclaimed, and I thought to myself: Bugger the goats, what about the guests! I could see he didn’t want to do away with the reptile but finally he whacked it on the ground until it stopped moving. I’ve never felt so relieved in my life, but I could tell he was upset. With a sort of pitying sneer at me he walked off.

            “Leave them alone, I thought sourly. What is he, some sort of a crank? I spluttered. It could have been venomous for all I knew! ‘No, he’s no idiot,’ she replied. ‘Just eccentric. He owns all this land as far as the eye can see. He loves snakes and believes that all God’s creatures have a right to live. I thought he’d take it home to join the others he has crawling about his house and garden.’ I shuddered. He was definitely a crank as far as I could see.

            “Anyway, off she went without so much as an apology, so quick smart I bundled Dot into the car and drove us out of there as fast as I could. The little old lady was peeping through her curtains. She should worry! We’d already paid her for the night’s rent in advance. As we passed the adjacent property we saw the snake man; driving a tractor around a paddock and sending up great clouds of red dust in his wake.”

            Willy sighed as he wound in his line. He shook his head at his empty hook. “I don’t like killing things any more than the next man,” he muttered, as he threaded another worm on his hook and tossed his line back into the water. “But snakes are killers and you have to get them before they get you, don’t you?”

            His float disappeared with a jerk beneath the water and he whispered excitedly, “I’ve got one,” as he carefully reeled in the taut line and landed the flapping fish. The silver and gold creature bounced, gasping, on the bank and Willy grinned. “Good one, eh?” he said as he disentangled the hook from the writhing fish.

            “What are you going to do with it; take it home for your tea?” Joe asked as they and the dog looked down on it.

            “Nope.” Willy grinned again. “I’ll put him back so he can live to fight another day. Besides, what with all this talk about pollution these days I don’t think it’s safe to eat them from this stretch of the river.”

            They both nodded sagely as with a flash of silvery scales the fish swam out of sight beneath the oily water.

Note from Tricia: This story was based on a true incident, and my husband was the one whose shoulder the snake landed on while on holiday in Queensland years ago. And incidentally, although Australia has some of the deadliest snakes on earth, this was the only close encounter we had with one on our many travels around this beautiful country. Although, one of our dogs did get bitten by one but luckily we got her to the vet in time and she was saved to live another day.   

Visit Tricia McGill's Web Page  

Help from the little people...by Sheila Claydon

Books We Love Author Page

So here I am in Australia again, visiting family. We've spent so much time in Sydney over the past few years, and have so many Australian friends, that it's beginning to feel a bit like home. Visiting, socialising and taking care of our little granddaughter does interfere with the writing of course, but not as much as you might think. 

Take 'Remembering Rose,' Book 1 of Mapleby Memories. I started that while I was helping to care for my then 6 month old granddaughter, and finished it when I returned home. It's a time travel romance but guess who one of the main characters is? Yes, a small baby! It wasn't intentional, nor is the fact that  Book 2 (so far only half written) features that same baby starting school, something very integral to the plot. And what did I do today that might influence how I write about that? Well I took my now 3 year old granddaughter to breakfast at her daycare nursery to celebrate Mother's Day (Grannies and other women special to the children always included) and sat with what seemed like a hundred tinies on mini chairs at a mini table - so watch out for something similar down the line in one of my books, maybe Book 2!

Why do we write what we write. Well for me the idea for a book is usually prompted by a chance remark or a newspaper article, or even by noticing someone or something when I'm out and about. How I weave that into a story is an entirely different matter however, and my eldest granddaughter (now old enough to read all my books and be my number one fan) tells me that she can recognise herself and her sister in some of the earlier ones.  Well not them exactly, but their behaviours and comforters. She's absolutely right and yet none of it was intentional. 

It is true that whatever and wherever the setting for a story, we still include what we know and experience, although to allay any suspicions my husband might have if he reads this (unlikely) I hasten to add that the romance is all imaginary:) No experience there at all!!!!

Several of my other books feature children, including 'Empty Hearts' which will be published later this year. The only difference is that this one is a vintage, written and first published in the eighties, so the little boy in it must have been based on my own children!!! Sorry about that guys, but a writer does what she has to do:)

While I am editing that and finishing Book 2 of Mapleby Memories, there is always 'Double Fault' if you like family stories. That also has children at its centre, and how!!!

Books We Love Author Page

Check out my books on the Books We Love website or visit me at https://www.facebook.com/SheilaClaydon.author/

The blog that isn't...by Sheila Claydon

My turn to blog and I haven't even thought of a topic. Why? Well for a start I've been too busy editing my next book. Remembering Rose, which is due out at the end of the month, is different from my previous books. Although it's still a contemporary romance, this time it also includes time travel and history, and it could even be considered a family saga, so it's complicated.That's not really the problem though. Writing and then editing a book has its own momentum and I know I'll finish in time for publication. What is really challenging me is trying to think up the title for a series.

When I started writing Remembering Rose, it was going to stand alone. It was still going to stand alone when I typed The End. Then I handed it over to the two readers whose opinions I value before finally sending it off to the Books We Love editor for checking. They both sent it back with the same comment. It should be Book One of a series because they want to know what happens to some of the other characters in the book.

My first response was a groan because writing a series isn't easy. Every fact has to be checked against previous books, and every character has to move on. I discovered this when I wrote my When Paths Meet trilogy. By the time I started Book 3, Saving Katy Gray, Jodie and Bella from Books One and Two were years older with growing families, and I had to remember this every time I referred to them. The other thing about a series is that it has to stand alone if it is to appeal to all readers because not everyone wants to invest in three books at once, so any reference to the characters from the earlier books has to be in context. Also, if on occasion a back story explanation is necessary, then it must be short, concise and relevant, because nobody who has read the earlier books wants to waste time revisiting the stories.

My second response was elation though. If my advisory readers were engaged enough to want to know more about some of the secondary characters in my book, then I had to listen to them. Keeping this in mind I re-read the manuscript, and soon I was listening to one of the characters as she told me her story. Yes, I know that sounds far-fetched, but it's sort of how it works. I start off directing the character and then he or she takes over and before I know it my story has changed.

So now here I am with a series to write but no title. How do I make it an interesting enough series title for readers to want to pick it up? How do I convey the overall theme in two or three words? How do I make it different enough to stand out? The stories are set in Mapleby, an imaginary village in England, and the characters are ordinary. No billionaires or high profile celebrities, just everyday folk living and loving as best they can. I only have a day or two to come up with something and send it to the book cover artist with an apology for asking her to revisit work she has already done.

So that's why I don't have a blog topic today.

On the other hand, I might just have come up with that elusive title. How about Mapleby Memories? I'll sleep on it and see how it looks in the morning. It might just be a winner though, so thanks for listening.

Sheila's books can be found at Books We Love and on Amazon. She also has a website and can be found on facebook

Scottsdale, AZ, where the billionaires live - by Vijaya Schartz

Chaparral dog park in Scottsdale, where Talia and Kyle first meet

The city of Scottsdale, in Arizona near Phoenix, is to Phoenix what Beverly Hills is to L.A. That's where the rich and famous live and shop, play golf, attend horse shows, buy expensive foreign cars.

This is also the setting for my new release, a contemporary short novel titled ASLEEP in SCOTTSDALE.

North Scottsdale Desert Vistas

Xeriscape gardens, a marvel of water conservation

I live near Phoenix, and I had fun imagining my billionaire hero in familiar places, from the famous horse fountain, to the old town district, to the Fashion Square mall, and the Mayo Clinic, as well as fancy French restaurants.

The famous horse fountain of their first date

The old town district with art galleries and Native American artifacts

Nieman Marcus at the Fashion Square mall

Most fun was to imagine his mansion, an oasis in the desert, with tropical palms and a huge swimming pool. But I kept that for the cover. 

Asleep in Scottsdale
Contemporary novella
by Vijaya Schartz

Find it at the links below:
Amazon - Barnes & Noble - All Romance eBooks - Smashwords - iBooks - Kobo

When Talia runs over billionaire Kyle Dormant with her bicycle in the dog park, she considers their meeting a happy accident. He believes it is destiny, but her physician's mind rebels at such notions. Their budding romance comes to a grinding halt when Kyle won’t wake up from deep sleep... with no medical explanation. Baffled and deeply concerned, Talia digs into his recent past for a plausible cause. Instead, she uncovers dark family secrets. Convinced Kyle's condition was induced, and someone wants him dead, she is anxious to save him, but the closer she gets to the sordid truth… and a possible cure, the greater the risk to both their lives.

Vijaya Schartz
Blasters, Swords, Romance with a Kick
http://www.vijayaschartz.com

From Pantser to Plotter by Victoria Chatham

Every writer falls into one of these categories, some writers may be comprised of a little of both. When I started writing I was definitely a pantser, the type of writer who sits in front of a computer and goes with the flow. As long as I had my characters, the rest would take care of itself, right? Well, not exactly.

My first book held marked similarities to raising my first child. Regardless of what I thought, I hadn’t got a clue what I was doing. To say I struggled with that first book is putting it mildly. At one point I had followed every lead my heroine gave me and finished up writing about her grandmother in pre-war Montreal

and how, pregnant and alone, she ended up in war-torn France fighting with the resistance forces. Great stuff, even though I’m blowing my own trumpet here.

However, that was not the story I was writing. I was writing a contemporary western romance.and badly at that. Had I taken the time to consider more than just my characters I would have saved myself a great deal of time. I’m not a fast writer, and when I realized how much time I’d wasted, I went back to the drawing board as it were.

Yes, I had my characters. They usually present themselves to me fully formed. I know their names and what they look like. Next is to fill in their character questionnaire, even complete a character interview. I know my characters well by this stage but throwing them on the page and expecting things to happen just didn’t work. I found writing historical romance or fiction easier in that I simply looked up the year (god bless Google), to see what major events were taking place world-wide and went from there for my background but it still wasn’t exactly a plot, more of an idea.

When I started writing my soon-to-be-released contemporary western romance, Loving That Cowboy, I soon ran into a brick wall. I’m sure many of you will know what that feels like. The words were just not there. It wasn’t writer’s block per se, more like this writer’s ineptitude. After one very frustrating day when I wanted to File 13 all ten pages I’d managed to produce, I was ready to give up. That was when I became a plotter.

I sat down and started from scratch, looking at my two leading characters and figuring out how to get them together and listed dozens of ‘what ifs?’. All that took time, but as I reached each plot point I noted it on a pink post-it and stuck it on my white board. Very pretty it looked too. Not only that, there was great satisfaction in removing the post-its as I reached each plot point. Now I really felt that I was getting somewhere. Sure there was a fair amount of rewriting on the way, but that is inevitable.

I also went back to several of my craft books, especially Deborah Dixon's Goal, Motivation & Conflict. She recommends watching six specific movies to illustrate her lessons. Great. I love movies. I spent a week watching some of those she recommended and some I chose to work with to determine how much I'd learned. I wrote notes, I went back to the book Save the Cat for more on plotting within the three act structure and finished up that week revisiting Techniques of the Selling Writer. Thank goodness I held on to those books when I packed for my last move.

Having tried both methods, I think from now on I’ll be doing much more plotting instead of relying on my characters to take me somewhere. How about you? Are you a plotter or a pantser, or maybe a bit of each?

For more information about Victoria go to:

http://bookswelove.net/authors/chatham-victoria/

www.victoriachatham.webs.com

www.facebook.com/AuthorVictoriaChatham 

When it's time to say goodbye... by Sheila Claydon

At the end of my last post I promised to introduce you to Lady Sippington. Unfortunately she has proved to be a little shy and has begged me to keep her secret for a while longer. She will feature on the Books We Love blog eventually, however. In the meantime I'll carry on talking about Australia...well the tiny part of it that we are visiting...and the lessons I'm learning.

We have just returned from the small coastal village of Tea Gardens, a place delightfully and eccentrically named after a failed attempt by the Australian Agricultural Company to grow tea in the area. Situated on the Myall River, it is the southern gateway to the Great Lakes, and its waterfront meanders past sculptures and paintings by local artists, a war memorial that actually plays a tune, huge Norfolk pines, blue, blue water, and an eclectic mix of boats. It's a holiday area too, so thousands of visitors swell the small population of residents in the summer season, filling the restaurants and spending their dollars in the local shops.

We didn't go as tourists though. We went to visit friends who retired there a few years ago and, as is always the case with old friends, we picked up where we left off when we last saw them in 2010. Their lovely dog was the same. She came trotting up with her ball as if we'd only thrown it for her last week.

We did all the usual things you do with old friends: went out for a meal, raised our glasses in various toasts a number of times, talked about family and mutual friends, reminisced, and exchanged views about a whole lot of things. We also learned that they will be leaving Tea Gardens next year and moving into an apartment in a busy town about a hour's drive away. Age and illness are driving their decision and when they first told us we thought they would be sad.  Far from it. They are both excited about the prospect of planning a new home, replacing worn furniture, and leaving behind a garden that is becoming too big for them. They are looking forward to living close to shops, theatres, cinemas, a hospital, and the clinics they will need as their health deteriorates. Their attitude was inspiring and one I hope I can emulate if I ever have to do something similar.

I'm always intrigued by how differently people react to difficult life situations. Some are overwhelmed, others, like our friends, amazingly positive. Only by looking at what has shaped people's lives can we know why they react in the way they do. Our friends have lived  in many different countries during their time together, rarely staying in a house or apartment for more than five or six years, so their hearts are not entwined with their home. What about others though? What about people who have lived in their house for forty years, nurtured their garden with love, decorated every room, seen their children grow up, buried pets, grown old together...how do they move forward? It must be one of the most difficult decisions anyone has to make.

Knowing when to make it is also crucial. We have friends who have left it too late and who rattle around in a home that is far too big for them, fretting about the garden and the housework, but not able to gather the energy to make such a major move. We have others who moved too soon and who feel constrained by their new, smaller home and the fact that they no longer have a garden, and sometimes resentful of each other for making the decision. Then, of course, there are those who have lost their life partner and have to make such a decision alone. I don't know whether that makes it more or less difficult. Only someone who has had to face it knows the answer to that.

I was still ruminating on why and how people respond as they do and wondering if I would ever write about it when I remembered that I already have, in Saving Katy Gray, Book 3 of my When Paths Meet trilogy. Although it's a romance, there are important secondary characters in the book who have to make just this choice. I hope I got it right for them. This and many of my other books can be found at http://bookswelove.net/authors/sheila-claydon/

New Releases From Tricia McGill, Ronald Ady Crouch and Books We Love

A Dream For Lani
Beneath Southern Skies, Book 2
By Tricia McGill

Cosseted all her life, Lani Moore inherits a fortune, but yearns for a loving family. The chance to grab that arrives when two youngsters talk her into taking a flat in their house. Their father, Ryan, is enchanted by the air of intriguing melancholy about his new tenant. Will Lani’s lonely heart find the love she wants above all else?

Previously published as A Lonely Heart
 

“I believe this is the best book I have ever read! I probably think something similar when I finish a book, but I have never before printed the words. Ms. Tricia McGill keeps enticing us into the story with her wit and charming manner of writing. Of course, there is love and there is disaster. The love ebbs and flows and the “near hits and misses” just tug at the heartstrings. The ending may be predictable (after all, who wants a bad ending) but the journey is unforgettable! I urge you to read this winner!” ~ Brenda Talley, TRS
 

“Tricia McGill’s lonely heiress is so real that when she is being deliberately willful I just wanted to reach down through the pages and smack some sense into her. But, I kept reading faster and faster because after all, in spite of Ryan’s calloused moods, Lani is the heroine, and things just have to come out happily-ever-after for her.” ~ JoEllen Conger CTR, 5 Cups

http://amzn.com/B00T2GNKIW 

The Weatherman
By Ronald Ady Crouch

When adults tell young men, There is always someone bigger than you, Sam Stephens is the guy at the end of the line. He is a fiercely proud member of the First Nations, serving as a soldier on the front line in the Canadian military, stationed in Afghanistan. Because of his courage and bravery, his close friends call him Warrior. An improvised explosive device is detonated by the Taliban as his convoy is returning to base. His best friend is killed. Sam does not believe in turning the other cheek. His actions save the platoon. Privately he is thought of as Einstein in Rambo's body.
 

Sam joins the Toronto Police. At the Police Academy he is a force to be reckoned with. When an instructor begins to sexually harass a beautiful female student, Sam becomes personally involved. On his first tour of duty with Toronto, he becomes the Subject Officer in an investigation by the Special Investigations Unit. He remains one step ahead of them.
 

On a trip to the red light district, he and his new coach officer learn that one of the hookers has been badly beaten by four men, but will not complain to the police. She too is First Nations. Sam begins his own investigation. When he discovers that the same men are responsible for the violent rape of a veteran police officer's daughter, Sam formulates a plan to deal with them himself. 

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00TBDPA9S

Coming Soon from Kat Attalla, Jamie Hill, and Books We Love

The Prince and The Working Woman
The Desert Prince Series, Book 1 by Kat Attalla

THE ROYAL PRINCE OF TOUZAR BELIEVES EVERY WOMAN HAS A PRICE…
Prince Hamid Khalid is not looking for love. Since coming of age he has watched a carnival-like parade of women vie for his attention. But they are more interested in his title and bank account than his sardonic personality.
 

...UNTIL HE MEETS A WOMAN WHO CAN’T BE BOUGHT
Amanda Wilkes, abuse survivor and hard-core feminist isn’t looking for love either. Especially not with a sexy chauvinist like the prince. Opening an international community center under his direction in the exotic Middle Eastern country, however is a job of a lifetime.
 

While working in close proximity an attraction develops. The two decide to share a purely physical, unemotional, relationship. The affair works well until the unthinkable happened.
CAN TWO STUBBORN LONERS ADMIT TO THE LOVE NEITHER BELIEVES EXISTS?

Available Jan. 31, 2015. Pre-order your copy now!

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00RQR9V0A 

Time To Kill
Witness Security, Book 2 by Jamie Hill

US Marshal Jordan Burke is happy for her partner when he takes a month off for paternity leave, but she's not happy about her substitute partner. Nick Pierce worked for the Topeka Witsec office years ago and left under less than the best of circumstances. When he’s asked to fill in he hesitates, but curiosity about Jordan makes him accept the job. The minute he sees her again he doesn’t regret his decision. From Atlanta to Los Angeles, Jordan and Nick discover that danger, and help, can come from the strangest sources. While they struggle to protect their witnesses, the bigger challenge seems to be keeping each other alive. And there’s always the possibility that they might kill each other first.
 

“Ms. Hill has the gift of knowing what the reader wants and then hitting you with an ending you certainly don’t expect. Two thumbs up!” ~ Val, You Gotta Read Reviews

Available Jan. 31, 2015. Pre-order your copy now!

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00RQRKB68

Trouble Comes in Twos by Roseanne Dowell

Everyone calls me Kate, but my full name is Katherine Wesley. I’ve recently returned to my home town of

Twinsburg, Ohio after five years of living in self-imposed exile. Okay, it wasn’t really exile. I left because my fiancé jilted me two days before our wedding. Can you believe he didn’t even have the guts to tell me in person? Oh no, he left me a note and took off to Las Vegas. 

I left town shortly after, because I couldn’t stand the looks of pity from everyone. I know I wasn’t the first, and I probably wouldn’t be the last, but that doesn’t help when it happens to you. So I fled. I built a new life for myself. I even opened a very successful flower shop in Clyde, Ohio.

But now I’m back and I opened my own florist shop here. Problem is, my ex is back too. Not that I care. I mean seriously, I’m over him.  The fact my heart beat a little faster the first time I ran into him didn’t mean a thing. Heck, it thumped twice as hard when I met my client’s brother. Not that I’m looking for a guy, believe me, I’m not.  I’m happy just the way I am. I don’t have to answer to anyone, and no one has to answer to me. Nope, I’m quite happy, thank you very much

.

Life was fine until I visited my Aunt Kate’s grave, well mostly fine. I mean my ex and Emma’s brother seemed to be vying for my attention. I never had that happen before and, quite honestly, I could live without it. Talk about uncomfortable. But the florist shop was doing well for just having opened. Emma’s wedding helped that. So there I was, minding my own business, going to the cemetery, and that’s when I found a body.

Well let me tell you, life turned upside down, backwards, forwards, and inside out. Between my ex, Emma’s brother and the body, let’s just say things got real complicated.

To make matters worse, the twin sister of the victim showed up in town. If you don’t think that made life real interesting, well think again.

You’ll have to read Trouble Comes in Twos to find out what happened. Released from Books We Love Publishing, it’s available at Amazon

You can find out more about my books at www.roseannedowell.com or check out my blog  at http://roseannedowellauthor.blogspot.com

Excerpt from Trouble Comes in Twos

A shadow passed over the doorway, and Kate realized she wasn’t alone.

Adam stood in the doorway, a cocky grin on his face. “Now that’s settled, how are you, Kate?”

Kate couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t he take a hint? “What do you want, Adam?” She didn’t care if she sounded angry. He deserved angry.

Adam came into the work room and stood in front of her. “You look great.”

Kate looked away. So did he, but darned if she’d tell him. He looked too damn good. What was the saying? Fool her once, shame on him, fool her twice, shame on her. Nope, she didn’t need him or anyone like him.

 “So what do you want? I gave you all the information on Emma. Shouldn’t you be out investigating?” She picked up a flower and set it in a vase. Her heart beat so hard, it surprised her that he didn’t hear it.

“Look, I know you’re still upset about the wedding, but give me a chance to make it up to you. How about dinner tonight?”

“I’m busy.” Still upset? The man had no idea. Like she’d pick up where they left off? Was he kidding.

“Tomorrow then?”

“I’m busy tomorrow, too. Look, Adam, just go, okay. I don’t want to have dinner with you. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever.”

“Come on, babe, don’t be like that.” Adam moved a strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t blame you for being angry. But damn, it’s been five years.” He ran his finger along her cheek. “The least you could do is give me a chance to explain. Not that I’m sure I could. I’m not sure, even now, why I took off. Cold feet, I guess.”

Kate trembled at his touch. A spark of something familiar tumbled in her stomach. She pushed his hand away. Try as she might, her anger shattered.

“How dare you walk in here like nothing happened? Like we’re going to pick up where we left off?” Kate spoke through clenched teeth. What she really wanted to do was lash out and hurt him the way he hurt her, but a customer might come in and screaming wasn’t going to help anyway.

Adam stared at her, a look of confusion in his dark eyes. He just didn’t get it. He really didn’t see anything wrong with what he did. Took the coward’s way out and left her to deal with canceling all the wedding plans. What a jerk. “Look, just go.” She turned back to her work and picked up a vase to fill her next order.

Adam ran his hand through his dark, wavy hair. Hair she used to love to run her fingers through. She could almost feel the soft, silkiness of even now.

“Give me a break, Kate. Let me make it up to you.”

Part of her wanted to give in, and part of her wanted to throw something at him. Stay strong, get rid of him. No way was she picking up where they left off.

The bell rang again, and before she had a chance to react, Mark stormed in. Kate’s stomach did a flip at the sight of him. What was wrong with her, reacting to these men this way? For five years men had no affect on her. Now in the course of an hour, the two of them managed to get under her skin, causing feelings deep within she hadn’t experienced in years. Feelings she didn’t want to feel.

Mark stared at them for a second. “I don’t know what the two of you have going, but why aren’t you out looking for my sister?”

Kate shuddered at the angry tone of Mark’s voice. “There’s nothing going on between us, Mr. Westfield. I just suggested the very same thing to Detective Shaffer,” she said just as angry. “Now if the two of you will continue this outside, I have work to do.”

“I’ll call you later, Kate.” Adam acted as if everything between them was settled. Par for the course. Wasn’t that always how it was? She got mad, spoke her mind, and that was it. Over and done with.

Nothing changed. Adam went on doing the same things he always did. Didn’t matter if it upset her. Poker every Friday night with his friends, no matter how angry she got. How they had managed to plan the wedding was beyond her.  Not that he did any of the planning. Adam didn’t even want to see the hall or listen to the band. No wonder he didn’t have any qualms about canceling the wedding. He didn’t do any of the work for it. Obviously, he wasn’t ready to get married. So why had he asked her? Asked her, heck, he had insisted. Even when she suggested they wait a year or so. He at least owed her an explanation. But did she really want to hear it?