Living the Dream

Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. Since it’s picture prompt week, our scenes are limited to 300 words! I’m continuing with Pumpkin Spice. Here’s the picture I chose. Isn’t he handsome?

What the hell had Aunt Selma gotten herself into? No wonder she’d chosen not to sleep in the house. Any one of these guys could snap her, or me, in half like a twig. If a cat the size of Peanut was afraid of them, then so was I.

“Good afternoon, Elvira.”

A man, possibly the leader of this band of ne’er-do-wells, stopped before us, the other five still on the staircase, reminding me of a choir ready to perform. One had hair pulled back into a long ponytail. Had I mistaken him for the woman in my room?

The one closest to me resembled a bodybuilder, but for him, given his overall hairiness, the muscles weren’t just for show. He had a full but neatly trimmed beard, black horn-rimmed glasses, and wore jeans and a black t-shirt with Salem and its witch on a broomstick emblem across the front. When he leered at me and grinned, he displayed the whitest set of teeth I’d ever seen. Either they were false, or they’d been recently overbleached. If Lou were here, he would have something to say about the dangers of that!

Icy fingers crawled up my spine, and I had to force myself not to squirm and run away.

“I’m hungry enough to eat a horse today.” He raked me up and down, making me feel self-conscious. “Who’s your friend? Selma said the house was closed to visitors except for a few hours in the evening. As cute as she is, she’ll have to go.”

And just like that, my rubber backbone turned to steel. Who the hell did he think he was? Since when did the guests talk to the staff as if they owned the place? My hackles rose, not a good thing. I had to go?

Not bloody likely, buddy.

That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales

Wow! Mid-September. Time really does go by faster when you get older. Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. Our word prompt is ANXIOUS.

“He is, not quite eight months old, but he’s big, beautiful, and even-tempered, although he’s taken a definite dislike to our guests.” She looked up at the cat. “Come down here and meet Anca. You’ve been waiting for her for months.”

Peanut turned to the parrot, and I swear the bird nodded her head. He stood and descended the stairs with all the grace and majesty of a runway model, stopping at my feet to sniff me, before looking up at me with large, wide-set, slanted, gold eyes, I swear were filled with awe and admiration—or were those my eyes reflected in his? The tips of his ears were tufted, and his hair was thick and lush. He was truly a magnificent—if larger than expected—animal. He opened his mouth, but instead of the meow I expected, out came a chirp, or was it a trill? The cat spoke bird?

“What’s wrong with his voice?”

“Nothing. That’s how he talks, although he will meow if something is wrong, the way Roberta said he did when Selma fell, and he purrs when he’s happy. Go ahead; touch him. He won’t hurt you. The other animals are all quite taken with the handsome devil. If he likes you, he may even bring you a gift.”

Anxious not to offend him or impress him too much, I lowered my hand and scratched him between the ears the way I did Calliope, surprised by the sense of warmth that seeped into me. His purr was instantaneous, a heavy rumble that couldn’t hide his contentment.

I smiled. “Just so we’re straight,” I said, feeling foolish, but Elvira had spoken to him first, “if you decide to bring me a present, could you make it a flower? I’m partial to orange or yellow ones.”

A sudden noise at the top of the stairs sent Hester flying down them. Peanut gave me one last look and then bolted after her. Hopefully, he’d understood my heartfelt plea, and I didn’t have to look forward to finding some dead thing dropped at my feet. I looked up as half a dozen men came down the stairs. These were cameramen? They more closely resembled gangsters, the kind I would pick to be enforcers for loan sharks. You know, the Louis the Lip ones who broke kneecaps and other body parts for fun.

That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales

Welcome to this month’s blog. The question prompt is: What genre would be the worst one for you to tackle and why?

I have four, and they would be equally tough. The first one would be horror, when it is extremely graphic and involves demonic possession, like The Exorcist or The Amityville Horror. Books like those scare the bejesus out of me, and since my writer’s imagination is very vivid and my style descriptive, I can’t do it. I can’t read books like those or watch movies on that theme. I hate the sensation of being scared. I do have two books in my Punishers series that have a little of this, but it’s very mild compared to others.

The second genre would be the gruesome thrillers filled with blood and gore and fighting, think John Wick. Yes, my Harvester and Vengeance Series have a lot of gore, but there’s a reason behind it. I’ve read books with more gore than plot. Not my style.

The third is LGBTQ literature. I know nothing about same-sex relationships, and rather than offend, I’ll simply live and let live and stay out of their lives. I have several friends in same-sex relationships and friends with gay children. We get along fine but exploring and describing their relationships just isn’t anything we do. They sat out of my bedroom, and I stay out of theirs.

The last genre would be hot books that border on pornography. Am I a prude? Probably. At 72 there are a lot of things out there that just don’t do it for me and that includes bondage, and other stuff involving strange equipment and practices. Have I tried it? No? Do I want to? No. Am I judging it? No, but I’m not going to write about it either. I’m a firm believer in letting the reader fill in the gaps in those scenes. In my novels, there might be some mild sex scenes, but for the most part the action takes place behind closed doors.

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Welcome to another episode of Tuesday Tales. Already September. Back when I was working, I dreaded the end of summer and the start to another school year. Now, I’m using the time to travel before winter sets in. This week, our Tuesday Tales prompt is sign. Every time I see the word the song plays through my head. I’m continuing with Pumpkin Spice. Enjoy!

Knowing I had every right to be there, instead of knocking as the sign requested, I opened the door and ducked as a streak of blue and yellow whizzed by me. Where had she come from? Outside? Impossible.

“Ack!”

The bird stopped and landed on the table beside me.

“Hester, you scared the living daylights out of me,” I scolded. “You’re supposed to be downstairs in your cage.” Home less than four hours and I was losing it, talking to the animals as if I believed they could understand.

The bird cocked her head in a “so what?” gesture, before flying off once more and heading up to the second floor. So much for staying in the storeroom.

“Hello?” I called, inhaling the aroma of fresh coffee and bacon. “Mrs. Sloan?”

A heavyset woman in navy stretch pants and a bright pink shirt, an apron wrapped around her belly, stepped out of the kitchen.

“Can I help you?” She wiped her hands on the flowered apron.

“It’s me, Anca, Selma’s niece.”

The woman’s face crinkled and then split into a grin. Stepping closer to me, she extended her hand. “Little Anca, all grown up.”

What was it these women had with the adjective “little?”

“Call me Elvira. It’s such a shame about your aunt’s fall.” She frowned. “I can’t understand how it happened.”

So, I wasn’t the only one who thought the fall suspicious. Scratching at the door, followed by a loud meow I recognized, indicated Calliope wanted into the house.

“I’ll get it.” I opened the door, admitting the cat. Before I could close it, a raccoon raced into the house and up the stairs. “Oh my God,” I cried. “What was that?”

Beside me, Elvira Sloan was doubled over with laughter, unable to speak.

I glanced up the stairs. The animal I’d mistaken for a raccoon was a large cat. The creature sat on the top step, with its tail wrapped majestically around itself. The parrot perched on the railing beside him. From here, it looked like they were conversing quietly.

“That’s Peanut, the newest member of the menagerie,” Elvira said as soon as she could speak. “He’s a Maine Coon cat, and while most people are surprised the first time they see him, your face…” She started to laugh again. “Did no one mention him to you?”

If they had, they’d left out a few details. This animal was huge!

“I thought he was a kitten.”

That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales

Sometimes, love just happens. When you find that special someone, hopefully it’s convenient. But what if it’s not? What if you’re madly in love with a coworker? Workplace romance can sometimes be complicated, but always unique.

Made For Me by Natalie Ann, USA Today bestselling author: Will the grief two coworkers experienced in their lives bring them together and help them heal or will the stress of the workplace gossip get to be too much and threaten to crumble what they’d just discovered?

Sweet Obsession by Suzanne Jenkins, USA Today bestselling author: Annette’s life revolves around the ski resort her grandfather started. She has only one goal, to make sure the success of Sugarloaf Mountain continues. And there’s no time for romance until she hires Christopher Santos as the new trail crew boss.

Undercover Justice by Cynthia Cooke, USA Today bestselling author: An undercover cop set on a collision course with a handsome youth minister must keep him and the kids in his youth group from falling into the hands of a brutal killer.

Letting Go by Jacquie Biggar, USA Today bestselling author: A coming-of-age novel about the pain of misconceptions and learning from them. When life gives you lemons…

Sing Me A Soap Opera by Susan Jean Ricci, USA Today bestselling author: A fantasy author gets strong-armed by her publisher to abandon her genre and write a romance about falling in love with a coworker. The challenge? Obtaining a job and penning the romantic details based on true experience.

Not My Boss by Rachelle Ayala, USA Today bestselling author: Can office pranks, HR violations, and a doggy fashion show get Dixie the divorce she thinks she wants?

Trouble With Eden by Susanne Matthews, International Bestselling author: Sharing her home and the boss’s chair may be more than a little challenging.

Get your copy today! https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09WMQJWC5

Sneak Peek at Trouble with Eden

Book Blurb:

Can two lonely strangers find love and happiness through a caring man’s bequest?

Fantasy author Jackson Rivers is fed up with the world. He wants to hide away from everyone and everything and focus on his books, preferring the worlds he creates in his mind to the real deal. When he discovers he’s inherited a house and a service station in a rural part of Eastern Ontario, he sees it as the answer to prayer. He may only own half of both, but surely he and the coheir can come to some arrangement? After all, he just wants to be left alone, and a house in the country sounds perfect. Sadly, an encounter with a moose changes everything, and when he meets the other heir, not a man as he’d envisioned but a woman, the embodiment of his newest fantasy heroine, his priorities change. Maybe it’s time to let someone else into his life, and this woman is the ideal choice.

Eden-Jane Walford, E J to friends, wants her life to stay exactly the way it is—unfettered—able to come and go as she pleases, living in her childhood home, answering to no one but herself and the dad she adores. But fate tosses a monkey wrench into things. She’s a Class A mechanic and tow truck operator for Paradise Service Station and Towing, her adoptive father’s company, but when he dies suddenly, she’s in for a surprise. While he leaves half of his estate to her, the other half goes to a stranger, who just happens to be his biological son and knows absolutely nothing about the business. Sharing her home and the boss’s chair with this man will be more than a little challenging, especially when he’s the first man she’s been drawn to since her disastrous engagement fell through. Will the sparks between them lead to love or war?

E J stood and stomped her foot, her hands fisted at her side, fighting tears of fear and frustration. Once more, she’d worked her ass off all night, handling twice the number of calls that she usually did, and for what? This? What she wanted right this minute was her bed and at least four hours of uninterrupted sleep—and maybe half a bottle of brandy first to make sure she got it. She’d tried to beg off, pleaded exhaustion, but the lawyer had insisted on seeing her today. She’d put this visit off for more than three weeks, and now she wished she hadn’t. This was too much, the proverbial straw that had broken the camel’s back—and hers.

EXERPT:

“You’ve got to be frigging kidding me, Uncle Eli,” she cried, anger and disbelief strong in her voice. She crossed her arms tightly, her hands still fisted. “There’s another heir? A son?”

Dwayne Walford hadn’t been the easiest man to live with, hardworking but set in his ways. If he decided the sky was green, then you’d better just agree with him and move on. Once he made up his mind, nothing and no one could change it. Still, he’d been a good father and had loved her mother, sticking with her, doing the best he could for her until the cancer finally took her. Once her mother had passed, Dwayne had continued to care for the twelve-year-old he’d adopted, loving her, giving her a home, a name, and an education—even if it were an unorthodox one—and he’d given her a job she loved. She’d adored the man, the only father she remembered, her own having died when she was two.

Losing Dwayne so unexpectedly was much harder than she’d imagined—and now this. Never in the twenty-five-years that she’d lived with him had Dad mentioned having a biological child of his own. Had her mother known? Now, he’d left half of Paradise Service Station and Towing to his son, along with half of the house. Her home and her job gone, just like that.

Dwayne, what in God’s name were you thinking?

“Why did you wait so long to tell me this?” E J pleaded.

“It wasn’t my fault, young lady. You were the one who was always too busy to sit down with me. If I hadn’t forced the issue, you wouldn’t even be here now. I realize the suddenness of his death was hard, you had to follow Dwayne’s wishes—no service, cremated, and his ashes in with your mother’s, and of course you’re down a man at the garage, but I told you this was important.”

“Three actually, four if you count the gas pump jockey who quit last week,” she corrected. “Dad was trying to hire more staff, but while there may be work, finding qualified people to do it isn’t all that easy. Easton Corners isn’t exactly party-central.”

And yet, people were clamoring to buy the land. The distance to Ottawa and the proximity of the 417 made the area ripe for a bedroom community. Embrun, Casselman, and Marionville had all profited from it, why not Easton Corners? Wasn’t it only last month, a couple of days before his fall, that the real estate agent had called again? Dad had stood firm. Maybe it would’ve been better if he had sold the place. Losing it this way would be far worse.

She huffed out a breath. Uncle Eli was right, but every time he’d wanted to see Dad, he’d claimed it was important—most of the time it hadn’t been. She’d avoided this, expecting it to be fairly routine, but never would she have expected a complication like this.

“So let me get this straight. I’m living in a house that’s no longer mine, working for a company that belongs to a stranger.”

“Yes and no,” the lawyer said, his voice with its lazy maritime drawl grating on her frazzled nerves. For years, she’d called this man Uncle Eli; now, he might as well be a complete stranger.

The man sat behind his desk, his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose, a plexiglass shield separating him from her, but neither of them wore masks. “The house was never yours, Eden. It belonged to Dwayne, although I suppose you considered it yours having lived there most of your life. We all think of our parents’ houses that way. They’re home, and for most of us, they’ll always be that. When I go back to Newfoundland each summer, I feel the same way about my mother’s house, too, even though the place was sold to a cousin years ago. It’s natural.”

Great. He wanted to argue semantics while she might be out on her ear.

“You’re actually better off now than you were. The personal funds in the bank and the insurance policy are all yours, free and clear. You’ve got money, plenty of it. You can leave here, travel, do whatever you please. As well, you own half of the estate which includes the house, the business, and its assets. Your truck may have the company logo on it, but your father put it in your name and not the company’s last year. Dwayne did his best for you. He left you well provided for.”

“I know that, Uncle Eli, it’s just … discovering I have a brother … It’s a shock.”

The lawyer shook his head. “He’s not your brother, Eden. You and Mr. Rivers aren’t related in any way. At best, he’s your business partner who just happens to own half of the house, too. I suppose if it’s easier, you can refer to him as your stepbrother if you want to, but with both of your parents dead, even a step relationship is moot. I contacted Mr. Rivers as soon as Dwayne passed, explaining that you would look after things the way Dwayne had until he could come to Easton Corners and Cornwall, and we could get things ironed out. He was supposed to be here with you this morning. For the record, he wasn’t aware of your existence or Dwayne’s either.”

Where has the summer gone? Here it is the last week of August. Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. Our word prompt is YELLOW. I continue with Pumpkin Spice.

“Before I forget, Dr. Tanner told me to come back to the hospital for five. He’ll call when she’s out of surgery.”

Roberta nodded. “He’ll stay with her for a few hours. He usually does after one of his patients undergoes surgery. Mercy Egan’s a fine surgeon like her uncle was. Sometimes, she stays the night here after surgery before going back to Boston.”

My brain slammed on the brakes. Mercy? Mercy Egan? No wonder the name was familiar. She was the woman Walt had introduced me to at his father’s funeral, the woman I’d assumed he’d married, the woman I presumed had been the mother of his children, but that was impossible. The room vanished, and a clearer memory of that sad day filled my mind. The tall blonde by his side had hazel eyes and a friendly smile.

“Squirt, this is Mercy Egan, she’s a fellow resident in New York City. We drove down in her car. She has family in Marblehead.”

I blinked, and the vision vanished. I licked my lips. “That name sounds familiar. I think I met her at Mr. Tanner’s funeral.”

“You might have. Her uncle and Mr. Tanner were close friends. Dr. Egan practiced here in Salem until he retired and moved to Florida two years ago. Mercy and Walt were in medical school together and then did their residence in the same hospital. Dr. T worked there until he came home and started his own practice. Dr. Egan moved to Boston a couple of years ago after she married. She sometimes comes to Salem to help out with difficult cases.”

“She’s not married to Walt?” I blurted, before my brain screamed, you know this. His wife’s name is Aasha.

Roberta laughed. “The only thing Dr. Tanner is married to is his job. Between the clinic and his patients, he has no time for anyone or anything else. More’s the pity.”

A yellow neon sign flashed in my mind. Walt’s Not Married. It took everything in me not to jump up and scream hooray! And then imaginary ice water got dumped on my head.

“But the children—” She cocked her head. “Are my grandchildren. You thought they were his?” She laughed. “My son, Rick, is married to Aasha. He’s a long-haul trucker. When she’s working, I babysit the kids.

That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales

Wow! More than halfway through August. If you look closely, you’ll see the leaves starting their annual color change, something immensely sad to me since I would keep summer around longer if I could. Today’s Tuesday Tale is based on the word prompt MOUSE. I’m continuing with Pumpkin Spice.

More confused than ever, I smiled. “Hello, Mrs. Morgan. It’s been a long time.”

“It has been and call me Roberta. We don’t stand on ceremony here.” Her face softened, and I could read sorrow in her eyes. “You really should’ve come to visit more often. They miss you.”

Feeling like a mouse caught in one of those sticky traps, I licked my lips. I wasn’t sure who “they” were, but, having experienced my aunt’s delusions earlier, she was right.

“I plan to stick around for good.”

The woman’s face split into a wide grin. “That’s wonderful. I’m the housekeeper here now. I look after the place and these three sprites, although I do sometimes fill in for the receptionist in the clinic. This handsome creature is Seamus, and these three are Snapika, Chaital, and Prem, but Dr. T calls them Snap, Crackle, and Pop, and the nicknames have stuck. Snapika and Chaital are six-year-old twins, and Prem is four. Since those characters are also on the box of their favorite cereal, they’re quite happy to be named after them.”

“He would.” I chuckled and bent down to greet the children. “Hello. You have beautiful, unusual names,” I offered. Trust Walt to name his kids after mascots. “I’ve never heard any of them before.”

Big brown eyes looked up at me, but no one made a sound.

Roberta chuckled. “Don’t let the silence fool you. Once they’re comfortable with you, they’ll chew your ears off. Their mother, Aasha, is from Southern India. The names are Telegu, the language her parents speak. Aasha is a nurse at the hospital.”

“I see.”

Before I could say anything else, she shoved the cat into my arms. “Oof!” He was a lot heavier than I’d expected. Obviously, the beast was well fed. As if he’d read my mind and was offended by my thought, the animal nipped me.

“Ouch!”

“Now, now, Seamus, be nice. And she’s right. You are getting fat. Too many treats, my boy. We’ll have to watch that.”

Had I spoken aloud? I was pretty damn sure I hadn’t, and yet both Roberta and the cat had heard me. I must be losing my mind.

I was about to say something—I wasn’t quite sure what—when Roberta turned to the children.

“Now, while I get the doctor’s guest settled, you three go outside. Your mother will be back soon.”

That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales

Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales, based on a picture. These scenes are limited to 300 words, short but sweet and still complete. I’m continuing with Pumpkin Spice.

Here’s the image I selected.

“One of the sisters told me you’d arrived.” She pushed me back, holding me by the shoulders as she continued to study me. “I’ve been waiting for you. The others are sitting in the shade by the water, sipping iced tea, meditating, and sending Selma spiritual energy.”

Wicca, a nature-based religion founded in the twentieth century by Gerald Gardner with Mother Earth and Father Sky as their primary gods, tended to worship in small groups called covens. They practiced magic and used universal energy to effect positive changes around them. Most covens were small, but Aunt Selma’s had always been a larger one comprised of forty people, both male and female. I’d avoided being around them when I’d lived there—why, I wasn’t quite sure—but it was good to know that so many were concerned about her well-being. Given her age, she could use all the prayers she could get. I might not believe in their energies and powers, but I respected them. No doubt those had been the dark shadows I’d noticed earlier.

“Elvira and Suzie are still at the cottage. As soon as they finish for the day, they’ll join us. They’ll be happy to see you.” She smiled. “Little Anca, all grown up. Aren’t you a pretty little thing?”

Couldn’t she lose the “little” adjective? These kids were little, not me. At five-eight, I was average, if not tall, for a woman.

“Seamus, stop that.” Instead of indicating one of the children, she reached down to pick up the cat twisting itself around her legs. Seamus was a beautiful tortoiseshell Manx, the tailless cat that had originated on the Isle of Man in the Irish Sea. If the cat was Seamus, who were Snap, Crackle, and Pop? I eyed the children. No. It couldn’t be, but then again, Walt loved nicknames.

That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales

Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. Our word prompt is BRANCH. I’m continuing with Pumpkin Spice. Anca is with Aunt Selma as they await her surgery.

“I’m at a loss here. Where do you expect me to sleep?”

“Dr. Tanner has offered you a bed. You’ll be right next door.” She frowned. “You do remember Walt, don’t you?”

Remember Walt? How could I not remember him?

“He’s a wonderful doctor. The best one I’ve ever had. So kind and understanding. He even makes house calls.” She frowned. “I did tell you he moved back last fall just before I went to St Thomas for the winter, didn’t I?”

“I don’t think you did.”

I would’ve recalled something like that. Was it possible that she was losing control over her short-term memory? Seventy-seven wasn’t that old. But it was the age at which Hester Cole had died. I shivered. This had better not be a premonition. A person didn’t need to be a witch or possess magic to have premonitions. Everyone had them eventually. It might be nothing more than deciding not to wear the blue heels one morning and almost twisting an ankle on the way to work—a sure thing in the wrong shoes. Sometimes, it was a feeling about a place or a person … and at others, it was such an intense sense of déjà vu, that I wanted to run away and hide.

“Well, he’s been my doctor ever since he came back,” Aunt Selma said, grounding me once more. “Erin and Seamus are adorable, as are Snap and Crackle, although Pop has his moments, but he’s still so young. They frequently visit the cottage. Hester likes them, too.”

If the bird approved, how could I not? Erin and Seamus were strong Irish names, good for children, but Snap, Crackle, Pop? Those had to be the family pets. No one would name their kids after the sound effects of a certain brand of cereal. But stay with him and his brood? Never. I would deal with my aunt’s delusions as soon as she was back on her feet. Perhaps Walt … Dr. Tanner … could recommend a good gerontologist. It was a popular branch of medicine now that people were living longer. I’d studied delusional behavior in seniors but, it was never a good idea to practice on family.

That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales

Hello everyone. It’s so nice to be back again after a brief vacation. and what makes it even more wonderful was discovering that one of my books, Fire Angel, is one of the member spotlight books for August! I don’t know who my guardian angel is here but thank you so much! This was what I found on the website along with this month’s writing prompt.

Sincere congratulations to Austin Kleon for his book, Steals Like An Artist, which has also been selected,

Fire Angel was the first book I ever authored and published. Sadly, the publisher, Crimson Romance, is no longer in business, but the book is still available. It has a new cover and was edited when I got my rights back, but it’s the same basic novel–with a few curved tossed in. This is a direct link to the book on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07DLK8J6Q

So why did I start my post with this? Because it leads directly into the August 3 question:

When you set out to write a story, do you try to be more original, or do you try to give readers what they want?

Back in 2013 when I first drafted the novel Fire Angel, there had been a string of unsolved arsons in our area. Many of them were never solved. Since it was my very first book, I wanted something that packed a punch, but the publishers who had agreed to publish the book wanted less punch, more romance, and only two points of view. So, in the editing stage, I had to eliminate the third point of view. Unfortunately, for many readers of the original book, it was too easy to guess the identity of the Fire Angel, and that affected their ratings of the book. Long story short, when Crimson was bought out, I eventually got my rights back, and using the original manuscript and comments from the posted reviews–I did listen–I revised and edited the book which I then released in 2018 as part of the Vengeance Is Mine Series, books linked by the need for revenge. To my knowledge, the revised and edited version is the only one currently available. It has lots of grit and punch, some romance, three points of view, and a new, much stronger, ending.

It’s hard to believe that I’ll soon be an author with ten years of writing under my belt, having begun writing in September 2012. I have published forty novels, many of them parts of one of my seven series, and am working on my forty-first now, part of my Cocktails for You series, created during the pandemic when everyone needed a laugh. Those books are the only ones I write in the first person. As a rule, they are shorter than my other books, all under 80,000 words, some of them only novellas. They are quick reads without any complex plot webs, designed strictly to entertain, no thinking required.

Each time I start a book, I think about what I want the book to do. Do I want it to be a mystery? Is it meant to make people laugh or cry? Do I want to teach them something about the past the way my Canadian historical romances do? Or do I simply want them to feel good and relax? While I try to consider and be mindful of what readers want, often my tape measure comes down to one thing. What story does my muse want me to write? Because that’s the one that will get written.

I pride myself on the originality of my stories. There are no cookie cutter romances, no cut and paste mysteries. Each book has a uniqueness that I value and hope my readers do, too. As an author, I do pay attention to honest reviews, but in the end, I must be true to myself.

Read about this topic from others by checking the list here. https://www.insecurewriterssupportgroup.com/p/iwsg-sign-up.html