Fiction For Dessert

A Short Story I KNOW You Will Love!

2011-07-20T06:21:00.000-07:00

I have been very excited for today's post.

Recently, I had the chance to read this short story by Karen Wojcik Berner when she posted it on her popular blog, Bibliophilic Blather. This story, "Sheep Boy," had won an honorable mention in the short story contest at WOW! Women on Writing. Well, when I read it, I just had to ask Karen if she would share it for my FFD followers, and thankfully, she agreed. Because I know you're going to love this story and I'm going to stop talking now, but don't forget to read Karen's bio that follows, and learn about her book, A Whisper to a Scream.

Sheep Boy
By Karen Wojcik Berner

Okay. Mail the bills. Go to the bank. Get bread and milk, and, oh yeah, Brianna wanted more markers for school. Twenty minutes until the bus dropped the kids off. Just enough time to pick up a quick cappuccino.

"Hey, how are ya? Care to sample our new low-fat crumb cake? Not that you need it or anything."

Leah gave the kid a WTF look.

"No, I meant the low-fat part. You look pretty good to me."

Good save. He was cute, this kid, with his fuzzy white-guy 'fro all the college boys were sporting lately. She wanted to shear him. "I'll have a medium nonfat cappuccino, extra hot, please."

"Extra hot indeed." He smirked, then called out her order to a taller, skinnier fuzzy guy with a square Herman Munster head. Him, she had no desire to shear.

Drew had gone punk, not goth. What was wrong with her? Did she honestly think he would go all emo on her? When Leah was young, "goth" and "emo" did not exist, only jocks, preppies, nerds and stoners. She was beginning to feel more like her mother every day.

"What'll it be? Oh, hi. Nonfat cappuccino, right? Size?" Sheep Boy's grin was charming.

"Medium, please. Can I ask you something?"

He draped his hands over the cash register. "I'm all yours."

Leah shifted nervously. "Maybe you can help me understand something. My son recently went punk."

Sheep Boy's eyes lit up. "Awesome. Ramones. Green Day."

"Older bands?"

"Yeah, punk's punk. Wait, how old's your son?"

"Thirteen. He's in Junior High."

"No way." Sheep Boy threw his hands up and backed off the register, shaking his head. "There is no way you have a thirteen year old."

"Unfortunately there is." This did not look like calculated flattery for tips. This was a moment of true astonishment.

"Well, you sure don't look it. I mean, I knew you were older when you said 'son,' but I didn't think that old, no offense." He winked.

And so it began. The daily conversation. The oasis from her family's insanity. Her crush on Sheep Boy.

The cappuccino was waiting for her when she walked in. "Saw your van in the parking lot. How's your son?"

"He discovered 'Combat Rock' this week."

"Epic disc. Three-fifty-six, please."

Leah dug in her purse, remembering how old she was the first time she heard "London Calling." It was a lifetime ago. When everything was new. When there was electricity in the air. When music was...she chuckled to herself...epic. She handed him a five.

His hand touched hers briefly when giving her the change. Her face flushed. He did not look away. "So what are you up to tonight?"

Leah could not bring herself to recite the litany of monotonous chores awaiting her. "Not much. How about you?"

"My band is playing at Frankie's." Sheep Boy's eyes sparkled. "You should come. It's going to be awesome."

"Maybe." Leah scurried out of the coffee shop.

That night, Leah dreamt of being in the front row at Sheep Boy's concert.

"This song goes out to a very special lady." Taking her cheek gently, he tilted her face toward him and...

"Leah! Get up!" Her husband poked her. "Your alarm's been ringing for five minutes. Don't forget to pick up my suit from the dry cleaner. I need it for Thursday."

There were several people in line before her. Leah scanned behind the counter for Sheep Boy, but could not see him. Disappointed, she collected her cappuccino from Herman Munster and headed toward the door.

"Wait. Don't leave." Sheep Boy caught up to her. "I thought of you last night."

"What?"

"I heard 'Should I Stay or Should I Go?' on 'XRT while I was driving home, and I thought of you." He searched her face for a reaction.

He was taller than she thought, standing there before her, out from behind the counter. She wanted to say she thought of him often. Each time her husband came home pissed from work expecting dinner. Each time she drove the same neighborhood streets over and over transporting the kids from school to activities to friends'. Each time she closed her eyes at night.

"That's a great song." Leah looked down. "I gotta go."

Sheep Boy's face fell.

"Goodbye." She left, knowing she could never return.
_____

Karen Wojcik Berner is the author of A Whisper to a Scream, the first novel in the Bibliophiles series about the lives of the members of a suburban classics book club. It is available through amazon.com in paperback and e-versions, as well as for Nook e-readers.

She has been a writer/editor for 25 years, ten of which were spent in editing trade publications. A two-time Folio Magazine Ozzie Award for Excellence in Magazine Editorial and Design winner, her work also has appeared in The Chicago Tribune and countless regional newspapers and magazines.

She is currently working on her second book, How Long 'Til My Soul Gets it Right?, the second book on the Classic Book Club series.

To learn more about Karen, please visit www.KarenBerner.com.

Special Delivery by Jacqueline Vick

2011-07-18T16:13:00.000-07:00

I hope everyone had a great weekend!

I'm starting out the week, introducing readers to author Jacqueline Vick, and her VERY FUN novella, Special Delivery.

DESCRIPTION:
When someone strangles the life out of cantankerous postal employee Abigail Watts, Deanna Wilder is certain that an odd phrase uttered by the victim on the day of her death holds the key to solving Abigail’s murder. Unfortunately for her daughters, Roxanne and Vanessa, Deanna turns the investigation into a family affair.

This 9,500 word novella introduces The Wilder Women, the sleuthing family featured in the upcoming novel, "Family Matters". A sneak peek at the first chapter of the novel is included at the end of the novella.
_____

Just prior to the scene in today's excerpt, Deanna Wilder is enrolled in yet another class at WACKED (The Wilton Adult Center for Knowledge and Education). This time it’s Doing Vegas in Style. She’s set up a weekly Texas Hold-em game to help her practice for the final, and the players include obnoxious postal clerk Abigail Watts. Deanna puts up with her snide comments in order to practice against the best player in town. This particular Monday evening, Abigail is a no-show.

AND NOW, AN EXCERPT FROM Special Delivery by Jacqueline Vick:

Deanna Wilder nudged her daughter, Vanessa, with a sharp elbow to the rib-cage. “Stop squirming.”

Vanessa glared at the grandfather clock and said, “You promised I’d be home in time for NCIS. If we start playing now, we have time for a couple of hands.”

“It’s summer. It’s a re-run, for goodness sake.”

Ida Nichols, Deanna’s sister-in-law, shuffled a deck of cards with the skill of a Vegas dealer. “Young people aren’t the only ones with lives. Maybe we should call her again.”

“Yes. Maybe we should.” The woman who so readily agreed with Ida was her fraternal twin, Mabel. Mabel entered the world twenty minutes after her sister and was left to scrounge up whatever attributes Ida had seen fit to leave behind. Mabel stood two inches shorter than her twin, was less striking in appearance and manner, and lacked a mind of her own.

“Abigail didn’t pick up the last three times I called,” Deanna said. “What makes you think four is the magic number?”

“Who cares if she plays?” Vanessa chewed a hangnail on her thumb. “Why can’t we start without her?”

“She’s a good player to practice against,” Deanna admitted. “In fact, I wanted to replace her, but I can’t think of anyone as good. I might have to put up with her for a few more weeks.”

“I’m good.” Ida fanned her cards out and swept them up in one fluid move.

“You have a tell,” Deanna said. “You snort when you have a good hand.”

Roxanne, Deanna’s youngest daughter, had until now suffered the evening in silence. She set down her poker chips and said, “Since you won’t start without Abigail, I’m driving over to her house to see what’s keeping her.”

As the evening’s hostess, Deanna opted to remain behind in case Abigail showed up. She convinced Ida and Mabel to stay, primarily because she couldn’t trust the twins to return.

“I’m going with,” Vanessa said.

The drive across town took ten minutes, ten minutes filled with Vanessa’s complaints about her wasted evening.

“Just because Mother thinks I don’t have a life….” Vanessa fingered her curls. “Well, if I don’t, it’s her fault. Every time she takes a class, I wind up as her guinea pig. Today it’s poker. You watch. Tomorrow it will be mind reading and I won’t have any secrets left.”

“I don’t know why you bother to argue,” Roxanne said. “I just agree with her and do what I want.”

“Then why are you spending Monday night running around town looking for some old hag?”

“You mean instead of learning the finer points of military investigations from Mark Harmon?” Roxanne referred to the handsome star of NCIS.

She turned the Chrysler New Yorker into the driveway of Fourteen Harmony Drive and left the car idling. The windows of the house were dark.

“We probably just missed her.” She instructed Vanessa to wait and then ran up to the front door.
Roxanne might have knocked harder than she intended because the door creaked open after the first hit. She leaned her head in. “Abigail?”

No response.

The car headlamps cast a dim light over the living room, and Roxanne could see the outline of a large lump in the middle of the rug. She felt along the entry wall for a switch.

Blazing light filled the room and exaggerated the purple, bloated features of Abigail Watts. Her large arms were thrown over her head; the hem of her housedress rested in a position to expose the varicose veins threading up her plump thighs. Perhaps the worst element of the scene was a sickeningly sweet odor that hung over the room.

Vanessa appeared at Roxanne’s side. “What’s taking so long?” she asked. Then her eyes followed to where Roxanne pointed.

“I’m going to miss my show, aren’t I?”

______

Jacqueline Vick has been published in Futures Mystery Anthology Magazine, FIDO Friendly Magazine, Every Day Fiction Anthology Two, and various ezines. Her e-novella “The Groom’s Cake” is available through Wicked Ink Press. The e-novellas “Special Delivery” and “The Mystery of the White Revelation” are an introduction to the characters who inhabit the novels Family Matters and The Body Guy, which will be available in 2011. You can learn more about Jacqeline and her books at www.JacquelineVick.com and at her blog JacquelineVickAuthor.blogspot.com

Other books by Jacqueline Vick:

Maybelle's Revenge and Other Short Stories by LB Gschwandtner

2011-07-16T06:40:00.000-07:00

Okay fellow readers - what's better for weekend reading than a great collection of short stories?

Well, I've got just the thing for you!

I just finished this collection myself, and trust me, the stories make for fantastic reading. Of course, I am not only a huge fan of LB's writing, but also have co-authored the chick-lit novel, Foxy's Tale, with her, so I know she can write!

Looking for some afternoon entertainment? Get Maybelle's Revenge and Other Short Stories. You won't be disappointed.

DESCRIPTION:
A short story collection with an edge. Paranormal events, vengeful attacks, payback for past pain -- and lots of other quirky tidbits are the stuff of this collection, including a love stricken parrot and a town that takes on an electric glow. It’s all in here but, to start, there’s Maybelle's Revenge. And she is out to get some payback.

What people are saying:
This collection of stories is so much fun the pages practically turn themselves. The stories cover a wide range of subjects and have some wacky, unexpected protagonists - including Maybelle herself - but what they have in common is humor and readability. The stories are short, fast moving and go down like candy. A great choice for beach reading or taking the kids to the pool! -- Kim Wright Wiley

And now, an excerpt from the beginning of "Maybelle's Revenge":

At South Lake Living all the patients were sedated and in bed by eight-thirty, seven days a week. Except for the night aide who sat at the front desk watching a tiny TV, no one stirred until six when the morning staff came on duty and got everyone up to pee.
But not tonight. Tonight Maybelle palmed her pills.

Got them goddam pills right here. I’ll stuff them down her throat, she comes after me.
She slipped out of bed, stepped into her walking shoes and pulled up her knee highs. In the half darkness, as she reached out to the vinyl armchair they had placed next to her bed and plucked her cotton housedress off the arm, old lady DeFino opened her eyes.

“May?” She squinted from the bed across the room. Old lady DeFino couldn’t see past her own hand without her glasses. “Where you going?”

“Shhh.” Maybelle pulled the dress down and snapped the front closed. The dress had two big pockets in front. They bulged a little. She shuffled over to the door. “I’m goin’ out.”
“Whaddya mean you’re goin’ out? If you gotta go you’re supposed to call the night girl.”
“Shut up DeFino. Go back to sleep.”

“Yeah. You’re right. I need my beauty rest.” She rolled over and started snoring almost immediately.

Yeah, you just sleep the rest of your life away, princess.

Maybelle’s plan was simple.

All I gotta do is sneak halfway down the hall, duck into the empty room by the fire stairs where that crazy Marinelli kid pulled the overhead light cord down and caved in the ceiling trying to hang herself last week. Nineteen years old and already nothing to live for. Not me.

She would make some racket by tossing a wastebasket against the steel fireproof door by the bathrooms at the end of the hall. Then out the front door while the night girl was investigating the noise. From there she could hitch a bus to town, get off at the stop two blocks from her house and walk the rest of the way. Simple. If she could just toss the wastebasket far enough.
She shuffled out the door and hugged the wall to keep steady.

Her plan went without a hitch. The night girl was slow witted. She even walked out the fireproof door to see if anyone was there. This gave Maybelle some extra time to lift a walker at the front door. She chose the new kind with wheels.

The night air was mild. That was the best part of living in Florida. The nights. Days were too hot for Maybelle. But Harold had insisted they sell everything and come down here. Whatever Harold wanted he always got. Forty-two years of Harold getting what he wanted. Now Lake Shore. He had put her there.

Maybelle reached into her pocket and pulled out bus fare. She sat on the bench and soon a bus pulled up.

“Need some help with your walker, Gramma?”

“Yes. That would be very nice of you, young man.” Maybelle smiled up at the bus driver.

I could club you with it you son of a snake.

Two blocks from her house she got off. The driver followed her down the steps holding the walker and set it up for her on the sidewalk.

“Thank you, young man.”

“You be good now, granny. Get yourself right home because these are mean streets after dark.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I lived here forty years and I seen plenty.” Maybelle took hold of the rubber coated walker handles and started rolling the two blocks toward her house. It was a lie. They had only come here five years ago.

Goddam lousy buses. Give me a pain up my butt.

It took a long time for her to push her way to the house. The lights were on in the living room. She could see the flicker of the TV against a wall in the den. There was a car in the driveway.
Is that my old Chevy? She rolled over closer to it. Yeah. He’s still driving my car. Used to take that car to the beach. Probably still has sand in the back seat. Took me to South Lake in that car. Wouldn’t let me drive.

Maybelle rubbed her arm remembering other hospital visits. The suspicious looks the doctors and nurses gave her. The questions, always the questions. And yet she never told. Not anyone. She still didn’t know why. Yes, sure, she was ashamed. But it was something else. She was waiting.
Now it was time.

She knew where he kept the gun.

LB Gschwandtner is a writer, magazine editor, artist, and co-owner, with her family, of an integrated media business. Her work has appeared in various journals including Del Sol Review. One of her prose poems has been included in an anthology called “Oil and Water and Other Things That Don't Mix,” a collection published to support victims of the BP oil spill in the Gulf. She has received awards for three different stories from the Writer's Digest Annual Competition in the mainstream literary category and the Lorian Hemingway short fiction competition, and was short listed for a Tom Howard Short Story Contest.

She also founded TheNovelette.com which offers free, themed, writing contests with prizes for emerging writers plus a blog where writers talk about their experiences in the publishing world. She has published three books, all available at Amazon.com & B&N.com: “The Naked Gardener,” “Page Truly and The Journey To Nearandfar,” and “Foxy's Tale.” And now the short story collection, “Maybelle’s Revenge.”

She’s an avid kayaker (touring) and grew up fishing in the Florida Keys. Here's a tidbit of interest. Her husband proposed on their first and only date and they were married five weeks later. They lived in Paris, France, for a time and now live on a tidal creek where they love watching Bald eagles soar past their windows. Email LB at foxystale@gmail.com. She’d love to hear from you.

Other books by LB:

Ain't Love Grand? by Dana Taylor

2011-07-13T05:21:00.000-07:00

Hello!

Today’s featured author is Dana Taylor and she’s agreed to share an excerpt from her novel, Ain’t Love Grand?

DESCRIPTION:
They first meet when he tackles her to the ground. All Persephone Jones was doing was trying to stop the bulldozer from destroying the herb garden she planted on property adjoining hers. But her new neighbor, Jason Brooks, was not only building a beautiful new house, but also a landing strip over her garden. Persephone and Jason couldn't be more different. He is a well-known, high-powered defense attorney with money to burn. She's the illegitimate daughter of a flower child, and dispenses wheat-grass smoothies as well as herbal remedies from her modest shop. And neither of them can understand their mutual attraction. In spite of appearances, Persephone doesn't abide by all hippie principles. For instance, when Jason suggests that they make their relationship more intimate, she demurs. For her sex is an important step, indicating that marriage is on the horizon. He feels differently, but love will have its way in this charming tale of opposites attracting.

What readers are saying:
“Dana Taylor is a fabulous new author who has written a laugh-out-loud
romance between a hero and heroine who are so different from each other, yet still manage to fall in love. This is comedy at its best. The plot is strong, and you can't help but become engrossed in the daily lives of Persephone and Jason. You just know they are meant to be together. AIN'T LOVE GRAND? is a wonderful story that you surely will not want to miss.” – Robyn Reo, Romance Reviews Today

Setup:
Big city lawyer, Jason Brooks, has just moved next door to herbalist, Persephone Jones, with his mother and daughter. Before this scene, Jason’s mother wandered to Perse’s house for a neighborly visit and helped herself to a little too much wine.

And now, an excerpt from Ain’t Love Grand?

Trotting in his direction, I hollered, “Mr. Brooks! I need to talk to you.” I gasped for breath.

He nodded to his mechanic and headed in my direction with a kind of John Wayne thing going in his walk. Suddenly, I felt self-conscious of my ratty clothes and wild hair.
I stopped about three feet in front of him, panting, pushing curls out of my face. He gave me an amused grin. “Good evening, Ms. Jones. Is this a social call?”

“It’s your mother…” gasp, pant, gasp.

His expression changed instantly to one of concern. “Oh, God, what now?”

“She’s alright. She’s at my house. Asleep, sort of. She came over for a visit, and I was cleaning the kitchen and she asked for a glass of wine and…”

Without waiting for further explanation, he struck out for my property. I ran beside him to keep up.

He shot me a disgruntled look. “How much did you let her have?”

“I only poured her one glass. But evidently, she poured herself a few more.”

“She’s an elderly, frail woman taking a medicine cabinet full of drugs. Do you know what alcohol does to her?”

“Well, I do now. She caught me unawares, and then she started crying and telling me how you gave away all her things. She was just so unhappy. How could you sell everything out from under her like that?”

He stopped in his tracks and towered over me. “Not that it’s any of your business, but did she mention the fire?”

I backed up a little. “Well, yes, she did mention a small kitchen fire.”

He reared back his head and laughed. “Yeah, it started in the kitchen but spread to three more rooms before they got it out. What didn’t burn was either smoke or water damaged. Did she mention that?”

Chagrin crept over me. “Actually, no. I guess she doesn’t have a clear grasp of the facts.”

He started moving again. “My mother doesn’t have a clear grasp of reality, especially when she’s sauced.”

We ran the rest of the way home, and I kept my mouth shut. He headed up my porch steps, yanked open the screen door, and then turned to me in disgust. “I’d think someone who supposedly helps the public stay healthy would know better than to tank up a seventy-five year old woman.”

I crossed my arms in a defensive stance. “I did not tank her up. She arrived uninvited and requested alcohol. I was trying to be a polite hostess.”

He stood over her, hands fisted on hips, shaking his head sadly. “I hate the thought of having to put her in a nursing home some day.”

Okay, he got me with that one. I melted and sighed. “If you’ll carry her to my truck, I’ll take you both home.”

He nodded. “Yes, I guess that’s the most practical course of action.” He reached down for her. “Come on Mama, time to go home.”

Dana Taylor writes stories with a mystical touch. Her work as an energy healer influences her tales of flawed humans seeking spiritual and emotional healing. Born and raised in California, she graduated from the University of Redlands. She has been published in various magazines, including the Ladies Home Journal. She hosted the Internet radio program Definitely Dana! at HealthyLife.net. and won various contests with the Romance Writers of America, including Best First Book from the Desert Quill Awards. Her published works include AIN’T LOVE GRAND?, SHINY GREEN SHOES, and DEVIL MOON: A MYSTIC ROMANCE. Her latest release is a spiritual memoir entitled EVER-FLOWING STREAMS: CHRIST, REIKI, REINCARNATION & ME. Her blogsite is DefinitelyDana.wordpress.com. She is a founding member of the on-line community SupernalFriends.com and can be reached at supernalfriends@yahoo.com.

Other books by Dana Taylor:

The Year of the Mountain Lion by Maria E. Schneider

2011-07-08T06:19:00.000-07:00

It's Friday again! I hope everyone will be having a wonderful, summer weekend.

I'm ultra-pleased today, to be introducing everyone to a short story, "The Year of the Mountain Lion," by Maria E. Schneider. I'm a big fan of Maria's work, so when she told me about this story being published by Darwin's Evolutions, I bought it and read it immediately. I have to tell you, this is an EXCELLENT story with action, suspense, and a great ending.

DESCRIPTION:
Cursed as a drought-bringer, Jolan lives a harsh life of nomadic exile in the desolate desert that surrounds her former home. Now, though, she is being hunted by those who have already cast her out for purposes she cannot fathom. Unfortunately for her pursuers, Jolan is not helpless and she is determined to survive.

A gripping short story by skilled author Maria Schneider that shares a powerful woman's refusal to surrender in the face of either nature or the society that abandoned her.

What readers are saying:
"Maria E. Schneider, Urban Fantasy and Cozy Mystery writer has taken a trip back to her roots with the short story, “Year of the Mountain Lion.” This story is one part of Darwin’s Evolutions, a short story magazine designed specifically for Kindle readers...The Year of the Mountain Lion” is chock full of self-realization, ethical quandaries, powerful friendships, lost chances and misguided use of power.” -- Boomtron.com

And now for an excerpt from "Year of the Mountain Lion" by Maria E. Schneider:

Jolan ran across the sand and stopped near the top of a gully, crouching. She glanced backwards, scanning the dry, gritty landscape. There wasn’t much time. They were very close now, and if she didn’t lose them soon, their arrows would have her heart.
She jumped and rolled, not away into the sandy center of the gully, but up against the base. From there, she used her agave swish to brush the sand where she had landed. The rolling marks barely showed, and she left them because there wasn’t time. The hunters might easily mistake the slight markings as those made by an animal anyway.
Her clan didn’t know the desert like she did. When they had abandoned her in the cliffs, blaming the lack of rain on her curse, she had learned to live on the scant water that trickled occasionally in the last, drying stream beds. She had learned to move deeper into the desert in the winter, living on even less water, finding it with the same curse that had gotten her cast out from her clan.

Keeping close to the crumbling sidewalls, Jolan headed for the red rock overhang. The harder ledges would give her some cover and the ability to run full out.

This was the third time her tribe had hunted her. Two seasons ago, her comfortable existence had been shattered when she looked down at a curious pattern in the sand. Jagged sticks formed a lightning bolt. Animal hide, representing thunder, was held down with pebbles. It took all her discipline to keep from scattering the pieces into the wind.

“Wat—” Out of habit, she had started to mutter the name of her people, but her voice was so disused, she uttered only a croaking whisper.

Could it be an enemy of the Watahal who chased her and not a tribe member?
No. Only someone from her clan would know that the lightning bolt with clouds was her old name: Taima, Thunder.

Each time she found the sign, she trembled. Each time she took the old, worn piece of hide, torn from…she could not tell. Whoever followed left only rotted hide, likely desperate, likely out of water.

Leaving a few false trails and wandering in random circles, she had led the enemy away from water until they gave up the chase. Finding water was her forte and traveling her life. If she didn’t stay too long in any one place, her curse didn’t steal the rains for too long.

But the enemy got smarter. She had found the signs again this fall, including a few parched oak twigs from the valley, twigs that signified her new name, Jolan: Dead-Oaks. Part of the wood had been burned, a way of cursing her.

Over the seasons, the clan learned where she roamed: the plains, the mountains or the low hills. And they were close this time.

Her breath came hard as she ran under the protective rock outcrop and then out into the open, sun flashing into her eyes before steady steps took her under the next overhang.
She didn’t slow, even as she tossed her swish into a bundle of fallen rocks. It was nothing there, only a dried branch.

Better they chased her now, rather than in the northern mountains where she stayed after the spring melt. The heat of the desert would discourage them from hunting her for very long.

_________

Also available on NOOK

Maria E. Schneider is the author of the urban fantasy, Under Witch Moon as well as the Sedona O'Hala mystery series, not to mention other short story collections. You can learn more about Maria and her books at www.BearMountainBooks.com.

Other Books by Maria:

Ghost Plane and other Disturbing Tales by Suzanne Tyrpak

2011-07-06T06:25:00.000-07:00

Did everyone have a Happy Fourth of July? I hope so!

We're back today after the holiday with a very cool short story from Suzanne Tyrpak's new release, Ghost Plane and Other Disturbing Tales.

DESCRIPTION:
Take a ride on the Ghost Plane. Eleven twisted tales about life, love, and insanity. Eleven tales that explore the darker recesses. If you’re afraid to look too deeply in the mirror, read no further.

What this reader is saying:
I don't often review the books that I feature here at Fiction for Dessert, but as many readers here know, I'm a HUGE fan of short stories, so I asked Suzanne for an advance review copy.

Here's the review I posted on Amazon:

I just finished this collection of short stories by Suzanne Tyrpak and I give it an A+ for entertainment. There are eleven stories contained within three chapters - Airport Stories, Hot Flashes, and Gothica. The tales within each chapter have a specific feel to them and all exhibit Ms. Tyrpak's talent for writing and story telling. Once I sat down to read one story, I found I couldn't stop. If you think you don't enjoy horror, don't let that stop you from reading these stories! HIGHLY RECOMMENDED.

Okay, so I don't want to keep you in suspense -- Suzanne has graciously offered to post one story from the collection. Enjoy!
_______

"Blue Angel"

There are a lot of ways to die at the airport.

I don’t mean in a crash or at the hands of terrorists. Other ways.

I work at this small airport in the Rocky Mountains. Been working here for years. I liked my job just fine, till the new boss showed up.

She’s got her favorites. Not me—newbies who do her bidding without question, even when it’s all screwed up or against airline policy—eighteen-year-olds who’ve never worked a job before and have no clue what’s what. She makes them supervisors, gives them weekends off, never writes them up for sleeping through a shift or pretending to be sick.

Meanwhile, she writes me up for nothing.

Maybe I didn’t smile right. Maybe I have an opinion. She tells me she wants, “cookie-cutter-agents.” That could only work for me, if I were the prototype.

I try to keep my mouth shut, but she’s always on me.

“Just because you’ve been here ten years doesn’t mean you know anything,” she announces in front of everyone at our station meeting. “You have no more authority than someone who’s been working here two weeks.”

Nice.

So people who got the job yesterday don’t listen to a word I say.

I see them loading suitcases wheels-down, so the bags are rolling off the cart, sliding around the cargo pit. I tell them to stack the big bags on the bottom, on their sides, handles facing out, then lay the smaller bags on top. But they don’t listen. When bags are jumbled in the pit, when the count is off and the Load Sheet doesn’t add up—when we get a hit with a delay—the boss yells at me. Suddenly, I’m a senior agent: responsible.

“I don’t like your attitude,” she says.

“What attitude?”

“Your tone of voice.”
I shut my mouth, don’t say a word.

But I’m always thinking.

They fly turbo-props into this airport, Dash-8s. Prop planes do well at this altitude, better than jets. Those propellers are powerful. They spin so fast that you can’t see them. It’s easy to forget they’re there.

Say you’re tired—which you always are, getting up at 3am and working a sixteen hour split-shift. Say the flight is running late and the pressure’s on. You’ve got to do a quick turn, get those passengers back to Denver in time for their connections. You’re in a rush. The captain hands you the release—the paperwork the FAA audits—the flight attendant closes the door, the engines rev, and the propellers start to spin, move so fast you see right through them. They kick out a lot of wind, rip the release out of your hand. You need those papers. So, without thinking, you chase them down and run right into the props.

Body parts and blood all over the ramp.

It happens.

I’ve almost done it once or twice.

Maybe you’ve never noticed me, working out on the ramp loading bags. We all wear uniforms and these florescent orange vests, so everybody looks the same. Sometimes, when I’m out here humping bags, breaking my back for less than I could make at McDonald’s, I get these thoughts.

About my boss.

When we’re short-handed and just the two of us are working—like tonight, for example—how hard would it be to push her into the propellers?

Accidents happen.

This guy I know fell out of the bucket when he was deicing. That glycol we spray the plane with is slick. And you’re spraying it in bad conditions, wind and snow blasting your face, trying to beat the clock and get the plane out before the holdover time expires. So there he was in a blizzard, way up in the bucket, spraying. No harness. Who has time to put on that straight-jacket? When you’re deicing, the person in the bucket is dependent on the driver of the truck. Ideally, the person in the bucket radios the driver, tells the driver where to go: along the fuselage, above the wing, around the tail. But things go wrong. Say the radio is broken. Say it’s snowing so hard the driver can barely see. Say the bucket slams into the wing. Maybe the driver hits the brakes too hard, and the bucket sways, tilts crazily. The person in the bucket slips in the glycol, can’t get a grip, slides out. If you’re wearing a harness you’ll hang there, dangling in the air. No harness, and you’re falling twenty feet or more onto the tarmac. This guy bashed his head. Never been the same.

Maybe he’s lucky. He got out before the new boss arrived.

She’s a piece of work. Mandoed me on my day off, even though she knew I had plans tonight. We’re short-staffed, and no wonder. Who in their right mind would work here? Tonight, it’s just the two of us.

There’s always electrocution.

The Ground Power Unit supplies power to the aircraft. We hook it up whenever a plane pulls into the gate. At night we leave the GPU running, so we have light for cleaning the cabin. One ramper brings in the plane, signaling with lighted wands, while the other ramper drives the tug attached to the GPU—this big silver generator. The driver hops out of the tug, unwinds the GPU’s electrical cord, unclips the panel in the aircraft and plugs the GPU into the prongs. Meanwhile, the other ramper waits until the plug is secure before switching on the power. Switch the power on too soon, and the jolt could kill the person plugging in the cord. Especially if the connection is faulty.

I’m here in ops, sitting by the radio, waiting for the captain to call in range. The weather’s going down tonight, a slow-moving storm. My boss is in her office, pretending to push papers, but I know she’s on Facebook monitoring her friends. She sent me a friend request, but I ignored it. That pissed her off.

But everything I do annoys her.

She needs to chill.

I imagine her floating, face-down in a vat of blue juice.

Peaceful. Finally at rest.

Blue juice is what we call the lavatory fluid. It’s bright blue, more turquoise than the Caribbean. Chances are you haven’t given much thought to the toilets on a plane. Most people don’t. Maybe you think all that crap just gets magically flushed into some other universe. Well, someone has to dump it, and that someone is me. Every night I drag this cart up to the plane, unclip a panel, unscrew a cap, and attach the hose. Sounds easy, but it’s tricky. If the hose isn’t snug, or if some bozo up in Denver didn’t latch the cap right, the contents of the lav dumps all over the ramp, all over you: blue juice, clumps of toilet paper, all kinds of nastiness.

Happened to me twice one night. Instead of hooking up the hose, I got soaked in a shit-shower. Hazmat all over the tarmac, all over me.

I took it as a message from the universe.

My boss thinks it’s hilarious, started calling me The Blue Angel.

That got me thinking.

It doesn’t take much liquid to drown a person. People drown in bathtubs. They even drown in their own vomit.

She says I have an attitude, but I don’t think it’s bad. I think my attitude is great.

Gotta go. The plane is calling in.

You know what?

Tonight I really like this job.
________

Suzanne Tyrpak ran away from New York a long time ago to live in Colorado. She enjoys bike-riding, skiing, hiking and swimming--but she spends most of her free time writing or posting on the internet. She's had numerous jobs: actor, dancer, tarot reader, radio advertising exec, airline customer service. These jobs often provide inspiration for her stories--as does her insanity.

Suzanne's debut novel is Vestal Virgin, suspense set in ancient Rome, available as a trade paperback and in all eformats. Her collection of nine short stories Dating My Vibrator (and other true fiction) is available on Kindle, Nook and Smashwords. J.A. Konrath calls it, "Pure comedic brilliance." Ghost Plane and Other Disturbing Tales is available in all eformats. Scott Nicholson says, "Enter this circus and let Suzanne show you why horror is the greatest show on earth." You can learn more about Suzanne and her books at Who's Imagining All This?.

Other books by Suzanne Tyrpak:

Fleeting Memory by Sherban Young

2011-07-01T05:32:00.000-07:00

HAPPY FRIDAY!!!!

I hope everyone will be enjoying their Fourth of July Weekend. I know I will! One note: I will not be posting on Monday. Have fun on the holiday, and meet me back here on Wednesday for another great excerpt.

But now for today's delicacy . . .

I bring you a fun excerpt from Sherban Young's Fleeting Memory. If you like cozy mysteries, you are really going to enjoy this one!

DESCRIPTION:
The answer lies with Keats… With these cryptic last words, the man sprawled out on the floor of the rustic cabin expires - murdered. What could he have meant? Why Keats? Which answer? (For that matter, what was the question?)

All this and more passes through the mind of the young householder who discovers the body. If only he knew the guy’s name. Or anybody’s name. Including his own...

From here, our John Doe is hurtled along a path of self-discovery. With the help of Enescu Fleet, retired private detective and (according to some) the world’s most fascinating man, he will delve into an exciting new game show called Deadly Allusions, where trivia and murder compete for top billing. Along the way, he will attempt to figure out the dead man’s clue - and quite possibly nab a murderer who is too smart for his own good.

What readers are saying:
“If you are looking for a fresh voice in humorous, cozy, caper-like mysteries, you can't go wrong with Sherban Young.” -Brenda Weeaks, MyShelf

And now, an excerpt from Fleeting Memory:

I knelt by the remains. The figure was male, kind of a fireplug in shape, and totally dead. He was wearing a brown wool sweater damp with blood, tan wool trousers and a black scarf, also wool. I put him down as a wool fan. The way his head was cocked had covered his cheek with the scarf and pushed his glasses askew (thick black frames bedewed with tiny droplets of rain water).

Then, of course, there was the crossbow bolt in his chest.

Careful not to add my fingerprints to the evidence - I wasn’t a complete moron - I poked his glasses into place with my trusty pen and slid the scarf down. His face was mustached, ruddy in complexion and rough, like burgundy sandpaper. I didn’t recognize him (no shocker there) and for a minute I sat back on my heels, wondering who could have killed him and why. He seemed like a decent sort, for a corpse.

Suddenly the corpse spoke, and I sprang back from it.

The Maltese pup, pausing to squat and tinkle again, darted from the room, no doubt feeling its presence was no longer required here. It was just me and the dead guy now: apparently not as totally dead as I had figured him. I scooched over and tilted my ear to listen.

“Heat,” I thought I heard him say.

I nodded sympathetically. If I had been a corpse, I probably would have found it pretty nippy in there too. “I’ll call for help,” I whispered.

He shook his head and said “No time,” softly.

Unfortunately I didn’t quite make this out, and replied, equally soft, “Half past eight.”

He glared at me. “Not the time, you ignoramus. No time.”

I had nettled the poor guy. Even still, I didn’t see why he had to get personal about it. He drew me in closer. He might have called me an ignoramus again, I can’t be sure.

“Ka -” he began. “Ka -”

“Ka -” I said with him. Ka. Ka. Was he trying to pronounce ka-ching? First Heat, then sound effects? It didn’t make any sense.

“K-eat-s,” he concluded. Keats! He had been saying Keats, not Heat. He had sort of muffled the “s,” you see, and well, it had really sounded like Heat.

“Keats,” he said more clearly.

I was totally with him now. He was enunciating beautifully. Keats. A man named Keats had evidently shot him or knew who had shot him. “Keats who?” I asked.

He reached up and gripped my shirt.

“The answer - lies - with - Keats,” he told me.

The line was said with such emphasis, with such a resounding weight to the words, that I had no choice but to lean back and consider them in the spirit in which they had been uttered.

The answer lies with Keats. I took it all in.

“What answer?” I asked.

He shook his head again. “Cretin,” he remarked, and was gone.

He was really dead this time. Really dead and kind of rude.
___________

Sherban Young is also the author of The Five Star Detour, Opportunity Slips and Dead Men Do Tell Tales. Like the hero in Fleeting Memory, he has logged many hours inside casinos - research - and frequently spends his off-hours chasing blondes. You can learn more about Sherban and his books at www.MysteryCaper.com.

Other books by Sherban Young:

Return of the Runaway Bride by Donna Fasano

2011-06-29T05:12:00.000-07:00

Hello!

Well, June is almost over and summer is moving into full swing! I hope everyone out there is enjoying it as much as I am.

Today I'm thrilled to be bringing you a delicious little taste of Donna Fasano's Return of the Runaway Bride. I have this one on my tbr list - it looks like an entertaining read.

DESCRIPTION:

Once upon a time...

There lived a lovely young woman named Savanna who was engaged to Daniel, a handsome law student. Theirs was to be a fairy-tale wedding. But Savanna's second thoughts were too big to be ignored, so the would-be bride ran away.

As the years passed...

Daniel's heart turned to ice. It was this unfeeling man that Savanna faced upon her return. The love of her youth was now a stranger. Could Savanna ever make Daniel understand why she abandoned him? And could she convince the man of her dreams he would always be her Prince Charming?

What readers are saying:
"Ms. Fasano's ability to throw humor into her writing adds richness to the story, and had me laughing many times. Her characters have this quality of realness to them which allows them to be believable, flaws and all. I will continue to read any book that Donna Fasano writes and will recommend her books to anybody that is looking for a great read. Fantastic book!" Allie-Kat, Amazon Reviewer

From the Prologue of
Return of the Runaway Bride

"Savanna, everything's going to be all right. You'll see, as soon as we..."

His voice trailed off as she began to shake her head. She pulled her hands from his grasp and stepped back. She couldn't touch him and think clearly at the same time.

"You don't understand," she said. "I'm afraid."

"I know you are."

She saw his dark eyes fill with compassion and love.

God, why can't I get this right? 'Afraid' wasn't the word she'd meant to say. Anxiety swept through her, settling in the pit of her stomach where it churned, slowly and steadily.

"Listen," he said, "I'll go down and tell everyone that we need some time." He reached out and gently cupped her elbow. "Say, an hour? That will give us time to talk." He chuckled. "Time for us to gather up your courage."

"But-"

"It's okay," he told her. "Dad can break open the champagne early. There'll be no harm in that, now will there?" He gave her a charming, lopsided grin.

Hope budded like a rose inside Savanna. Looking at Danny so confident and assured, she wondered how she had ever doubted that he couldn't make everything right.

He went over and uprighted the chair, leading her with him. "Now you sit down and relax." He settled her in the seat, leaned close and caressed her cheek with his strong, smooth fingers. "It's going to be all right, Savanna. I promise."

His lips were warm and moist as he pressed them against hers. "I'll be right back with a glass of bubbly." He grinned. "And then I'll remind you of all those dreams we made. That'll ease your nerves." He kissed her softly on the mouth.

When Savanna was alone she sat in the warm cocoon of security in which Danny had left her wrapped. She didn't need to worry. Everything was going to be just fine, perfect even.
Those two tiny words sent an icy prickle chasing up her spine. The shadowy cloud of apprehension that descended was thick enough to smother her.

"Oh, God!" The words ripped from her throat like a torturing claw as she ran toward her closet and wrenched out the suitcase she'd so carefully packed for her two week honeymoon.

She snatched the bridal veil from her head, barely wincing as the pins snagged then pulled free from her hair. She reached behind her to rip at the back of her gown, and a dozen dainty pearl buttons bounced soundlessly on the plush carpet.
_________

Donna Fasano is a best-selling, award-winning author whose books have been published in over two dozen languages, having sold more than 3.5 million copies worldwide. You can learn more about Donna and her books at www.DonnaFasano.com and follow her blog at DonnaFasano.blogspot.com.

Other books by Donna Fasano:

Orc Quest: Prophecy, by Tim Ellis

2011-06-27T05:33:00.000-07:00

Hello friends! I've been on a hiatus here at Fiction for Dessert while finishing up my latest book, but I'm back now, and I'm back with a whole FANTASTIC list of books and authors to introduce you to. Throughout the summer, every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, Fiction for Dessert will present very short excerpts from new and emerging authors.

Today's novel snippet is from Orc Quest: Prophecy by Tim Ellis.

DESCRIPTION:
Grog the Orc is a coward, and has been banished from the Bloodwolf Clan for failing the passage to adulthood. So begins his prophesied quest to find the last human on Garagol, who it is rumoured knows witchery, and can give him back his courage.

He is joined by a ragtag band of creatures including Alfick the grumpy Dwarf who wants to go home, Targa the Warg who is on her last journey, Piggu his betrothed who has defied her father, Mimeo the baby Dragon who has lost her parents, Ptak - his pet Grumble, and the Mountain Troll N'Guk who wants the Dragon.

Unfortunately, he is being hunted by Piggu's father with a hunter squad, and agents of the Valkyrie Sigrun who want to kill him, but the Elves must ensure the prophecy comes true, and have their own agent in Nub the Goblin.

What Readers are Saying about Orc Quest:
"Fantastic! This tale gripped me from the first line and failed to let go. However hard I tried to put it down, the magical spell kept hold of me right to the very last word."

Enjoy!
______

Head bowed, Grog stood in front of his father.

The evening sun cast a crimson glow over his humiliation. It seemed to him that his short life had come to an end, that his youth lay in ruins behind him. Even Ptak, his pet Grumble, sat quiet for once on his shoulder. Her hairy face snuggled into his neck.

‘The Council of Elders have banished you, my son.’ His father’s deep voice bounced off the surrounding rocks and echoed around the village for all to hear. ‘You are the first Orc since the beginning to fail the passage.’

Grog shuffled his toes in the dirt. Saliva dribbled from his mouth and spattered on the ground between his feet. No words came to him. Why was he so different from all the other Orcs? This was probably the last time he would ever see his family. In their minds they had already cast him out. Huddled together and sobbing to his left, his mother - Angara, little sister - Gorma, and Piggu, his betrothed, comforted each other, forbidden to look at him. All around the village the Bloodwolf Clan turned their backs on him.

‘I give you, Targa. She is old now, but will last some while longer. Once she is dead you can use her for food.’ Borrum Skullbreaker stroked the grey Warg one last time. ‘Take him far, my friend,’ he said to her. ‘Guard my son with your life as you have mine.’ He passed the heavy chain to Grog.

Targa stretched her neck backward to look at the only master she had ever known.
Borrum continued. ‘Your mother has persuaded me to let the slave, Alfick, also accompany you into exile.’

Grog glanced at the troublesome Dwarf standing in his father’s shadow. Alfick hawked and spat narrowly missing Borrum’s foot.

The back of his father’s chain-mailed hand crunched into the Dwarf’s forehead knocking him to the ground. ‘You would do well to change your attitude, Dwarf. If news reaches me that my son has died and you still live, I will hunt you down and let you watch whilst I peel the skin from your stumpy body.’

Alfick scrambled up. Rubbing his forehead, he stared sullenly across the roof of the Spirit Forest and into the distance towards the snow-capped Dragon Mountains.
Borrum turned back to his son. ‘We will be glad to get rid of him. He might be of use to you if you can stop him from running away.

‘Thank you, Father,’ Grog mumbled.

Grasping his son’s shoulders Borrum said, ‘Many years ago a Goblin by the name of Kot in the Raget lands spoke of a Human female that lives beyond the Veil of Mists.’

Grog’s head shot up. As far as he was aware, no one knew what lay beyond the Veil of Mists. He stared into his father’s face. Saw the clan tattoos on his cheeks beginning to sag out of shape, noticed the sadness in his red eyes. There had been no Humankind on Garagol for as long as anyone could remember. The Orcs had hunted and eaten every last one of them.

‘Whether he spoke the truth I cannot say,’ his father continued. ‘But the Goblin told me that this female knows witchery. Search for her my son, come back to us a true Bloodwolf warrior.’ He let his arms fall to his sides and turned his back on his youngest son. Grog’s two brothers, Krilg and Ruugar, stepped forward and began walking out of the village.

‘Goodbye, father,’ Grog said. ‘One day I’ll make you proud to call me son.’ He picked up the sack filled with food, clothes, weapons and keepsakes, slung it over his shoulder and followed his brothers down the steep winding path towards the Spirit Forest. Targa walked beside him. Alfick shuffled behind grinning and kicking loose stones at the backs of the Orcs lining the path.

Tears welled in his eyes as he recalled the circumstances of his disgrace. The passage to adulthood should have been simple – a raid on a stronghold. Faced with five Ogres he should have killed them, dragged them back to the village to eat, to feast on, to celebrate becoming a warrior. The Elders would have given him his second name, Ogreslayer. Instead, a fear like he had never known, gripped his heart. Where had it come from? How had such a thing happened? There were too many Ogres. They overpowered him. As he cowered behind a boulder, two Orc warriors had killed all the Ogres and saved his life. He wished now they had left him to die. Anything would be better than the shame he had brought upon himself and his family.

He took a last look at Craakar the mountain village that had been his home for eighteen years. The familiar caves hacked out of the mountain rock, the winding paths to the village market place where – in the centre – stood the carved wooden totem depicting the clan symbols. All backs were turned towards him. He had no honour. They stood on the ledges outside their caves, along the paths and outside the Elder’s meeting hall. He was an Orc without a family, a clan, or a home.

His brothers did not turn to look at him. They could not let his dishonour affect their standing within the clan – he was dead to them. Swords clinked against armour as they scuffled down the dirt track leading to the edge of the forest. He clenched Targa’s chain. The comfort of the thick rough links of iron that Alfick had forged gave him the strength to put one foot in front of the other.

At the end of the track his elder brothers turned aside. He passed between them and entered the darkness of the Spirit Forest.
________

Tim Ellis was born in the bowels of Hammersmith Hospital, London, on a dark and stormy night, grew up in Cheadle, Cheshire, and now lives in Essex with his wife and five Shitzus. In-between, he joined the Royal Army Medical Corps at eighteen and completed twenty-two years service, leaving in 1993 having achieved the rank of Warrant Officer Class 1 (Regimental Sergeant Major). Since then he has worked in secondary education as a senior financial manager, in higher education as an associate lecturer/tutor at Lincoln and Anglia Ruskin Universities, and as a consultant for the National College of School Leadership. His final job, before retiring in 2009, was as Head and teacher of Behavioural Sciences (Psychology/Sociology) in a secondary school. He has a PhD and an MBA in Educational Management, and an MA in Education.

He has been learning the craft of writing fiction for four years, and is the author of ten novels including: Warrior – Path of Destiny and Scourge of the Steppe (Adult Historical Fiction charting the life of Genghis Khan); The Knowledge of Time: Second Civilisation (YA Science Fiction); Orc Quest: Prophecy (YA Fantasy); Solomon’s Key, Body 13 (Quigg 1), The Graves at Angel Brook (Quigg 2), A Life for a Life (Parish & Richards 1), The Wages of Sin (Parish & Richards 2) and Jacob’s Ladder (Stone & Randall 1) (all Adult Crime Fiction); and a collection of short stories: Untended Treasures. He is currently finishing The Flesh is Weak (Parish & Richards 3), The Timekeeper's Apprentice (YA Science Fiction) The Skulls beneath Eternity Wharf (Quigg 3), and Orc Quest: The Last Human. You can learn more about Tim and his writings atTimEllis.com and OrcQuest.com.

Other books by Tim Ellis:

Giveaway Wednesday!

2011-05-18T04:31:00.000-07:00

It's still the Six Weeks of Giveaways over at my website, so I'll redirect you there in just a minute.

This week's giveaway:

A copy of the fun chick-lit, Foxy's Tale, co-authored with women's fiction author, LB Gschwandtner. The copy can be a paperback or Kindle ebook -- whichever the winner prefers.

CLICK HERE to learn more about this giveaway and to enter.

Giveaway Wednesday!

2011-05-04T14:07:00.000-07:00

I'm redirecting you again this week for Giveaway Wednesday . . .

This week's giveaway at my website www.KarenCantwell.com is a Chronicles of Marr-nia mug!

Here's what it looks like:

So pop on over and enter to win! It's easy!

CLICK HERE for the contest page.

Interview and Excerpt: Author Consuelo Saah Baehr

2011-05-02T06:45:00.000-07:00

I have really been looking forward to this Monday's Excerpt - I have expanded to an interview and an excerpt because the piece I am presenting is from Amazon's new Amazon Singles selections. The author, Consuelo Saah Baehr has graciously offered to talk about Thinner Thighs in Thirty Years (I love that title!) and the Amazon Singles program itself. So, without further ado, the interview:

Karen: Welcome to Fiction for Dessert, Consuelo! Thank you for participating in this interview and sharing your work with us today.

Consuelo: I’m happy to be here talking about Thinner Thighs...

Karen: I’ve read your monologue, Thinner Thighs in Thirty Years, and absolutely loved it. Can you give my readers a short synopsis of the story and how you came to write it?

Consuelo: I wrote this monologue to keep from going crazy in a bad way. Any mother is crazy in a good way but the displacement of divorce was overwhelming. After fussing over the lives of five people for twenty years, I was suddenly sitting alone in a strange (albeit beautiful) little village puzzling over how I got there. If emotions and memory didn’t interfere, it would have been ideal. I finally had the peace and quiet to write my novels. But my mind didn’t cooperate. In desperation, I tried to capture the random thoughts that raced through my head on any given day. With a little shaping, the result was Thinner Thighs In Thirty Years. Writing the monologue showed me a way out of my despair because the thoughts were hopeful and humorous. When a Tony Award winning director offered to stage the monologue, I knew I had made sense and would be okay.

Karen: This particular story was published by the Kindle Singles program with Amazon – what is that exactly?

Consuelo: I got started as a writer with Op-Ed essays in The New York Times. I’ve always loved the essay form and when I heard about Kindle Singles: a platform that publishes short pieces that develop an idea to a certain length, I inquired about the program and asked how to submit. My friend Sandra, a prolific writer said: why do you want to submit anything? Isn’t that what we are getting away from? I said: I still enjoy being humiliated so I’m going to submit my short monologue.

Karen: What was the submission process like and once accepted, did you work with an editor?

Consuelo: The submission process was simple. They request that you publish on the Amazon Kindle Platform first. I sent a file of the monologue and the ASIN # and within a few days an editor e-mailed requesting a doc file of the piece. Shortly after that they accepted, asked for a few changes, reformatted and sent me the finished file to upload.

Karen: The cover is stunning – do you mind me asking who the artist was?

Consuelo: I was extremely lucky. I found the image on a photo site and gave it to my middle child to fashion into a cover. He altered the original to accommodate the lettering.

Karen: I admire your writing style – you are very skilled and have a wonderfully dry sense of humor. I look forward to reading more of your work. Do you have any projects in the work at the moment?

Consuelo: Thank you. I write the way I talk. I’m glad you think it’s dry and humorous.
As of now, I’m working on a crime novel (I use the word “crime” loosely) titled: Tough As Nails. I’ve posted a few chapters on the Sample Sunday offerings on Twitter.

Karen: Would you be willing to share an excerpt from Thinner Thighs in Thirty Years?

Consuelo: Thinner Thighs is written in short segments. The opening segment sets the tone and that is the excerpt I will share.

Constructive Abandonment

(music) If I had to choose just one day, to live my whole life through. It would be the day my darling – the day that I met you.....

In twenty years of marriage, I cooked seven thousand evening meals. It was probably more but I’m ashamed to say how many. Every evening he would look in the kitchen and ask: Do I have time to change before dinner?

You have time to build the freeking Panama Canal. We could skip dinner. You’re the only one who cares about three square meals a day.

What was that?

Nothing. I gave him one chance each night to experience irony. After that I shut up and cooked.

There’s this book, Love, Loss and What I Wore. I don’t remember what I wore for love but it stuns me to remember what I wore for loss. The day I read my father’s will, I burned everything I was wearing - jeans - one of the kid’s souvenir tee shirts. It’s hard to intentionally burn clothing. Matches won’t do it. I had to use lighter fluid. It took a lot of poking.

Mom, have you seen my Bon Jovi tee shirt?

No.

The day I applied to be an airline stewardess, I wore a pink drop-waist dress. It had a huge bow right above my ass. I weighed about thirteen pounds then but how could a dress like that do anyone any good?

When Neil Armstrong walked on the moon I was wearing lilac baby doll pajamas. Whenever I wore those pajamas, I wanted Sister Francisca to see me.

Today I'm driving to Riverhead for my divorce. I bought this divorce dress. Divorce underwear. It's ecru. Something borrowed, something ecru. I'm on PROZAC!

I sound very lah di dah but I can tell you I'm in a cold sweat of remembrance: lost friends - lost love – not doing right and now coping with the consequences. The bottom line? I know without doubt I couldn't have done things any other way.

I'm shocked I can even drive on the Long Island Expressway. Driving and cooking didn't come easy. Cooking was something Sister Mary Joseph did at my old boarding school with a charred wooden spoon. As for driving! I needed a shrink just to enter an expressway. Even dumb people know how to drive, I said. I should, too.

Should? screamed the shrink. I should do this. I should do that. That's the land of shouldhood. And shouldhood leads to shithood – putting yourself down for not doing it. Just drive.

Now I drive with a tape blasting my favorite song: Take Stuff From Work. Take stuff from work. Take a case of White Out. They won't miss it and you might need it some day. Take stuff from work!

There's a hitchhiker on the road. A laid off postal worker going to murder his boss? If I picked him up and he killed me, my husband would get everything as the surviving spouse. At the eleventh hour! It wouldn't occur to him for three weeks that he got everything. It would occur to me in a second and a half. Oh, my God, I get it all!!! Oh, he died.

I park at a meter across from the divorce building – a fake Victorian house. How long does a divorce take? Should I add a quarter for crying time? I don't want a divorce and a ticket!

In New York State a divorce requires something called ‘Just Cause.’ The ‘Just Cause’ the lawyer has randomly picked for us is called: Constructive Abandonment. Oh! Is it like tough love? These two men are going to leave me deep in the woods with a bottle of Evian and a Bic lighter to teach me self-reliance?

Constructive Abandonment is legal language. I will paraphrase the essence of the boilerplate clause. The plaintiff (me) begs the defendant: You've got to have sex with me. It's the law! The defendant answers: When pigs fly, and hell freezes over. Please, Sister Francisca, anybody - just shoot me now!

I read the first paragraph and sign. He sees the word ‘conjugal’, signs faster. “That's it,” says the lawyer. “Now it goes to the judge.” Why do judges get to decide everything?

Karen: I just love that excerpt! Thank you again for stopping by today and sharing with us, Consuelo!

Consuelo: Thank you for giving me the opportunity to think about all of this. I had to really think and that is always good.

______

Consuelo Saah Baehr was born in El Salvador to French/Palestinian parents. At age five she joined her father and five uncles in Washington, D.C. where they ran the prestigious boutique department store, Jean Matou, a favorite of Bess Truman and Jackie Kennedy. Convent boarding schools came next and George Washington University. After college she began writing advertising copy for the Macy Corp. Marriage and three children followed and the writing was silent until a stunning Op-Ed piece in The New York Times brought a flurry of offers from book publishers. The result was the personal memoir, Report From The Heart (Simon & Schuster). Four novels followed: Best Friends (Delacorte/Dell); Nothing To Lose (Putnam's); Daughters (Delacorte/Dell) and 100 Open Houses soon to be a Kindle original.
Daughters, a historical family saga set in pre-war Jerusalem, has been translated into 15 languages. It was published as a Kindle book in late August. Visit Consuelo at her blog Set This Writer Free.

More books by Consuelo Saah Baehr:

AND THE WINNER IS . . .

2011-05-01T06:30:00.000-07:00

I apologize that I did not post this announcement Saturday night as I promised - a minor health issue delayed my ability to get to my computer. But all is well now, so here it goes . . .

The winner of the $10.00 Gift Certificate from our Book and a Recipe Book Club discussion is:

Eric Thomasma!!!

YAY!

Congratulations Eric! Email me at kcanwell02@comcast.net to arrange for delivery of your gift!

And I hope everyone will join us in May for another book club discussion. We will be choosing the book next Friday, May 6th. Stop by and be a part of the voting.

Book and a Recipe Book Club: SAVING RACHEL by John Locke

2011-04-29T06:18:00.000-07:00

Okay - the Royal Kiss is over. Time to get down to business!

It's a Book and a Recipe Book Club!

Up for some fun discussion? Remember, every person who joins in by leaving a comment, enters a chance to win a $10.00 Amazon Gift Card. So leave those comments! Even if you haven't read the book! The winner will be announced Saturday evening (remember to check back for the announcement unless you leave an email address for notification).

Please help me welcome guest host, Markee Anderson - Markee, tell us about our book today!

This month, we’re reading Saving Rachel (a Donovan Creed Crime Novel) by John Locke. If you haven’t picked up your copy yet, I can guarantee you won’t be disappointed in this twisted story! It’s like a roller coaster of a book, where you swear you haven’t breathed until you get to about chapter thirteen.

Here’s the blurb from Amazon.com:

What if the best morning of your life suddenly turned into your worst nightmare? Sam Case is about to find out. Saving Rachel is the story of what happens when killers force a man to choose between his wife and his mistress...and the one he rejects must die. But wait--all is not as it appears to be. In fact, nothing is what it appears to be!

Saving Rachel is a scary, funny, roller coaster ride through hell, with twists, and turns that will slap your face and suck you in!

For a recipe, here’s a classic, from my husband’s grandmother (our daughter LOVES this at any time during the year). It’s been sworn to secrecy, so SHHHH!!!!

Grandma's Pumpkin Pie

INGREDIENTS:

2 unbaked pie shells (I use premade)
2 eggs
1 large can of pumpkin (29 ounces)
4 tablespoons molasses (1/4 cup = 4 tablespoons)
1 1/2 cup evaporated milk (that's one can)
1 cup of water--add to evaporated milk to make 2 1/2 cups total liquid
1 1/2 cups sugar
2 tablespoons flour
1 teaspoon salt

SPICES:
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon ginger

DIRECTIONS:

1. Put pie shells into pie pan (or buy already in aluminum pie pan). Preheat oven to 450 degrees Fahrenheit.
2. Add sugar, flour, salt, and spices to one bowl and mix together.
3. In a larger bowl, beat eggs, then add the ingredients of the first bowl and mix.
4. Then add pumpkin, molasses, and diluted evaporated milk.
5. Mix together thoroughly (I use a mixer)
6. Pour into 2 unbaked pie shells and put pie pans on a cookie sheet (in case it overflows).
7. Bake at 450 degrees Fahrenheit for ten minutes. Reduce to 325 degrees and bake for 30 minutes, then take out to cool. If the pies aren't set (if they're still gooey), turn off the oven and let them set for about 15 minutes or longer or until set. They will set farther when cooled.

Let the discussion commence!

Giveaway Wednesday!

2011-04-27T06:58:00.000-07:00

I'm going to send you on a bit of a detour today . . .

To celebrate the upcoming release of CITIZEN INSANE, I will be doing Giveaways for the next 6 Wednesdays at my website, www.KarenCantwell.com.

This week's giveaway is a TAKE THE MONKEYS AND RUN t-shirt!

Just follow THIS LINK to enter.

And as always, thank you for following Fiction for Dessert!

Excerpt: The Witness Wore Blood Bay by LC Evans

2011-04-25T06:16:00.000-07:00

Today's excerpt is from The Witness Wore Blood Bay by LC Evans. If you love humorous mysteries, I HIGHLY RECOMMEND this one! I read it several months ago and absolutely loved it then immediately bought the other book in the series, The Talented Horsewoman. Currently, you can purchase The Witness Wore Blood Bay for only .99 cents, but the price goes back up on May 1st to $2.99.

Description:

In Talented Horsewoman, the first book of the Leigh McRae horse mystery series, main character Leigh McRae discovers a body. She also ends up solving a murder. Along the way she helps her cousin Sammi, who is dating a burglar, and she manages to get out from under the control of her overbearing ex-husband.

Now Leigh's friend Candy, a fellow horsewoman, finds herself accused of murder. Who else would she turn to for help except Leigh? After all, everyone in small town Del Canto knows Leigh has body-discovering experience. Never mind that Leigh is busy finding out who's poisoning dogs in Sammi's neighborhood and she's trying to renovate her home without going broke. Or that her ex-husband Kenneth and former ranchhand Doug Reilly have become roommates in Leigh's guest house.

There's a murder to solve. And her friend won't take no for an answer.

Readers are saying:

"I would put LC Evans in the category of my other favorite mystery writers, Margaret Maron and Janet Evonovich. The Leigh McRae series are set in Florida and revolve around horses, something I know nothing about, but the reader doesn't need to be an equine enthusist to enjoy these books. Ms. Evan explains it all so it is an integral part of the setting, but not required to enjoy the mystery!" - M. Baldwin, Amazon Reader

And now for an excerpt from CHAPTER TWO:

Mark’s hand shook when he picked up his glass. Clearly, his whole world had fallen apart with the arrest of his wife for killing his Army buddy.

“Do you need help taking care of Benji?” I didn’t know what I could do when it came to a special needs child like Benji Lowell. Not only was I pretty booked up with my job and my life, but I knew the boy needed care I wasn’t qualified to give. Still, even spending a few hours with Benji would be helpful to a man suddenly without his wife.

Mark frowned. After a moment he said, “No, but thanks for the offer. As you can imagine, Benji is really in a turmoil. It’s tough on him when his routine is interrupted. He’s staying with my parents in Fort Myers right now.”

“Be sure to let me know if there’s anything at all I can do.”

“Me, too,” Sammi added, leaning forward and smiling kindly.

“Thanks. But I…” Mark put down his drink and got to his feet. He paced to the TV and back. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. Candy hardly knew Richard. At least that’s what I thought. Now I don’t know. I mean, why would she kill him if she didn’t know him? There has to be motive, doesn’t there? Maybe she knew him a lot better than I thought. She did take Benji and leave and she had blood on her clothes when they found her.”

Sammi and I exchanged startled glances. A shiver crept up the back of my neck. Mark believed Candy had committed the murder. He’d as much as said so.

“What evidence do the police have?” I asked. Darn it. I’d said I wasn’t getting involved and here I was asking questions. Hey, not my fault. Mark had brought the subject up.

“I don’t know. We called them right away—Francine and I. They showed up a few minutes after we found Richard’s body in the stable. Of course, I was pretty worried about Candy and Benji since they were missing, but it didn’t take the police long to find them. They brought Benji home and they told me Candy was at the station to answer questions. The police aren’t stupid. They wouldn’t have kept her there unless they found evidence. Or she confessed.”

He made another circuit of the room and ended up back at the couch where he sat and picked up his drink, pausing to stare at the glass before he brought it to his lips. He finally took a long gulp and then set the glass down with a clunk. I wondered if he even knew what he was drinking.

“She needs to lawyer up.” Sammi flipped her hair back over her shoulders and it whipped the side of my face like a horse's tail, so I discreetly slapped her hand. “You don’t know exactly what she did or why, but maybe it was self-defense and if it was, she needs counsel before she incriminates herself even more. Trust me. I read a ton of books and I love watching crime shows, so I’ve seen it all. Plus, I used to date a guy who turned out to be a burglar.”

I rolled my eyes. Only Sammi would think that dating a burglar for a few weeks would qualify a person to give legal advice.

“Did you know,” she went on, “some people are perfectly innocent and they get so tired after a couple of days of questioning by relays of cops that they confess to crimes they never even thought of committing? What chance does your wife have, if she blabs to the cops without her lawyer there to keep her quiet over whatever she might have done?”

Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty? It sounded like Sammi had gone over to the dark side—those who’d already condemned Candy Lowell. Even after listening to Mark's version of events I couldn't make myself believe she'd done it.

“Sammi’s right about the lawyer, Mark. Whatever happened in that stable, Candy deserves a chance to defend herself in court.” I would have suggested my ex sister-in-law Kendra, the only attorney I knew, except that A) she wasn’t a criminal defense attorney and B) I didn’t like her.

“I don’t agree. That bitch killed my husband and I want her to fry!”

Sammi stifled a yelp and I jumped to my feet, almost spilling what was left of my tea. Francine Swale stood in the doorway between the living room and the dining room, her hands on her curvy hips.

I couldn't help staring at what I judged to be a surgically enhanced chest. The woman could have modeled for Playboy if she were fifteen years younger, and if her face weren’t all blotchy from rage. Or from crying—I couldn’t tell which.

“Ladies, this is Francine Swale. She works with me selling cars.” Mark cleared his throat a couple of times.

Yeah, and she was also the murder victim's widow. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he’d much rather we hadn't found out she was in the house and had obviously been there the whole time, lurking out of sight and probably listening.

“Francine, ah, didn’t feel well enough to go home, so she’s been resting in the guest room. Francine, Leigh McRae and her cousin, Sammi Hollister.”

“Hello, Francine.” I didn’t bother to remind her I’d met her before and I’d seen her last night at the horse club meeting—arguing with her husband, who was now dead. “Sorry for your loss.”

Francine’s dark eyes snapped. “So am I. But the police know Candy did it and she’s going to pay one way or the other. I hope she fries like breakfast bacon.” She strode across the room and dropped onto the couch next to Mark, crossing her long legs and not bothering to tug her micro skirt down over her shapely thighs.

I pasted on the stupidest of smiles for lack of anything useful to say or do. I mean, how do you agree with a remark like that without coming across like a vigilante?
There, there, Francine. If the justice system doesn’t do its job, we’ll bring the firewood and some lighter fluid and help you take care of the problem.

And if I didn’t agree, I might send this woman into orbit. Judging by the way she’d spoken and the look in her eyes, I definitely didn’t want to be on Francine Swale’s “People Not to Like List.”
_________

L.C. Evans—Linda to the people who know her, has always wanted to own a stagecoach. Sadly, she has had to settle for the occasional photo op at tourist attractions.

L.C. says she only recently figured out that the main characters in her books are nurturers. Leigh McRae, her bumbling amateur sleuth slash animal lover, and Susan Caraway, divorcee with needy family, are compelled to open their arms and their hearts to every stray who shows up.

"Whoops," L.C. says. "I do that, too. Sort of. Everyone thinks I'm their mom. I've finally learned to say no. Most of the time. By the way, do you need anything? Food, drink? A place to stay?"

Fortunately, she's free to indulge her over-developed nurturing gene with her characters. Leigh McRae has more animals in her barn than she can keep track of and even her ex-husband and the local slacker end up living on her property. Somehow Leigh still carves out time to find bodies and "investigate" murders.

Susan Caraway has to learn to stop being everyone's doormat and finally go on a date that doesn't get interrupted by Mama's hysterics or DeLorean's spoiled younger sister antics. But that doesn't mean Susan is an overnight success. She still has to battle with herself to keep from backsliding. In the upcoming second book of the series, We Interrupt This Wedding, Susan has to find a way to get her mother to the altar with Rhett and to make her own wedding happen.

When not writing, L.C. likes to spend time with her family. She loves being at home with her husband and their grandson, The Boy, and their Chihuahuas. She loves to read and take walks with the dogs. She will also tell you she likes to garden, but that's not really true. L.C. likes to have a nice garden, but she doesn't like to weed or dig holes, or deal with insects, and though she tries to extend her nurturing urges to her plants, she has not exactly been successful. Her blueberry bushes don't bear berries, her azaleas don't bloom, and her rose bushes look sullen. But she loves them anyway.

.99 cents until May 1st!

Other books by LC Evans:

Book Club Reminder!

2011-04-22T13:39:00.000-07:00

Reminder!

Next Friday, April 29th, we'll be discussing the thriller, Saving Rachel, by bestselling author, John Locke. You, the readers chose this book, and I have to say, I am so glad, because I am really enjoying it myself! Even more exciting - the author, John Locke, has asked if he can be a part of the fun.

Join guest host, Markee Anderson and me for a rousing discussion - AND . . . every person who comments enters a chance to win a $10.00 Amazon Gift Card!

So if you want to read the book and take part in some great conversation with the author, AND possibly win a gift card to boot, please do stop by.

Saving Rachel is currently #30 in the Kindle eBook Store at Amazon and has 394 customer reviews.

DESCRIPTION of Saving Rachel:

What if the best morning of your life suddenly turned into your worst nightmare? Sam Case is about to find out. Saving Rachel is the story of what happens when killers force a man to choose between his wife and his mistress...and the one he rejects must die. But wait--all is not as it appears to be. In fact, nothing is what it appears to be!

Saving Rachel is a scary, funny, roller coaster ride through hell, with twists, and turns that will slap your face and suck you in!

only .99 cents!

Excerpt: Declaration of Surrender by Jim Burkett

2011-04-17T13:23:00.000-07:00

I'm very excited to be bringing you an excerpt from Jim Burkett's novel, Declaration of Surrender. While I don't seem to have enough hours in the day to read, this book is on my Kindle waiting for me - it's just the type of international thriller that I love!

DESCRIPTION:
Believing either Germany or Japan are about to win the war against the United States in early 1945, several members of Congress conspire to protect their own wealth by secretly creating a document that would give the rights of ownership of all U.S. properties and land over to the leading country before the end of the war is actually declared.

Signed by the President, the document is passed along underground to the Germans but is eventually confiscated back by U.S. Treasury agents along with account ledgers worth millions of dollars sitting in hidden Swiss bank accounts. Days later the agents are found murdered and the documents gone.

DHS agent Nick West is thrust into the world of government assassins and sought after for treason by his own country when he discovers the location of the missing sixty-five year old document but refuses to disclose its whereabouts in order to protect his own men.

When a leading government systems analyst is found tortured and beaten to death and Nick’s wife is taken hostage, he must form an alliance with an injured enemy Russian assassin in order to find and protect the document from ‘what’s coming’ before time runs out for them and his country.

What readers are saying:

"Jim Burkett's first novel is a riveting page-turner with strong characters and a twisting plot that ties WWII history and current covert espionage into a world-changing knot. Burkett's extensive knowledge of computers and electronic surveillance and security augments the book's air of authenticity. Move over Clancy." - author, Bruce Hunt

And now for the excerpt:

Nick had been caught off guard for one of the few times in his life. He decided there was no reason to withhold the basics of his background. “Six years SEALs, which I can’t tell you about. NYPD once, Secret Service and now with DHS, at least up until recently. How do you know so much about guns?”

Manny held her gaze. “Start with NYPD."

“Four years SWAT. Mostly bank robberies, some crazies here and there, protecting visiting heads of state and other high profiles. Drug busts, those types of things.”

“So you go from SWAT to Secret Service, big jump and fast. How did that happen?” She was leaning with her back to the sink, having laid the gun on the counter.

“One day we received a call that a female student had been taken hostage from her university dorm room. We get to ground zero and it all looks normal except there are no police and what we think are only a few students roaming the immediate area. It turns out the student is a senator’s niece that’s been taken. The senator is a longtime close friend of the President, which explains to us why no one had alerted the media and why the public had been cleared by Security, or the Secret Service.”

“Fortunately, she was smart enough to turn off and drop her cell phone down the front of her pants when they grabbed her, then turned it back on and stuffed it between some towels when they gave her a bathroom break. We triangulated on the signal and were there in less than ten minutes. Since I was lead, I took command and began to set up from my best vantage point about three hundred meters away. I spread the other team members out across three other rooftops. Car plates in front of the building showed the vehicle belonged to a new boyfriend of the nieces’ roommate.”

“I thought you guys did background checks on all those boyfriends and girlfriends?” said Manny.

“Brand new boyfriend, so no one knew about him. We ran an infrared scan that showed two subs and the girl on the third floor, two feet inside to the right of the window. The building was made of old cinder block, practically falling down around them. Without warning and before my team was fully in place, some rookie negotiator jumps on a bullhorn and scares everyone in the building.”

“I’m watching through my scope when I saw both subs pull their weapons and point them at the girls’ head along with one of the subs moving along side of his buddy, extending his right arm, getting ready to shoot the girl. There’s no more time, so I pulled the trigger and the round passes through the brick wall and the heads of both subs. One shot, two kills.”

Nick was hoping he had impressed Manny, but if he had, it wasn’t showing on her face. “That’s a heck of a shot at three hundred meters without seeing who you’re shooting at.”

Nick could see that Manny wasn’t questioning why he took the shot, it was more of why he would put the girl at such risk. “Actually, we are qualified at one thousand meters, so it wasn’t that difficult. Remember I had infrared goggles and scope, I knew where they were standing and what I was shooting at.”

“Ok, so I’m guessing because you saved the senator’s niece, you get offered any dream job you want and now you’re buds with the President?”

Nick could sense some sarcasm but didn’t understand why. “I’m not a blue suit, if that’s what you’re thinking. I instruct the different agencies coming through DHS in counterattack and counterterrorism. I spend my time in surveillance, planning, briefing to and on intelligence, training and running background checks so we can get the bad guys. Do you understand any of this, and what is your problem all of the sudden?”

Manny reached down, took hold of the barrel, turned the butt towards Nick and placed it down next to his cup of coffee. She hesitated for a moment, then said, “Like you say, it’s my problem.”

A hard knock at the door startled both of them as they heard it open, along with the voices of several women laughing and hollering. “Oh shit,” said Manny, “you’ve got to get out of here, now!” But it was too late. Nick shoved the pistol in his back waistband and pulled the shirt corners around, having forgotten to button up the front. He had just started to stand when three new faces appeared in the kitchen doorway, all talk suddenly stopping, mouths falling agape. The three stood staring at Nick for a few moments, then Manny, then back again.

Nick recognized the one in front immediately, not knowing why. After a moment he realized she was an identical twin to Manny. He could see the only difference was the color of their eyes. Manny’s were a dark green emerald and the other women’s light green with a few small specks. He could not make out any other differing characteristics.

“I guess I didn’t leave quick enough, huh?” Nick could not help himself and wondered if he could keep a straight face. He walked closer to Manny, looked at her affectionately and said “Last night was great. I’m sorry I have to run, but maybe we can do this again really soon, ok?” With that he placed both hands on her shoulders, leaned across and kissed her lightly on the cheek. She shot him a look of hate and he knew it was time to leave. The girls backed up without taking their eyes off of him as he walked past.

“Ladies,” said Nick as he passed through the door.
________

Jim Burkett was born in a small coal mining town of West Virginia while his father was serving in Korea. Once his father returned, the family was transferred to Hawaii were they spent the next five years stationed at Hickum Air Force Base. While stationed in Hawaii, Jim spent as much time touring the submarines while they were in port as he was allowed. Their next tour took them to MacDill Air Force Base in Florida. For six years, he spent his weekends going with his father to the different base facilities, often allowed permission to spend time with the airmen and officers listening to and watching as they went about their assignments, working on the planes and transports mechanics. At the age of 13, he lost his father who by this time was serving overseas once again. Years later, while pursuing a Computer Science degree, he met his future wife Cathy and they were married a year and a half later. Still married after 35 years, they have two sons and have been blessed with two grandchildren. In addition to his current Senior Systems Analyst position, he also serves as a senior staff photographer for a local magazine in the Tampa Bay area. Previously, he wrote a column for the SouthWinds Sailing magazine and worked on several projects including spending a week photographing the Canadian Olympic Team prior to the Beijing Olympics and the “Earthrace” boat which would later set a world speed record circumnavigating the globe. In 2006, he received the “Volunteer of the Year” award for his work with the Pediatric Cancer Foundation. Through his photography and writing, he feels privileged to have met and spent time with such men as General Tommy Franks, George Steinbrenner, Pete Bethune and Steve Yerrid to name only a few. One of his closest friends is a retired Secret Service agent who once served on Presidential detail under six presidents. Holding close to his military roots, he has continued to study military history and high-tech science and blends these into his first book Declaration of Surrender.

only $2.99 on Kindle!

Book and a Recipe Book Club Reminder!

2011-04-16T08:55:00.000-07:00

Don't forget friends, we will be discussing the spy thriller, Saving Rachel by John Locke, on Friday, April 29th.

DESCRIPTION:

What if the best morning of your life suddenly turned into your worst nightmare? Sam Case is about to find out. Saving Rachel is the story of what happens when killers force a man to choose between his wife and his mistress...and the one he rejects must die. But wait--all is not as it appears to be. In fact, nothing is what it appears to be!

Saving Rachel is a scary, funny, roller coaster ride through hell, with twists, and turns that will slap your face and suck you in!

Markee has already read it and says it's a very cool book and I've just started it myself. I'm hooked already.

So we hope you'll join us!

Giveaway Wednesday!

2011-04-13T06:09:00.000-07:00

Today, author Barbara Silkstone has offered to give away five Kindle eBook copies of The Adventures of a Love Investigator!

How fun is that????

Here's how it works: The FIRST FIVE PEOPLE to leave a comment with their email address* will receive their very own copy for FREE.

*email addresses are only used for sending the FREE ebook - we do not save and use for spamming.

Ready to win your FREE ebook? Start leaving those comments! And tell your friends!

Excerpt: The Adventures of a Love Investigator, 527 Naked Men and One Woman by Barbara Silkstone

2011-04-11T07:18:00.000-07:00

Join me today in welcoming author Barbara Silkstone, who has graciously agreed to share an excerpt from her very funny expose, The Adventures of a Love Investigator, 527 Naked Men and One Woman.

Description:

Armed only with a tape recorder and a quirky sense of humor, author Barbara Silkstone set out in search of how men really feel about love, sex, and commitment. The lack of letters after her name allowed the men to relax and speak freely, that and a promise of anonymity. The interviewees ranged in age from eighteen to eighty and from all walks of life. They all opened up to her.

1000 interviews in one year turned into 527 in six years.

Far from the strong, silent stereotype that we're trained to expect, this wildly different cross-setion of men invariably started spilling their souls before she even had time to hit the record button. "I knew it was a good interview if I heard - 'I told you things I've never told a single person, not even my wife. Thank you. This has been very good for me.' I don't smoke, but many times I felt like ligthing up afterward."

Reviews:

"It seems simple. Interview 1,000 men about love, sex, and commitment. Collate, summarize, and it ought to be a winner. Women will read it for insight into what makes men tick. Men will compare themselves with those in the book - that's how men are wired, right? Author Barbara Silkstone found it wasn't as easy as it seemed, finally hitting her limit at 527 men. When I finished reading I sympathized with her. If you're a man who doesn't find you compare favorably with many of these interviewees you have serious problems. Many others give you something to shoot for. You'll recognize your own relationships and feelings you've experienced in others. You'll also get at least one woman's perspective on all the men in the book which can't hurt. Silkstone's sense of humor stays intact and lightens up what at times is emotionally draining for both her and possibly the reader. In the end I came away glad I read the book. I even feel like I need to read it again in a few months, yet I was also left with an uneasy feeling. If simple creatures like men are this hard to figure out how can any man ever understand women?" - Big Al

The Excerpt:

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Most men struggle terribly with the whole idea of sharing.”
~ Ben, 54, married

Case 288 / Ben

My right heel sticks in the snow bank. I yank my foot free and sprint for the safety of the heated reception room. Inside, a blinding glare of bright colored carpeting, white walls and framed photos of men in jerseys accepting trophies from men in suits hits me. Sunblind, I squint to take in a litter of chairs. A ring of metal racks circling the room, proffer pamphlets on Christian lifestyles.

I’ve come to the corporate offices of one of the hottest sports teams in the country to interview their general manager.

“Hi!” Ben greets me with practiced enthusiasm.

At fifty-four, Ben has the kind of energy that sets me on edge. This sports guru wears a navy blazer with gold buttons, tan slacks and a light blue pin stripe shirt. I can’t make out the detail of his shoes, he walks too fast. He herds me double-time into his office. The room is light and bright with very few personal photos and a clean desk top. Oh boy, a clean desk. A bad sign.

Ben opens up the interview by talking about his career. I keep easing the subject back to love and marriage. On my third try, it takes.

He settles into his chair, leaning on his elbows. “From the time my wife was a little girl she had these wonderful visions on how marriage would be.” His gaze moves from my face to my neck and downward. Despite the glass wall extending the length of the room, I feel a little uneasy.

“I sandwiched our wedding in between the games. I was trying to make three trades the night before the ceremony and then get the team on the road.”

He thinks I’m impressed and smiles a photo-op smile. “Once the rings were exchanged and the marriage had taken place, I was relieved. That little piece of the jigsaw puzzle was in place.”

I feel sorry for the pretty woman whose picture sits on the credenza behind his desk.

“For the first ten years of our life, I thought everything was wonderful. Then my wife started to send out these little signals. I would try to deal with it, maybe an evening out or maybe some flowers or a box of candy . . . anything to try and keep the noise down.”

He swings into defensive mode.

“It’s very tough to run a team if there’s a lot of squeaking in the background.” He studies my face to see if I’m with him. “I learned to lubricate the wheels, calm it down and go on.”

This must be the opposite of love. “You’ve been married for twenty one years?”

He nods and shrugs it off – a bent puzzle piece.

“One Sunday afternoon, Patty told me that she didn’t care anymore. She tried everything she could think of and that she was quitting. She didn’t say that she was leaving, but she did say that she didn’t have anything left to give. She said she had died emotionally.”

I begin to shiver.

“You have how many children?”

“Nine.” He answers, proudly. “I had hoped children would give Patty the emotional food she craved. After we had our three, we adopted six more kids.”

What would the world think of this man, this team manager if they really knew? Ben wined Patty and dined her and wooed her like a player he was trading up for. He placed her on his team and then ignored her. When she felt emotionally hungry, he would fetch another child to fill her void.

After a long pause, he continues. “A woman has a hard time understanding. She wants her man totally engulfed in her. And the guy may be, but he has a hard time demonstrating that. A man comes home and she’s there like a little puppy dog. He can’t respond to her and she feels totally crushed.”

This is the first interviewee I have wanted to punch. It would feel so good. With no apparent love in his heart for either his wife or his children he burdens her while making himself look like a benefactor. I consider the possibility that I’m cracking up.

He focuses south of my face again. Is it my imagination?

The phone bleeps and Ben excuses himself. I spend a minute making eye contact with the picture of his wife. What a crappy deal she cut.
Ben returns from his phone call with all the verve of a game show M.C.

“I’m convinced that most guys create little islands for themselves and get encamped on those islands. Men dig a moat around their island and fill it with water. There they sit. It’s a device designed for self-protection. If they can stay within the safety of those walls they avoid risk taking and getting hurt or exposing themselves.”

I open a mental image of my second ‘ex’ in his walled-up island. I would ask him how his day went and he would freeze with anger. The water must have been cold.

Ben shuffles the few papers on his desk and realigns the pens in a straight line like little team players.

“A wife will do anything to get over her husband’s walls and get down where her man is. The thing is… he doesn’t want her there.”

There is no point in asking if he would die for the woman he loved – he’s never loved a woman . . . of this I am sure. Two years and four months of interviews have taught me to read men. A man like Ben is incapable of loving anyone but himself. I stand to leave.

“Give me your cell phone number, just in case I think of anything else,” he asks.

“Sure.” I jot my number on a piece of paper and hand it back to him.
Ben continues talking, “I went into marriage thinking I would do what comes naturally. Well if you do what comes naturally, you’re basically going to do the self-centered thing.”

Nauseous from his presence, I find my way back to the rental car and suck on a mint in a futile effort to kill the bad taste.

True to his nature, Ben does the self-centered thing. He leaves four messages on my cell phone within twenty-four hours.

I don’t respond to his calls.

He sends a small basket of flowers to my hotel. Funny, I don’t remember telling him where I was staying.

More messages over the course of the next three days. He must talk to me in person. I hesitate. My instincts are raw little pricks. He persists. He says he has a list of men wishing to be interviewed by me. The list is confidential. “It must be delivered in person,” he says.

This whole episode reminds me of when I was six years old, and I met a strange man in the hallway of our apartment building. He was selling bibles and his penis was hanging out of his zipper. I was sure he had forgotten to put it back in. I should have told him, but I didn’t want to embarrass him.

Somehow, I was sure it was my fault he was exposing himself.
Each time Ben leaves his messages, I feel a strange sense of the familiar. In some way, his pursuit of me has to be my fault, or maybe it is just my overactive imagination. I decide to play out this hand.

I meet Ben in a public restaurant . . . just for coffee. Three people come over to thank him for the great job he is doing with the team. He beams and signs autographs.

“I’m so glad you came,” he smiles. I can’t get you out of my mind. You must know enough about men to know what I really want. I’d like to get to know you better. My life is so empty.”

I stand and lean over as close to him as I can stomach. “Your penis is hanging out,” I whisper. By the time he looks up again, I am gone.
____________

When you’re a freelance writer with a quirky sense of humor, being in the right place at the right time helps a lot. If I just stand still for five minutes… wham! Something funny and worth writing about will happen to me. I’ve accidentally sky dived, been stalked by crazies, and ran off with a real life White Rabbit.

I’m the author of The Secret Diary of Alice in Wonderland, Age 42 and Three Quarters the first in a series of criminally funny fables. The second book in the series is Wendy & the Lost Boys is scheduled for release this summer.

The Adventures of a Love Investigator, 527 Naked Men & One Woman is the non-fiction account of my one-on-one odyssey into the minds of over 500 men. Please drop by my blog: Barb’s Wire - eBooks & More

Buy a Book, Support a Great Cause

2011-04-08T03:46:00.000-07:00

A short while ago, when the news and images of the Japanese earthquake found its way into our homes through that same internet and on our TV screens, we watched bodies being recovered. We watched homes being swept away. Some of us shed tears, some were stunned, but we all wanted to do *something*, anything, something....

We wanted to reach out, to help.

But we're not wealthy, we're not trained in search, rescue or other emergency services. We have families and jobs that we can't just leave...

But we can write. We can edit and we can publish.

We are a group of talented writers and some of us have donated our words, someone donated a cover, some have donated time, some have donated editing skills, Ethics Trading has donated the publishing portal, and we have pulled together this ebook of a selection of our work.

While working on this project we realised that although Japan was the trigger and the inspiration, we wanted to establish an ongoing project to aid disaster relief and aid across the globe - so proceeds from sales of this project will be offered to Medecins Sans Frontieres, (Doctors without borders) to support the work they do.

Thank you for your support. It really does mean a lot.
Sarah Barnard,
Freelance Author and Publisher.

Stories and Contributing Authors:
1. Hands and Knees by Matt Posner
2. The Day the Earth Shook by Junying Kirk
3. Armageddon by J.E. Taylor
4. A Tooth Fairy Tale for a Tooth Changing Age by Mira Kolar-Brown
5. The Occupier by Tim Ellis
6. Kismet by Sibel Hodge
7. Hurting the One He Loved by Sydney S Strong
8. Creole and Carnations by Kristy Wilcox
9. Afternoon Traffic Jam by W.T. Hughes
10. A Mother's Tale of Fear by Julie Titus
11. Extinct by Kate Bowyer
12. The Game by Alex Knight
13. Homeless by Lia Fairchild
14. Alexis' Story by Jeremy Aldana
15. A Chemical Mystery by Pad. A
16. Who's There? By Kristina Jackson
17. Guitar God Numero Uno by Susan Helene Gottfried

With Love is a real mix of genres, a chocolate box of fiction talent.

For just $3.99, you can enjoy some wonderful fiction AND help others by supporting Doctors Without Borders.

Giveaway Wednesday!

2011-04-06T05:05:00.000-07:00

IT'S GIVEAWAY WEDNESDAY!

POSTED EDITED AT 3:13 PM - WE HAVE TEN WINNERS! THIS GIVEAWAY IS CLOSED. Thank you to everyone who entered, and stop by next Wednesday for another Giveway!!!!

And today, D.D. Scott has graciously offered to give away ten Kindle eBook copies of her hilarious Bootscootin' Blahniks. If you haven't seen Monday's post - go over now and read the fun excerpt. This is one giveaway you'll want to enter!

So how does it work?

THE FIRST TEN PEOPLE TO LEAVE A COMMENT TO THIS POST along with their EMAIL ADDRESS will receive a copy from D.D. It's as simple as that.

So start leaving those comments, AND TELL YOUR FRIENDS!

And have a Happy Wednesday.

Excerpt: Bootscootin' Blahniks by D.D. Scott

2011-04-04T05:27:00.000-07:00

Are you ready for a really fun read?

I hope so, because today we have an excerpt from the very funny Bootscootin' Blahniks by D.D. Scott. When I started reading this book, I just had to email D.D. and ask if she would let me feature it here. So sit back and get ready to laugh.

A little about the book first:

Manhattan apparel designer Roxy Rae Vaughn has exchanged her stiletto-clad clientele for the frequent shoppers of a Nashville, Tennessee tractor supply store.

Tomato-growin’, bootscootin’ cowboy Zayne McDonald has vowed to produce Nashville’s finest hybrid tomato while teaching Music City tourists to bootscoot.

But Roxy needs more than cash crop customers and the soft spot she’s developed for Zayne. She must accept that her best fit is on the dance floor moving to her own bombshell stomp.

When she and Zayne are discovered by a reality dance show producer, Roxy knows she’s found her groove. That is, if she can protect her future from Beefsteak Jack Baudlin, the toughest tomato man in CMT country.

BOOTSCOOTIN' BLAHNIKS is Book One of The Bootscootin' Books Series where it's all about romantic comedies with a chick lit gone-country twist. Think Sex and The City meets Urban Cowboy.

Review:
“What a light, fun read with lots of laughs...and love. Roxy Rae and Zayne have danced right onto my (cyber) keeper shelf. I’m looking forward to reading more from the very talented D. D. Scott.” --- Heather Webber, author of The Lucy Valentine Novels and The Nina Quinn Mysteries

And now, from Bootscootin' Blahniks:

CHAPTER ONE

The nanosecond the light turned green, Roxy Rae Vaughn pressed the gas pedal toward the floorboard of her Mercedes. She didn’t have time to jack around. Her boutique opened in an hour. It took twenty-two more minutes to get there, thirty-three minutes to make everything perfect before she unlocked the doors for customers, and she counted on five minutes to spare. Apparently, the driver in the beat-up pick-up truck in front of her had all kinds of time for lollygagging. But she didn’t.

Taking her speed up a notch, Dipstick yelped. His pudgy Puggles body slid across the pashmina-covered leather cushion of the passenger seat then propelled off the heated lumbar rest. Not to be outdone by her litter brother, Darling whined from the backseat, followed by an odd, panic-laden pant.

Roxy was a bit worried by her dogs’ unusual behavior. Normally, they were good riders. Perhaps they needed some fresh air, she thought, cracking the windows a smidgeon. She’d read, however, that too much air wasn’t good for them so they were only getting a tease of the Tennessee summer morning breeze. Something else the driver in front of her obviously wasn’t aware of. His mangy mutt, although kind of cute in a disheveled take pity on me way, had free roam of the bed of his truck. Except for what looked to be tomatoes lined-up in well-used baskets, the man’s dog owned his space.

“It’s okay, Babies,” she attempted to soothe Dipstick and Darling. “Mommy is right here. You two love going to work with me. What’s wrong?”

In her rearview mirror, Roxy noticed Darling moving her snout in large circles followed by loud, disturbing smacks of her tongue against the roof of her mouth. And was that a bit of frothy drool forming and bubbling around her canines? What the hell was going on?

She stole another quick peek in the mirror then glanced back to the road in front of her in case Grandpa Jones slowed down again. Another look in the mirror revealed Darling was now anxiously pawing at the cashmere blanket covering the backseat as if trying to find a perfect spot to...

Like lightening punctuating the green screen of a horror flick set, a precursor to a grotesque scene coming to life in front of the cameras, Roxy finally understood the red herring for what it was. “Oh no, Darling. Don’t do that to Mommy. We’re almost to the boutique. Please wait, Honey. Not in the car.”

She pounded her fist against the steering wheel, silently cursing her luck. Her determination to live and succeed in her new, classy chick-gone-country lifestyle seemed to kick her in the ass every choice she made.

Darling made a larger-than-life whimper then let loose a super smoothie-sized barrage of pre and partially-digested dog treats - all over Roxy’s backseat.

Between the agonizing sounds of her poor sick Puggles and the sickening stench, Roxy was thrown for a loop her stomach and nerves were at a loss to rectify. Before she could get her wits about her to deal with the current crisis, Dipstick took his turn at bat and went nuts in the front seat. He paced the floorboard. Jumped back into the seat. Then pounced into Roxy’s lap and out again, his anxiety-heavy yips and yaps turning into awful half wails, half barks before dissolving into fits of desperately pathetic growls.

Keeping one hand on the wheel, Roxy reached out to comfort him. Evidently, however, Darling needed her master’s touch too. She hung her hurl-soaked muzzle over Roxy’s arm, whimpered then sneezed sending dog snot and God only knew what else blowing out her nose.

Although abhorred by the residue Darling had now smeared all over her arm, Roxy’s heart filled with pity for her ill puppy and its wigged out partner in mischief. Composing her psyche for the challenge she faced, she searched the street ahead for a decent place to pull over. It appeared she’d have a good spot just up the road a tad further. Good thing she’d taken this alternate route to work. Not much traffic traveled this old road.

“There there, guys. It’s okay. Hang with me just a wee bit longer and we’ll get you cleaned up,” she coached the dogs, having no unearthly clue how exactly she was going to do that. Never one for organization, she could only hope while God was hee-hawing about her predicament, he’d have the decency to pitch down a roll of paper towels or produce a magical box of tissue.

Increasingly shallow pants and gross gurgles once again consumed Darling’s body. Roxy hit the panic button way ahead of her dogs.

“Nooooooooooo...”

Before the air even left Roxy’s lungs carrying her message through even higher octaves of a Hollywood-worthy cartoon voice-over, Darling was at it again. This time, the pup relieved her ailment - projectile style - all over the dashboard and center console.

Making a decent effort to keep the foul fluid from landing on her neck, shoulders, and vintage-inspired couture t-shirt, Roxy tried to punch the brakes for an emergency exit from the roadway. Instead of a Nascar-qualifying pit stop, the heel of her Blahnik caught between the floor mat and the accelerator, forcing her car square into the rear-end of Grandpa Jones’ truck. She rode out the impact in bumper car fashion as the two vehicles careened off the side of the road and came to an abrupt stop.

“Damn.” She lowered her head against the wheel, forgetting to make sure none of Darling’s snacks had decided to take up residence prior to her landing. “I’m such an idiot.”

In the hullabaloo of noise emanating from not only her dogs going ape-shit after the crash but Grandpa’s mutt sounding off too, Roxy wished with everything in her she was just an unwitting participant in some way too vivid nightmare. Taking a deep breath, the stench from the car filled her nostrils and brought her oh-so-back to reality.

Oh, God. What if the guy is hurt? Or what if his dog is too?

Roxy jerked her head from the wheel so fast a dizzy fog overtook her mind. She may have much more to worry about than coming up with money to fix her car and Grandpa’s truck. She could have injured him – and his dog too.

She rested her head once more on the steering wheel. Images of Judy Garland lying on her bed on her way to Munchkin Land in the midst of the tornado swirled through Roxy’s mind in Technicolor splendor. She could hear the Wicked Witch taunting her and her “little dog too”.

She shouldn’t have tried to save a few bucks by buying Dipstick and Darling the tractor supply store’s off-brand dog treats. Look where that had gotten her. How could such terrific ideas at the time end up going so wrong?

She took a chance and looked away from the wheel at what she was convinced would be another nightmare in front of her. But she couldn’t see through the smoke rising from underneath the crumpled hood of her way-too-pricy sedan. Trying to peer through the haze, she panicked. She still couldn’t see Grandpa or his dog.

A brisk tap against her driver’s side window caused Roxy’s heart to race. She was sure she’d look through the glass only to find the man and his dog dripping with blood.

She shivered. She’d seen way too many scary movies with one nanny after another.

Afraid to take another deep breath for fear on the inhale she’d succumb to the hurl hell surrounding her, she looked through the window.

Grandpa Jones had morphed into a hunky, hot cowboy, complete with a sexy-as-all-hell square jaw. A single strand of straw precariously dangled from his sinfully ornery grin. And a lock of unruly, sandy blonde hair fell over his flirtatious, dark mocha eyes.

Roxy’s insides shook, but not from fear or exasperation.

Perhaps God was guffawing at her misstep. But Roxy might just have the last laugh. It seemed her luck had changed.
__________

D. D. Scott is a romantic comedy author and a Writer’s Go-To-Gal for Muse Therapy, plus the #1 Amazon Bestselling Author of MUSE THERAPY: UNLEASHING YOUR INNER SYBIL and the co-founder of The Writer’s Guide to E-Publishing, your destination site for Everything E-Publishing. You can get all the scoop on her, her books, her Muse Therapy Online Classes and Live Workshops, plus juicy tidbits from her fabulous grog The Naked Hero at www.DDScott.com.

Also on NOOK

Other books by D.D. Scott:

We Have a Winner!

2011-04-01T17:20:00.000-07:00

The readers have spoken!

The next Book and a Recipe Book Club Selection will be . . .

Saving Rachel, buy John Locke.

This book currently has 354 reviews and is #4 in the Kindle eBookstore!

It also sounds really good, so I can't wait to start reading it.

Now, to announce the winner of our GIVEAWAY:

JANEL!!!

Janel, you also voted for Saving Rachel, so that is your winning book! I'll contact you to arrange for delivery!

Congratulations and thank you to everyone who joined in on the vote.

We will have a fun and rousing discussion here at Fiction for Dessert on Friday, April 29th. I hope everyone will read the book and join in.

Giveaway Wednesday . . . a little different today

2011-03-30T10:38:00.000-07:00

Today, I decided to mix Giveaway Wednesday with a new little idea - voting for our next Book Club book!

So here's how it works:

We have five books for readers to choose from -- the book that gets the most votes in the comments section will be the next book for our BOOK AND A RECIPE BOOK CLUB DISCUSSION on Friday, April 30th.

But wait! What about the GIVEAWAY????

Glad you asked! One person will be selected at random from the comments - that person will win the book that they voted for OR (if they already have it) a book of the same or lesser value of their choosing.

So, you have to

1) leave a comment
2) tell us in the comment which book you vote for as our next Book Club selection
3) leave your email address (just so you can receive your book - I DON'T keep a mailing list!)
4) tell your friends to join us! (optional)

Here are your choices:

THE LIST is a bit of a departure for Konrath. It's a technothriller about a group of ten people who each have tattoos of numbers on the bottoms their feet, and don't know why.

One of them, a Chicago Homicide cop named Tom Mankowski, has had one of these strange tattoos since birth. When he investigates a violent murder and discovers the victim also has a tattooed number, it sets the ball rolling for an adventure of historic proportions. To say more would give away too much.
_______

A self-deprecating witch with the unique ability to reanimate the dead. A dangerously handsome warlock torn between being her boss and her would-be lover. A six hundred year old English vampire with his own agenda; one that includes an appetite for witches. The Underworld in a state of chaos. Let the games begin.
_______

Switched - the first book in the Trylle Trilogy...

When Wendy Everly was six years old, her mother was convinced she was a monster and tried to kill her. It isn't until eleven years later that Wendy discovers her mother might have been right. With the help of Finn Holmes, Wendy finds herself in a world she never knew existed - a world both beautiful and frightening, and Wendy's not sure she wants to be a part of it.
_______

What if the best morning of your life suddenly turned into your worst nightmare? Sam Case is about to find out. Saving Rachel is the story of what happens when killers force a man to choose between his wife and his mistress...and the one he rejects must die. But wait--all is not as it appears to be. In fact, nothing is what it appears to be! Saving Rachel is a scary, funny, roller coaster ride through hell, with twists, and turns that will slap your face and suck you in!
_______

For fans of Robert Parker's smart but tough-as-nails heroes, screenwriter Stephen Carpenter introduces a new character to the mystery genre, Jack Rhodes. Jack is an author and former boxer who was on his way to literary success when his life was blown apart by the horrific suicide of his fiancee.
_______

So there are the choices. To re-cap: The List by JA Konrath, Fire Burn and Cauldron Bubble by HP Mallory, Switched by Amanda Hocking, Saving Rachel by John Locke, or Killer by Stephen Carpenter

Now, let's have some fun!

Tell us your vote in the COMMENTS SECTION OF THIS POST! :-)

The winning book AND the winner of the giveaway will both be announced this Friday.

Short Story: "Little Red Boots" by Karen Cantwell

2011-03-28T08:26:00.000-07:00

I usually feature new authors with book excerpts on Mondays, here at Fiction for Dessert, but I am going to admit to falling down on the job a bit. I've been working hard on finishing the first draft of my next novel, and not spending any time finding authors to feature, so today, I hope you'll enjoy instead, a short story of mine, "Little Red Boots."

This story first appeared at www.TheNovelette.com where it won the Editor's Choice Award for their Flash Fiction Contest, themed "Beauty."

It's a particular favorite of mine, and I hope it will make you smile.

"Little Red Boots"

Geraldine Hinkle would be meeting her maker any day. The doctor said it could be weeks, but Geraldine knew better.

Leaning one frail hip against the wooden counter of Watson’s Western Wear, and rubbing a hand over her bald head, Geraldine didn’t think about dying.

“Can I hold one?” Her coarse voice was weak.

The lanky man behind the counter waited a few beats before responding. “Beauties, ain’t they? Hand crafted, ever inch. Three thousand dollar pair a boots right there.” He scratched his crotch.

“Are ya gonna let me hold one or are ya gonna just stand there all day playin’ with yer balls?”

The lanky man frowned. His long arm extended toward the shelf as he issued a warning. “Don’t think about runnin’ off with this. I got a gun.”

Geraldine’s spontaneous laugh quickly turned into a wet, spittle cough. That was the funniest thing she’d heard all week. Damn funny, this bony man.

By the time her coughing fit had subsided, the boot stood proudly on the counter. Geraldine picked it up with both hands, gently caressing the fine, silver snakeskin foot.

“That there’s the belly skin of a python come from Thailand.” The man nearly scratched his crotch again, but stopped mid-air. He scratched his left butt cheek instead.

Turning the boot on its side, Geraldine traced the intricate detail. Turquoise blue waves under a yellow sun stitched and painted on soft brown leather. She closed her eyes and remembered.
Waves crashing on hard sand. A young girl laughing. The laughing girl was running back and forth along the sand, her little red boots carrying her effortlessly. Her red skirt and vest fluttering with the wind. A tiny cowgirl frolicking on the shore as a coral sun dropped toward the sea like a colossal balloon pulled down by an invisible string. Sky the color of rainbow sherbet. Orange, pink, yellow.

A man swooped up from behind the laughing girl and threw her high into the air. “Who’s mah little hedgehog?” he said catching her in his strong, safe arms. The laughing girl laughed harder.

“Geri is, Daddy! Geri!”

Geraldine’s sides hurt with the remembering.

Her heart ached with the longing. The rainbow sherbet sunset and little red boots.

Geraldine had lived a long, hard life, drinkin’ way too much drink and smokin’ way too much smoke. Good memories – they were far and few between.

The lanky man blew a hard breath, waking Geraldine from her reverie.

“I’ll take ‘em.” She smiled.

The man scratched his five o’clock shadow. “You got three thousand dollars, lady?”

Geraldine coughed into her elbow before answering. “First, I wanna thank ya fer callin’ me a lady. Been a long time since someone’s been so kind. Second off . . .” she pulled a wad of bills out of her jeans pocket. “. . . money – you can’t take it with ya, like they say. But these boots, they can go with me to the grave. I’d like to wear ‘em now, if you don’t mind.”

With his bony fingers, the man counted the bills. When he was satisfied, he put the other boot on the counter then watched as she slipped each boot on like a knife slicin’ into warm butter.

Invigorated with energy she hadn’t felt in weeks, Geraldine slapped the counter and hooted, “Hot damn! Like they was made for mah feet!”

A hint of a smile on his pointed face, the man held up the wad of money as he slid his way to the cash register. “This here’s over four thousand dollars. I’d say you got some change comin’.”
The shop door opened, triggering a tiny bell. A small girl bounded in followed by her mother who tried to grab a chubby hand before it could break something.

Seeing the girl, Geraldine turned to the man. “You got little red boots?”

“Eh?”

“Fer girls. Little red cowgirl boots. Maybe a skirt and vest too?”

“Yeh. We got somethin’ like that.”

“See that girl gets the sweetest little cowgirl suit and boots she desires. Same for every little girl that walks through those doors until the money’s gone.”

“That’s a kindly gesture.”

She shrugged. “Maybe they’ll bring her good memories when she needs ‘em.”

Geraldine’s boots clopped on the wooden floors as she left Watson’s Western Wear. She looked up at the sign above the door that said, Come Back Now, Y’Hear?

With a laugh and a cough, she answered, “Not in this body, I ain’t.”
____________________

If you write Flash Fiction, or have ever thought about it, check out the Writing Contest at The Novelette. They post your story, and winners receive a $25.00 Amazon Gift Certificate.

Three for FREE Giveaway!

2011-03-27T09:48:00.000-07:00

Today, at the blog A Moose Walked Into a Bar, Sit-down Comedy, we're offering a wonderfully fun giveaway: Three for FREE

The first ten to leave a comment along with their email address (just to receive the books) will get three KINDLE books for FREE.

and

These are all funny books by three funny female authors. If you already have one or more of the books, please feel free to enter anyway - as all authors would gladly offer you one of their others for free! You just need to comment and leave your email address.

The FIRST TEN to do so will get their KINDLE books emailed to them from Amazon.

Tell your friends!

CLICK HERE for A Moose Walked Into a Bar, and enter today!

It's a great way to get some fun books at NO COST.

AND THE WINNER IS . . .

2011-03-26T08:06:00.000-07:00

Thank you everyone who joined in on our book club conversation yesterday!

Markee ran the names through a random number generator, and our winner for the $10.00 Amazon Gift Card is . . . .

Carol!!!!

YAY!!!

Congratulations!

Markee will be contacting you by email Carol.

I hope you will all return for our next Book and a Recipe Book Club. We'll be announcing the next book on Friday, April 1st.

Have a great weekend!

Karen and Markee

Book and a Recipe Book Club: ABBY COOPER PSYCHIC EYE by Victoria Laurie

2011-03-25T04:20:00.000-07:00

HAPPY FRIDAY!

It's the last Friday of the month, which means that it is . . .

Book and a Recipe Book Club

Hosted by friend and author, Markee Anderson

(((((YAY)))))))

I want to thank Markee for hosting this fun event, and especially for recommending this most recent book. I just LOVED this book. Such fun, great characters, clean, crisp writing with a nice dash of humor. I HIGHLY recommend this book for readers who enjoy those things in a book.

REMEMBER FRIENDS, everyone who leaves a comment today enters a chance to win a $10.00 Amazon gift card (how cool is that?). We'll be announcing the winner TOMORROW (Saturday, March 26) morning. The best way to assure that you are notified if you win, is to leave an email address, but if you don't want to do that, make sure you check back Saturday morning! If we don't hear from the winner within a week, we contact the runner up.

Now, without further ado . . . here's Markee:

This is a fun book with a wonderful premise, introducing the reader to the psychic’s life. Abby Cooper does readings for clients, but when one of her clients turns up dead, she’s in big trouble. Here’s the blurb from Amazon:

Abby Cooper is a P.I., psychic intuitive. But her insight failed her when she didn't foresee the death of one of her clients-or that the lead investigator for the case is the gorgeous blind date she just met. Now, with the police suspicious of her abilities and a killer on the loose, Abby's future looks more uncertain than ever.

I read this book years ago, and re-read it yesterday. I was only going to skim it, but was pulled into the plot, once again. It’s fun to read and not very scary. The blind date she encounters is just adorable, from his personality alone. What a take-charge kind of guy!

So, what do you think of books about psychics? Have you ever known anyone who is psychic? What’s your take on the paranormal?

Here’s a recipe to get you dreaming…these are fantastic cookies!

Monster Cookies:

1 pound brown sugar (2.5 cups)
2 cups sugar
½ pound butter
½ tablespoon vanilla
½ tablespoon white corn syrup
4 teaspoons baking soda
1.5 pounds crunchy peanut butter
6 eggs
9 cups quick cooking oatmeal
½ pound M&Ms
½ pound chocolate chips
1 cup chopped nuts (optional)

Cream butter and sugars. Add eggs, vanilla, and corn syrup. Mix with remaining ingredients. Roll into a ball and bake at 350 degrees. Large cookies bake for 12 minutes, while smaller cookies back for 9-10 minutes. Do not overbake.

REMINDER Book and a Recipe Book Club is Tomorrow!

2011-03-24T12:12:00.000-07:00

Here's your reminder for our last-Friday-of-the-month regular feature:

Book and a Recipe Book Club, featuring the very fun book

Abby Cooper Psychic Eye by Victoria Laurie

This book is FUN and FUNNY and I can't rave enough about it. It was host, Markee Anderson's idea, and boy am I glad she suggested it.

Don't worry if you haven't read the book, we won't do any spoiling, mostly we want you to stop by, talk about books, especially fun mysteries if you like them, and enter a chance to WIN A $10.00 AMAZON GIFT CARD!

That's right, stop by, enjoy a recipe and some chatting - leave a comment and you will get a chance to win a $10.00 Amazon Gift Card.

Tell your friends.

Markee and I look forward to seeing you tomorrow!!!

Giveaway Wednesday: The Chronicles of Marr-nia

2011-03-23T08:24:00.000-07:00

Okay - I'm getting into the swing of Giveaway Wednesdays again!

Today I'm giving away 8 free KINDLE copies of THE CHRONICLES OF MARR-NIA, SHORT STORIES STARRING BARBARA MARR

THE CHRONICLES OF MARR-NIA contains four Barbara Marr short stories that are fun, funny, and sometimes touching, if I do say so myself. Plus, I give you two bonus shorts that are not Barbara Marr short stories -- just stories that I am particularly proud of.

So if you would like your free KINDLE copy of this short story collection, leave a comment to this post to that effect ALONG WITH YOUR EMAIL ADDRESS so I can send your gift. Don't worry, I don't keep a mailing list - I only use it to send your free book through Amazon.

So start leaving those comments! The first 8 people to do so will get their copy soon.

Excerpt: Model Agent by Sean Sweeney

2011-03-21T03:46:00.000-07:00

I love strong female characters. Really - who wants wimpy women? Not me. That's why I was excited when Sean Sweeney offered to share an excerpt from his new thriller, Model Agent, with the readers here at Fiction for Dessert. New to Amazon Kindle, it already has 10 reviews with an average of five stars!

DESCRIPTION:

The human body consists of two-thirds water.

As concertgoers on a steamy day in Boston find out, water can kill as much as it gives life.

A terrorist attack at City Hall Plaza has the authorities perplexed. The government, in response, sends in a capable but young agent – an agent born from the ashes of terrorism itself – to handle it.

But as her partner dies and the terrorist strikes again, Jaclyn Johnson – code named Snapshot – finds herself in a situation she has trained a decade to face: She’s up against a man with enough money to finance a war against his competition. With a deadline in place to stop him – and with a car holding enough hidden tricks to evade capture – Snapshot infiltrates his hidden installation and finds out her target’s true end game, a secret that could have the world fighting over water.

Reviews:
"The tongue-in-cheek cover tagline says, “If Bond had boobs.” In four words this gives the high-level view of Jaclyn Johnson. She’s got Bond’s good looks, enough to model as a cover, hiding her true career. She has the technology of Bond with a plethora of gadgets, a few she invented herself and some that (over) compensate for a rare eye condition that leaves her almost blind without an assist. Topping it off is a car that anyone would envy plus the brains behind the beauty to get the job done. In Jaclyn Johnson, Sweeney has a great new character I hope to see in many sequels." - Big Al from Big Al's Books and Pals

And now for CHAPTER ONE of Model Agent:

City Hall Plaza, Boston, Mass.
Saturday, July 17, 2011 — 2:26 p.m.

With the speed, agility, and grace of a high school track star, Jenny Wilson bounded the stairs leading from Government Center’s Green Line platform to the outside world above. She checked her watch and saw she had a few minutes to spare. She vaulted the stairs two at a time, bouncing off the front half of her feet. She tried slowing her pace as she walked toward the subway station’s open doors, taking a deep breath. Her heart thumped madly.

She didn’t want to seem that excited to see him.

Jenny staggered as a harsh wave of hot air smacked her in the face once she stepped back into Boston’s blast furnace. She couldn’t help releasing the breath, which appeared like a flame emerging from an enraged dragon. For most of the past week, she had baked, roasted and suffered through blistering temperatures in the high 90s. Today, she saw, was no different than the last six.

She stopped just outside the subway station’s headhouse and hoped her sneakers wouldn’t melt. While other riders jostled past her, she shielded her eyes as she looked out across the breadth of City Hall Plaza. She saw shimmering haze as the ground reflected the sun’s unforgiving heat. She watched tourists walk past her, wiping sweat from their brows as they headed toward Faneuil Hall, off to Jenny’s right, or toward Cambridge Street on Jenny’s immediate left. The stately towers of the John F. Kennedy Federal Building stretched for the sky above her, while its base, a squat four-story section, reached for the heart of the old city; she could see the towering exhaust vents from Haymarket station adjacent to JFK. A line of trees on the upper level in front of JFK gave modest shade, and as a bead of sweat danced down her spine, she wanted nothing more than to rush toward them and sit underneath for hours. Boston’s City Hall, a concrete structure that looked more like an inverted pyramid than a city government building, stood opposite the federal.

A not-so-fertile crescent filled the gaps: Three-foot high concrete pylons dotted a wavy sea of red bricks stretching here, there and everywhere. Granite steps served as seats during these summertime concerts, and she noticed a small crowd had already gathered by the stage on the northern side of City Hall, waiting for the free oldies show. City Hall Plaza was, in essence, a wide open-air amphitheater in the heart of new Boston, long before land reclamation formed the modern peninsula.

Jenny checked her watch again. It read 2:28 p.m.

“Right on time,” she said.

She walked straight ahead to the vendor booths, where she saw Chuck Norton pulling cases of Nantucket Harbor bottled water from the back of a beat up green van. Chuck was the one guy she hoped she could get to know a little better, ever since she first laid her baby blues on him at Northeastern University. She watched his biceps bulge under the strain. Jenny’s eyebrows twitched, and her mouth curled into a soft grin as she observed the stud’s bodily nuances.

“Let me help you there, handsome,” she said, her eyes twinkling.

Chuck turned and smiled when he saw her.

“Hey, pretty lady. Could you help fill those buckets with ice? We need to get this water cold in a hurry; those people,” he said, jerking his head toward the crowd in the lower bowl, “won’t want to wait. They love their free samples, especially on a hot day like today.” He grabbed another case and threw it on top of the other two. He grunted his exertion as he brought them over to the booth.

“Anything to help,” she said, reaching into the truck to grab several bags of ice before she said to herself, “get you out of those clothes.”

The way Jenny bent over to grab the ice caused another smirk to slip across her face. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Chuck had paused to check out the curves that molded her luscious backside. She felt his eyes roam across her form-fitting white shorts. She pulled the ice to her and felt the condensation from the bag seep through her green Celtics t-shirt. For the briefest of passing moments, she was glad she didn’t wear a white top; she didn’t want to give Chuck too much of a show.

At least not yet, she thought.

Jenny hefted the bags and brought them over to where Chuck indicated. She made sure she brushed her arm against his as she walked past him. She caught his eye every time, and her stomach quivered under his gaze.

They bustled about — and tried keeping the heavy-duty flirting to a minimum — while other vendors began setting up shop near them. Within a few minutes, she caught the sweet smell of sausages on the air. She gouged open bags of ice with her nails and dumped the frozen contents into plastic buckets. Another helper shoved small bottles of water into the icy prison as she moved to another bucket. Once they had them full, they waited a few minutes for the bottles to chill.

Jenny finally fanned herself as she felt the day’s heat get to her a bit. She grabbed a bottle of water that she bought at a Tedeschi’s before she hopped on the T nearly an hour ago. She leaned against the van and drank deeply, trying to stay hydrated in this oppressive heat. Trickles of water spilled from the corners of her mouth while she wiped the sheen of sweat that gathered on her face. She wiped her hand on her white shorts, smearing it to gray.

“Yuck,” she said, grimacing. “I hate the heat. I’m moving to Oregon when I graduate.”

She looked at Chuck as he walked up and leaned next to her. Heat radiated off him.

“You look like you could use a drink,” she said, offering her water to him. His shrug brought a pout to her pink lips until he relented.

To be the bottle, she thought as he drank.

She looked out toward the plaza and saw several people, all wearing light, summertime clothing, bursting forward with quick strides, making their way toward the vendors in search of freebies. There were vendors with small cups of ice cream to try, as well as free can koozies emblazoned with the concert logo and other things Jenny wished she had the time to check out.

She never expected such a cornucopia of thriftiness at a concert before.

“How long do we have to wait?” Jenny asked as she pulled the bottle back toward her. “We’re about to get slammed.”

“Only a few minutes more,” Chuck said as he inhaled. “I smell sausages.”

Jenny sniffed the air, too, but instead of sausages, the scent of Chuck’s sweaty body met her nose. The smell of perspiration overwhelmed her. She swooned slightly. She tried to hold her breath, but she couldn’t do so without offending Chuck. She knew he had labored hard over the past half an hour, and she figured she sweated a bit from her own exertions, too.

For a specimen like Chuck, she thought with a sly grin she camouflaged by lifting the bottle to her lips, I can put up with the smell for a bit. I wouldn’t mind also putting up with some heavy breathing, too.

She felt a tingle south of her tummy. She bit her lip for a brief moment as she looked into his green eyes. Her thighs wanted to slam shut, but she restrained them from doing so.

“I think you can wait a little while, can’t you? We could have one together after we serve these people.” Jenny’s eyes danced.

Chuck tried holding back a knowing smirk.

“Let’s serve the people, then.”

Together, they walked back to the booth and started pulling water from the buckets, standing them on the metal counter before Jenny and Chuck dove for more. Melted ice covered their hands as droplets raced down their forearms. Chuck tossed a towel to Jenny, but it rested, unused, on her shoulder for quite a while. They set a few more bottles on the counter. Within seconds, Jenny saw her “customers” scoop the bottles up two at a time.

She looked on with great interest as they unscrewed the caps away, snapping the plastic rings aside and doused their hair with one full bottle. They twisted the cap off the second and began chugging the cool, clear liquid. Several people came back for more samples, and Jenny thought this was the only way for them to feel adequately cool in these stifling conditions. She saw the other workers re-filling the other buckets with more bottles. Water splashed out and nearly sizzled on the brick. She looked to the bucket on the right hand side of the booth, where one bottle of water remained submerged.

Jenny noticed that she and Chuck had exhausted the bottle of water she brought earlier. She noticed her mouth needed replenishment. A trickle of sweat maneuvered down her neck, making a beeline for her chest. She reached for the lone bottle.

The coughing parade, though, made her forget about quenching her thirst. Jenny looked up and saw her customers’ eyes leak only a few feet away from the booth. They couldn’t stop themselves. Their coughs turned into violent hacks, and Jenny recalled the bronchitis episode she experienced last winter. Their coughs were too identical for her liking. She felt her chest tighten at the memory. She watched helplessly as their bodies shook in rapid convulsions. Some hit their knees, doubling over. People walking out of the subway station paused as they saw these people writhing on the hot bricks.

Jenny looked on in horror as they began vomiting blood, their upper bodies lurching forward as they spewed their insides out, using City Hall Plaza as a makeshift toilet. She saw several people lose their hair, even though they didn’t touch it. They started moaning and screaming. More than one plea of “Oh God, help me!” sprang from their panicked voices.

Jenny didn’t realize that only a few moments passed between the plaza going from calm and peaceful, to chaotic.

She thought fast.

“Chuck,” she said, “call 9-1-1. These people are sick.”

Chuck didn’t answer. Instead, Jenny turned and saw him chugging a dripping bottle of water, one fresh from the ice bucket — the one she was about to grab.

“What Jenny?”

She repeated herself.

He didn’t hear her. Chuck hit the ground and writhed, too, dropping the bottle. His moans came quick as he grabbed his gut.

“Chuck!”

Jenny looked at the bottle and then out toward the sea of sickness that unfolded before her. She saw empty bottles next to the ill. She added things up in her nimble brain. Her eyes widened as she realized what had happened, and how quick things had turned.

“Don’t drink the water!” she screamed, her feet carrying her away from Chuck and toward the booth. She swiped the counter clear of bottles, startling several people as her arms slashed across the drenched metal. She even grabbed one from the grasp of a 10-year-old boy before she turned to one of Chuck’s friends. “Don’t give out any more samples, do you hear me? Don’t give out any more.”

“But our boss said —”

“I don’t give a damn what your boss said,” she said tightly. “These people aren’t feeling well, and it’s because of the water. Hell, they may be dying.” She watched the realization — the utter fear — unfold on the young man’s face. “Stop handing the samples out. You,” she barked, “call 9-1-1 right now. You, get the water into the van and shut it.” They hesitated, but they soon realized she had taken control. They did as she asked.

Jenny turned back to the crowd and saw several of the concert goers clutch their stomachs. They heaved once, twice, and then a third time. Half a heartbeat later, they began projectile vomiting mucous and blood. Jenny recoiled; her face contorted between disbelief and anguish, between pity and disgust. She prayed silently to a God she stopped believing in some five years ago.

Her feelings twisted by the sight in front of her, she remembered Chuck had fallen ill, too. Realization sharply passed through her as she turned her head to where her friend lay in the fetal position.

Her eyes widened at the sight.

Jenny hurried over to him, her sneakers pounding away. She pulled him over and saw blood pouring out of his mouth, dripping from the corners while the remnants of his breakfast, too, splattered on the bricks. She saw him look up into her eyes, his eyes desperately pleading with her for things she would never know. His breath was shallow for several seconds before it ceased entirely.

The light, Jenny saw, had left him moments later.

“Chuck,” she said, even though she knew he couldn’t hear her. Jenny ran her fingers through his coarse brown hair. She closed her eyes and fell backward on her butt. She covered her eyes and tried to grieve, but nothing came out. She sat there for a few minutes, trying to force the tears out.

She glanced to her right and saw the bottle Chuck had drank from laying next to her. The bottle she had wanted to drink from before everything escalated into this nightmarish situation. She looked at bottle again before she looked back at the bucket. She felt her eyebrows arch, comprehension coming to her. The coughing had prevented her — had saved her — from grabbing that bottle from the bucket.

She didn’t want to face that, at least not now. She flicked the bottle aside. She didn’t see it skip across the bricks. She wanted to go pick it up and heave it toward Cambridge Street.

Maybe a car would squish it as it hurried past, she thought. She didn’t grin. Water lined to the bottoms of her eyes.

Jenny then realized the moans had stopped, only replaced by confusion and panicked screams from passersby headed to and from the subway. Hurried footsteps approached her from her right-hand side.

“Jenny, they said they’re sending ambulances. They’ll be here soon.”

“Call them back,” she said, tears finally rolling down her cheeks, the awareness of what happened in between her wanting a drink and now finally reaching her eyes. “Tell them to ready the morgues. I think they’re going to be quite busy.”

Their friend staggered as he saw Chuck’s prone form. “Oh my God,” he said.

Jenny wept.
_________

Born in the city of Fitchburg, Massachusetts, in 1977, Sweeney's passion for writing began in 1993, as a sophomore in high school, when he began to write sports for his local newspaper, the Sentinel & Enterprise. Since then, he has written for several Massachusetts newspapers, including the Telegram & Gazette of Worcester and the Southbridge Evening News in Southbridge. He has since returned to where it all started, as he came back to the Sentinel in April 2008. He also strings for the Springfield Republican and Turley Publications.

Among his literary influences include the king of fantasy, Tolkien, as well as R.A. Salvatore. In addition, Fitch enjoys Steven Savile, Vince Flynn, J.K. Rowling, Jim C. Hines, David Forbes, John Grisham, and Brad Meltzer novels, as well as classic storytellers C.S. Lewis, Charles Dickens, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and William Shakespeare. Star Wars novels fill an entire bookcase in his office. When he is not writing, Sweeney enjoys playing golf, reading, watching movies, the Red Sox, Arsenal F.C., and playing with his kitten, Caramel the Wonder Cat.

On NOOK

That Was FUN!

2011-03-18T05:54:00.000-07:00

The FOXY'S TALE giveaway is complete and I want to thank everyone for commenting and spreading the word. We gave away all 15 books in just three hours!

It was so much fun, that I'll definitely be doing something like that again, so keep checking back.

I'm also excited to announce that TAKE THE MONKEYS AND RUN - my Barbara Marr Murder Mystery is up for vote for favorite bestseller at the popular website, Daily Cheap Reads.

So I'm calling out to all who loved TAKE THE MONKEYS AND RUN - go vote! :-)

Here's the link: DAILY CHEAP READS.

Thanks a million!

Karen

Giveaway! FOXY'S TALE

2011-03-16T07:35:00.000-07:00

I haven't done a giveaway in a while - but I hope you like this one.

TODAY, I'm giving away 15 KINDLE copies of Foxy's Tale by Karen Cantwell and LB Gschwandtner.

Fifteen!!???

YES - Fifteen.

The catch?

Be one of the first fifteen people to leave a comment that you would like a free KINDLE copy of Foxy's Tale. And be sure to leave your EMAIL address! I can't send you the gift if I don't have an email address to send it to.

Pass the word along - tell your friends!!!

For those of you who haven't seen the description yet, here it is:

Foxy Anders has a list of problems as long as a shopping spree receipt from Neiman Marcus. She’s a retail spender with no money to spare and a former beauty queen with no man in her life. After a nightmare divorce she’s left with one asset, a building off Washington, D.C.’s classy DuPont Circle. By turning the ground floor into an antique shop, Foxy figures she has an excuse to spend money … that she doesn’t have.

Foxy also has a teenaged daughter, Amanda, who likes to blog secretly about her biggest problem – Foxy. At least, she thinks Foxy is her biggest problem. But that’s all about to change when she hooks up with Nick, a cute guy at school who evidently has a gift for attracting older women. Amanda just doesn’t know HOW much older they really are.

When Foxy rents the garden apartment to stylish, shoe-fettishista Knot, who turns out to have a knack for talking wealthy Washington A-listers into Foxy’s antiques, it looks as if Foxy will make it on her own after all. Except that Knot is also a genius at creating problems … in his love life.

They’re a quirky threesome to be sure, but when mysterious, bumbling, Myron Standlish arrives on the scene with a suitcase full of Yiddish-isms, he brings along his own set of problems, larger and stranger than all of theirs put together. Oy vey. How will Myron’s personal journey affect their lives? Well … that’s Foxy’s Tale.

A comic, chick lit, coming-of-age, vampire tale (sort of) where family triumphs over adversity and mother and daughter learn how to face the world as grownups – together.

What readers are saying …

“Full of snappy characters, laughs, and mystery, peppered with lively details of Washington, DC., and brimming with enough shoe shopping to satisfy any fashionista. This new joint effort from Karen Cantwell and L B Gschwandtner is guaranteed to please! Can't wait for the next installment in this lively new series!”
– Misha Crews, Author of Her Secret Bodyguard

"Foxy’s Tale is irresistible fun – full of lively characters with a knack for trouble, laugh-out-loud dialogue, and story twists that will keep you reading deep into the night."
– Kim Wright Wiley, Author of Love in Mid Air

______

So start leaving those comments! The early bird gets the worm!

Excerpt: Executive Sick Days by Maria E. Schneider

2011-03-14T07:04:00.000-07:00

I'm so excited to be bringing you this excerpt today - Executive Sick Days by Maria E. Schneider. Executive Sick Days is book three in Maria's Sedona O'Hala Mystery Series. I have read the first, Executive Lunch (HIGHLY RECOMMENDED!) and am in the middle of the second (okay, I'm a little behind) Executive Retention, and am loving it just as much. The stories are funny and original and what I love most is Sedona herself. Funny, funny, funny. She makes me laugh at nearly every turn of the page.

DESCRIPTION:

Steve Huntington had a way of offering jobs that were too good to be true. Mark Huntington made offers too good to turn down. Sedona had a habit of being caught in the middle; somewhere in the proximity of bad guys with guns and family members she was trying to avoid.

Good thing the latest case involved a hospital. Then again, not all hospital personnel were interested in the lasting health of the patients…or that of their co-workers.

What readers are saying:

"I can't say enough good things about this book and this series. If you're looking for something to make you laugh and offer you a good, solid mystery, along with some romance, look no further. Executive Sick Days delivers that and more." - Annie B (Amazon Customer Review)

And now, CHAPTER ONE of Executive Sick Days:

Decisions, decisions. It was flattering to have everyone want me, but it was also a little frustrating. My head was currently swelled with the privilege of choosing between working for two computer companies: Strandfrost or Acetel. Strandfrost tried to fire me, but then relented. They feared a lawsuit because they mistakenly believed I was pregnant. To avoid the non-existent lawsuit, they offered me my job back at my old salary. I could live almost lavishly right until they realized that my sister-in-law was pregnant, not me.

Acetel, on the other hand, had never fired me, but my boss, Jacques, was back in residence after having recently survived his heart attack. I wasn't sure I wanted to be around for his next one. More to the point, I didn't want to be responsible for his next one.

The pay was better at Strandfrost, but I'd definitely be on rockier ground. Unfortunately, I was not certain Acetel paid enough to cover my lifestyle. It wasn't that my lifestyle was extravagant, but it did include me, a single woman, making payments on a small two-bedroom patio home.

I wouldn't have been working at Acetel at all had it not been for the nemesis in my life: Steve Huntington, undercover investigator of corporate issues. He'd had the brilliant idea that I could work at Acetel and discover who was pilfering money from the company coffers. That had been great, but once the case was solved, Huntington stopped supplementing Acetel's not-so-generous salary. I could make my house and car payment on Acetel's salary, but only if I didn't eat.

Of course, Strandfrost was a riskier job overall because if I was fired again, there would be no income at all, and that would really put a rumble in my stomach.

Instead of weighing the pros and cons of my problem, I used my Saturday to peruse Hawaiian brochures. Both Strandfrost and Acetel would be closed for the week of Christmas and since my parents had just visited for Thanksgiving, I had fulfilled my daughterly holiday obligations. Hawaii seemed like an awesome way to celebrate Christmas. Denton, Colorado was heaven for skiers, but not for beach-going, and I was really looking forward to trying out the latter.

The phone rang, rudely interrupting my daydreams. Since it wasn't likely to be a travel agent with free tickets to Hawaii, I was inclined to ignore it.

Curiosity was going to kill me someday.

The voice on the other end was that of my sister-in-law, Brenda O'Hala. I spontaneously started praying that she wasn't cooking anything.

"Hi Sedona! Remember when, uh, Huntington got shot and ended up in my living room?" Brenda whispered, a habit she had picked up after she became pregnant. In this case, however, she was probably keeping her voice low because she was discussing one of my more unsuitable acquaintances.

"It would be rather hard to forget." I accidentally tugged too hard on my ponytail holder. Flyaway brown hair suddenly obscured my vision, but didn't inhibit my hearing.

"Well, yeah, for me I'm sure, but you're involved in a lot of that sort of thing."

Patently untrue. I was never involved in underhanded, thieving, dangerous or ridiculous capers, at least not on a regular basis. In fact, I never had been at all until I met Steve Huntington. He had a way of bringing out the worst in me. His brother Mark brought something out in me too, but my feelings for him were even more alarming. Mark was…dangerous. Dangerously handsome, sexy and I was finding, dangerously irresistible. That didn't mean I shouldn't stay away.

"Do you remember when Mark mentioned the investigation at Crestwood Hospital?" Brenda asked.

It was understandable that Brenda remembered the comment. As a part-time nurse at Crestwood, she was there all day, every Thursday and Friday. "Yes, why?"

"I've been doing some digging," she continued. "And I think I know what they are investigating."

Now that got me up out of my chair. The brochures scattered across the table as I changed grips on the phone. "What?" Brenda involved in anything remotely resembling "investigating" could get me thrown in jail by my overprotective and just-so-happened-to-be-a-lawyer-brother, Sean. "Brenda, are you crazy?" Perhaps pregnancy had used up all her available brain cells or maybe they had transferred to the baby, leaving her senseless. "Do I have to remind you that the last case resulted in Huntington getting shot, and he wouldn't let us take him to the hospital? You're pregnant! You can't go around looking into things!"

There was silence for several seconds before she responded, her voice meek. "I just checked on a very few things. I've seen Huntington--Steve--there now and again lately so I know he is still working on a case. And I have access to records--"

"Have you mentioned this activity to Sean?" Just how long did I have to get on a plane to Hawaii before my brother came after me?

"Of course not! He'd have a fit!"

More like a diabolical plan to have me committed to a mental institution where his wife couldn't contact me. "Brenda," I squeaked out, "I really don't think you looking at records is a good idea."

"I know. I'm not supposed to access them, and if the supervisor finds out she'll fire me. We're only supposed to look at what is pertinent to patient care on our own patients. And I saw Radar the other day, so I figured he was probably investigating anyway, so what does Huntington need me for?"

My heart, already beating fast, went into overdrive. "You saw Radar at the hospital?" I had assumed Radar had gone back to San Jose. He had quit Acetel, and I was furious with him for leaving without a word of good-bye. Not that we were close friends, but I felt basic courtesy counted for something. "When did you see him?"

"Just yesterday. I'm positive he works at Crestwood now in the IT department."

My big head, inflated over two possible job offers and the successful solving of the crimes at Acetel, shriveled. Huntington had hired Radar to help with the case at the hospital. And I hadn't heard from Huntington since the Acetel incident had ended over two weeks ago. My heart slowed. I slumped back onto the tabletop, scattering what was left of the brochures onto the floor.

It was true that Radar was more capable than me. He could hack his way into God's own database. His expertise was the primary reason we had been able to solve the case at Acetel. He probably didn't argue about how to investigate things either. But…I was unreasonably hurt.

Huntington was often recruited to solve corporate cases because executives and board members preferred someone who spoke their language. It also let companies investigate without calling in nosy authorities such as police, FBI or heaven forbid, the IRS. Unfortunately for Huntington, since he was busy schmoozing with the upper echelons, he had to hire someone else to mingle with regular employees and sniff out suspicious characters. That had been my job, and I had helped him solve the cases.

But it appeared I had been replaced. Summarily pushed aside by…better talent. I sighed. My two job prospects were already less than ideal. This news made them look even more like booby prize.

"So I was wondering," Brenda broke into my depression, "do you think I should tell Huntington or Radar what I've found?"

A tingle of hope or...stupidity...started up my spine. "Well," I said slowly, sitting back upright, "that really depends upon what you've found, doesn't it?"
_____________

Maria writes cozy mysteries, cozy fantasy and has recently published "Under Witch Moon," the first book in an Urban Fantasy series. Not only does she concoct stories, she cooks, gardens and avoids anything resembling spring cleaning. Check out her latest endeavors at her blog: www.BearMountainBooks.com.

The Series: Book 1, Executive Lunch; Book 2, Executive Retention; Book 3, Executive Sick Days

Also on Nook:

Executive Lunch
Executive Retention
Executive Sick Days

Other books by Maria E. Schneider:

Foxy's Tale - Chapter Two

2011-03-13T07:52:00.000-07:00

On this Sunday, I'd like to give you a little more Foxy, so here's Chapter Two of Foxy's Tale. Enjoy!
____________

CHAPTER TWO

“Higher,” says Foxy.

She points to the brick front of the old building just above the storefront windows. “Just a little higher.”

Two men grunt as they hoist up a wide sign that says Second Chances in elegant, raised, gold letters.

Foxy nods and smiles. “Perfect. Right there.”

One of the men starts to fasten it down with a cord free drill.

Foxy holds her arms up as if to stop them. “No! Wait! Drop it just a bit, please.” They sigh, but do what she asks. “How’s that?” yells down the bearded man.

She puts her hands on her hips and tilts her head back and forth. She just can’t decide. Higher or lower? She’s been at this sign raising for over thirty minutes now, and she knows these kind men are becoming very annoyed with her. If only opening a business were as easy as buying a new pair of Jimmy Choos. “Ah, sugar!” she shouts, stamping a foot and looking around for guidance. “Where is Amanda? She said she would help me with this.”

“Lady,” calls down the bearded man. “We got another job to do today.”

“Fine.” She looks defeated. “Leave it there. Thank you! You two gentlemen have been so kind.” They set the screws, release the ropes from a pulley and climb down from their scaffolding.

She’s open for business. Foxy Anders, owner of Second Chances, the newest shop in the second oldest building smack in the middle of the chic district of DuPont Circle, Washington, DC.

“What’re ya’ll gonna sell in there, lady?” asks the other workman, a scruffy southern boy with wild red hair and rosy cheeks.

“Dreams of better days,” says Foxy. She flashes a bright smile. She’s pretty and she knows it, has always known it. Until four months ago she’d never had any reason to question the power of that beauty. Then all hell broke loose. It was in the newspapers, on the TV, everywhere she went. Her former football star husband turned sportscaster had been caught with a twenty-something “hostess” (the media loved to put quotes around the word “hostess”) from L.A. Not only caught, but caught naked, the two of them going at it like swine in the fountain at the Bellagio Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas. To Broadway show tunes the hotel pipes in, for God’s sake. Handsome, charming Pete Anders – Foxy’s second mistake.

“Yeah,” the workman tells her. “I guess everyone dreams of better days.” He looks beyond Foxy and asks, “What do think, Buzz?”

A stranger standing just behind Foxy says, “Looks good.” and Foxy turns to see a tall, sandy-haired man in jeans and a dress shirt open at the neck. He’s grinning and about to shake Foxy’s hand. And he’s too good looking for Foxy to deny this to him.

“Oh,” she says, “Foxy Anders, new to the neighborhood.”

“Buzz Vance,” he says, and shakes her hand for a moment longer than necessary. “I see you’re using some of my subs. Hope they’re treating you okay.”

“Oh they’ve been just terrific. And I need all the help I can get. This is new to me. I’ve never had to fix up a store before.”

“Well if there’s anything you need help with just give me a holler. I’m working on a house down the block right now.”

“Are you a contractor?

“Well, contractor, architect, builder, a little of anything you might need.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a business card. Foxy likes the sound of this but …

The two men pack up their tools and haul them into the back of a battered, dusty pickup. They’ll be around for another few weeks until all of the inside work is finished. But that’s it for today and Foxy stands at the door to her new store.

Above them, from the second floor, a teenage girl stares down from the far left of three windows that face the street. She watches the men prepare to leave. Her big gray eyes appear half their size, weighed down by a heavy dose of black eyeliner. She carelessly slides a slender silver hoop earring into one earlobe hole. Above it she has already placed a series of studs into piercings that follow the curve of her ear like a crescent.

Surrounding her are half-opened, unpacked boxes, clothes strewn here and there, shoes piled in one corner. The rumpled bed is unmade, the closet door open to a mass of hangers and tangles of more clothes. Books dot the room like fallen leaves, scattered in random patterns, as if blown in from outside.

She shrugs and moves away from the window to sit at a small desk cluttered with the detritus of her teenaged life. She stares at a computer screen and taps her fingers absently on a book called Daughter of Darkness. She jiggles the mouse and the screen lights up on the blog she just that morning created. A field of black behind a gray page mottled like some river stone. At the top, the header says Amanda’s Life in Hell. She thinks this is heartfelt and heavy, a fitting title for the place where she can pour out all her complaints against the world as she sees it. Her slender, young fingers, with rings on almost every one, nails coated shiny black, rest lightly on the keyboard.

Day One (she types)

We’re here. The new home. If you can call it that. I have to walk up a flight of stairs just to get to our apartment. It’s not even our house totally. She’s going to rent out apartments, and we’re right on a busy street in the middle of town so you can hear the people and cars and buses all day and all night. It’s . . .

She stops for a moment and looks at what she has written. Then she backspaces, deleting everything.

Day One (she writes again)

I hate my mom.

_______

Foxy's Tale - Chapter One

2011-03-12T08:17:00.000-08:00

Chapter One

Gdansk, Prussia, 1851

The snow starts to fall harder and faster as the little man scrambles up a small embankment. The air is so quiet that the sound of his heavy breathing seems magnified. Enormous white flakes collect on his eyebrows, but don’t melt. He must brush them away constantly just to see what’s ahead. A thick wool coat is wrapped tightly around his small body. Heavy, brown, leather shoes protect his feet and a knitted cap covers his head. Despite this, he is so cold the snow sticks hard to his skin and clothing, and there is nothing he can do about it.

Once he reaches the top of the embankment on the edge of the dirt road, he stops. He listens intently. Wolves howl far off in the woods and their call echoes momentarily until receding again to silence. The man is beginning to give up hope. And then, there! He hears the faintest sound of wooden wheels crunching the hard earth. Elated that he hsan’t lost the trail, he looks ahead. He knows this road – it leads directly to the port at Gdansk. He trudges on, following the tracks that are quickly disappearing under the heavy blanket of snow. There is no doubt in his mind that if he doesn’t move quickly, the trunk he is tracking will be placed on a boat or a ship to God only knows where. Not again, the man thinks. Not again.

An hour later, tired, freezing, and desperate, the little man limps into the busy port town, past the fish shops, and to the edge of a dock. One lone fisherman’s rig is tied up at the end of the pier, but that is not what he came to see. He watches the ship that has left its pier as it sails into the stormy night too far away for him to reach. The trunk is on that ship and he wonders what he will do now.

A voice rings in his head. He knows this voice. His father. A man with gifts greater – far greater – than his own. Is the voice really that of his father, or just his own memory of it, berating him for failing on this important mission?

It doesn’t matter.

The message is simple.

“Myron. You are such a putz.”

Available Now: FOXY'S TALE!

2011-03-11T09:07:00.000-08:00

My friend, LB Gschwandtner and I just wrote and released a fun chick-lit with a vampire twist. The twist? Our vampire is short, round, bald and has an aversion to sucking blood.

During the introductory month, Foxy's Tale will be available on Kindle for just .99 cents, so if this is your type of book, snatch it up now!

DESCRIPTION:

Foxy Anders has a list of problems as long as a shopping spree receipt from Neiman Marcus. She's a retail spender with no money to spare and a former beauty queen with no man in her life. After a nightmare divorce she's left with one asset, a building off Washington, D.C.'s classy DuPont Circle. By turning the ground floor into an antique shop, Foxy figures she has an excuse to spend money ... that she doesn't have.

Foxy also has a teenaged daughter, Amanda, who likes to blog secretly about her biggest problem - Foxy. At least, she thinks Foxy is her biggest problem. But that's all about to change when she hooks up with Nick, a cute guy at school who evidently has a gift for attracting older women. Amanda just doesn't know HOW much older they really are.

When Foxy rents the garden apartment to stylish, shoe-fettishista Knot, who turns out to have a knack for talking wealthy Washington A-listers into Foxy's antiques, it looks as if Foxy will make it on her own after all. Except that Knot is also a genius at creating problems ... in his love life.

They're a quirky threesome to be sure, but when mysterious, bumbling, Myron Standlish arrives on the scene with a suitcase full of Yiddish-isms, he brings along his own set of problems, larger and stranger than all of theirs put together. Oy vey. How will Myron's personal journey affect their lives? Well ... that's Foxy's Tale.

A comic, chick lit, coming-of-age, vampire tale (sort of) where family triumphs over adversity and mother and daughter learn how to face the world as grownups - together.

What readers are saying ...

"Full of snappy characters, laughs, and mystery, peppered with lively details of Washington, DC., and brimming with enough shoe shopping to satisfy any fashionista. This new joint effort from Karen Cantwell and L B Gschwandtner is guaranteed to please! Can't wait for the next installment in this lively new series!"
- Misha Crews, Author of Her Secret Bodyguard

"Foxy's Tale is irresistible fun - full of lively characters with a knack for trouble, laugh-out-loud dialogue, and story twists that will keep you reading deep into the night."
- Kim Wright Wiley, Author of Love in Mid Air

Stop by tomorrow for a posting of Chapter One. :-)

Excerpt: "Roller Rink" from In Decline by Michael Crane

2011-03-07T05:36:00.000-08:00

I'm a huge fan of Michael Crane's. With several short stories and short story collections available for Kindle on Amazon, he continues to prove himself a truly talented author. I asked Michael to share an excerpt from one of my favorite short stories today, "Roller Rink" from his collection In Decline.

IN DECLINE is a short story collection about people who are trying to get by the best way they can, for better or worse. Gossip, bizarre love, peer pressure, addiction, heartbreak and loss are only a few of the topics covered in these nine stories where characters are faced with tough choices and ugly truths about life, the world and within themselves.

What reviewers are saying:

"Crane has a talent very few writers have. He can find the humor in a dire situation or find a way to sympathize with the most dismal characters. Some say that to read fiction requires the reader to 'suspend disbelief.' That's not the case here. These stories ooze truth."
--BigAl's Books and Pals

"Roller Rink"
by Michael Crane

Life got complicated for me in Fifth Grade. A day where at Computer Lab, Doug asked me, “So, who are you going to ask to skate with you?” We were going to the roller rink for a field trip and it was a week away. This was the first time I had heard anything about having to skate with somebody.

“What?” I asked, thinking that somehow I misheard the question.

“You know. Who are you going to ask?” His red nose scrunched up as he snorted. “Everybody skates with somebody.” At the time my attention had been focused on the computer screen in front of me. We were learning how to type without looking at the keyboard. The program we were using had a crappy animated dog that would walk closer to a bone every time you typed a word correctly. When you mistyped a word, he’d take a step back and if you typed enough words wrong, he’d run into his doghouse and refuse to come out. Needless to say, my dog was spending way too much time in the doghouse and it was pissing me off, but at that moment that was the least of my worries.

“I don’t know. Didn’t think we had to skate with somebody.”

Doug snickered and showed some of his yellow-stained teeth. “Of course you skate with somebody! What, did you plan on just skating alone?”

I nodded. “Yeah. That was sorta my plan.”

“Everybody skates with somebody when they play the slow songs. It’s like a rule, or something.”

I frowned. “I don’t know, man. I really wasn’t planning on asking anybody.”

“Well, who do you think is cute in our class? Who do you want to skate with?”

I shrugged. I knew Doug wasn’t going to give me a moment’s rest until I gave him some sort of an answer. I looked away from the screen and started sizing up the girls in my class, as idiotic and retarded as I thought the whole thing was. We were all sitting in a straight row with the backs of the computers facing the white wall in front of us that had a lot of dirty finger prints on it. I looked to my left and studied some of the girls.

Nancy wasn’t very pretty, and wasn’t very nice altogether. She’d snarl anytime you said something she didn’t like. A regular tomboy. I didn’t study her too long. Taylor was skinny and small, but she had the most annoying laugh in the world. Anytime I’d hear her laugh I would have to plug my ears with my fingers. I wasn’t going to ask her.

Then, my eyes shifted to Clara. Clara was nice, decent looking, and friendly. I wasn’t attracted to her, but we talked a lot during class. She had long blond hair that touched her shoulders. She was easy enough to make laugh, although she didn’t have the annoying Taylor laugh that made me want to crawl into myself.

Again, I shrugged and looked at Doug. “I dunno. Clara?”

“Really?” He asked, sounding surprised. His head tilted back. “You have a thing for her?
Really?”

“No. You asked me who I would want to skate with,” I said. “I’d skate with Clara.”

Doug grinned at me. “I think I can make that happen for you.” He turned to his left and walked a few seats down. He tapped Mandy on the shoulder. “Psst, Mandy. You’re friends with Clara, right?” She nodded. “Good. Well, looks like Freddy boy over here wants to skate with her when we go to the rink next week.” Mandy took a long, hard look at me with those tiny blue eyes of hers, and then she threw her hand on her mouth and let out a giggle. I knew that wasn’t a good sign. She nodded and then tiptoed over to where Clara was sitting. She whispered something to her and I heard Clara yelp, “What? Who?” She looked at me and I quickly turned away, feeling my face turn red. My ears felt like they were going to fall off from embarrassment. I couldn’t bring myself to hear what they were saying to each other. I didn’t even want any of this. Why the hell did Doug have to put me into this position? It wasn’t like I actually liked Clara. Not in that way.

I felt a tap on my shoulder and it was Mandy. She had a somber look on her face and sighed.
“Sorry, Freddy. I don’t think Clara wants to skate with you.”

“Oh,” was the only thing I could manage to say. I heard Doug say, “It’s okay, Freddy boy. We’ll break her soon enough!” At that moment, I wanted to crawl somewhere dark and cold. Somewhere so isolated that I would be the only one who knew of the place’s existence. I could tell that Clara was taking glances at me, and they weren’t good glances. I couldn’t bring myself to look at her during rest of our time at the Lab.

******

Something very odd happened after that day. I found myself starting to like Clara. It started out small. I’d take a quick look at her every now and then when we were in class or out and about during recess. And the more and more that I looked at her, the more I found myself liking her. I couldn’t explain it. I never had feelings for the girl until stupid Doug asked me who I wanted to skate with. Sadly, Clara was going through the opposite. She no longer smiled at me. She no longer talked to me. Whenever I’d try to get a conversation going with her, she would just mumble, “Oh” and “Yeah.” Despite this, it didn’t make me dislike her. I wished to God that I didn’t have feelings for her, but I knew what I had. I had a crush on Clara. Maybe I did from the start and didn’t realize it until that day in Computer Lab.

Paying attention to anything in class was almost an impossible task. The teacher would speak, but I wasn’t really there. I was trapped in my own thoughts, in my own world as she scribbled down math problems and sentences on the chalkboard. I’d take a peek at Clara until I thought she was looking my way and I’d quickly look down at my book as if I had been reading the entire time. I knew she didn’t like me. She used to like me as a friend, but not ever since she found out that I wanted to skate with her. Yet, I still couldn’t shake this crush.

I told my buddy, Mark, who was in a grade lower than me. He lived in my neighborhood and since he wasn’t in my class, I knew I could trust him.

“You like her?” he asked as we were walking after the bus dropped us off. He straightened his baseball cap and brushed off a leaf from his jacket.

“You know Clara?”

“I’ve seen her before. Why do you like her? She’s not even that pretty.”

“I don’t know. I think she’s pretty.” I shrugged and shook my head. “I don’t know why I like her, man. Things haven’t been the same since that day in Computer Lab. Something… happened.” I shook my head and sighed. “She doesn’t even like me anymore. Doesn’t talk to me or anything.”

“Then why do you like her? Kinda pointless to like somebody who doesn’t like you, right?”
I didn’t know how to answer him.

__________

Did you like that excerpt? If you want to read the rest of this wonderful story, I highly suggest purchasing In Decline. You won't be disappointed.

Michael Crane is an indie author and scribbler of inane babble that can sometimes end up as stories. He went to Columbia College Chicago where he earned a BA in Fiction Writing. He is the author of IN DECLINE and LESSONS AND OTHER MORBID DRABBLES, and he also might've written two books while he was in high school, but he refuses to own up to them and that's why they aren't included on this page. His work has appeared in DEVIL MUSIC AND 18 OTHER STORIES by David McAfee, EVIL PUPPIES by Aaron Daniels and A LAND OF ASH by David Dalglish. He lives in Illinois and is always trying to work on something new, unless he's battling stupid writer's block.

Some of his favorite writers are Raymond Carver, Richard Yates, Kurt Vonnegut, Chuck Palahniuk, Bret Easton Ellis and Hunter S. Thompson.

Other Stories and Collections by Michael Crane:

A Book and a Recipe Book Club: Abby Cooper Psychic Eye by Victoria Laurie

2011-03-04T13:43:00.000-08:00

I hope you all enjoyed February's Book and a Recipe Book Club hosted by Markee Anderson! Markee will be back with us on Friday, March 25th, with another GREAT recipe and fun discussion of Abby Cooper Psychic Eye by Victoria Laurie. This looks like a very fun book and I can't wait to get started reading!

We'll be doing a giveaway again this month - a $10 Amazon gift certificate - by random drawing from all who join in the discussion!

So I hope you'll stop on by AND tell your friends too! :-)

Excerpt: Dragon Blues by Edie Ramer

2011-02-28T04:03:00.000-08:00

Today's excerpt is the newly released novel by Edie Ramer -- I haven't read this one yet, but the description compelled me buy it and add to my to-be-read list! Check it out:

Once a dragon…
Saxophone player Noah Long shifted from dragon to human 2500 years ago, but the dragon blood still coursing through his veins has kept him healthy and virile. Now his secret is out, and the man who discovered it will do anything to make Noah’s blood his own. Noah’s only ally is martial arts expert Lila Fox, who heats up the fire in his belly…and his heart.

Twice a killer…
Lila Fox’s first kill was at age sixteen after her stepfather put her mother in a wheelchair. Fourteen years later, she kills another abuser to save a woman’s life. When the man who wants Noah’s blood kills her sister, she can’t let the death go unanswered. She teams up with the strangely compelling Noah, and discovers he’s not all man and has a few tricks of his own.

Review:

5 stars! “Edie is brilliant! I love her snarky characters, the humor, the sex, the incredible story and the perfect narration she is able to spin into a single novel. I was on the edge of my seat while savoring another Ramer masterpiece! This comes highly recommended!” – Aimee, Coffee Table Press

From Dragon Blues:

Noah flipped the Open sign to Closed. Triple locked the doors. Turned on the alarm. He trod to the desk, his footsteps nearly soundless on the wood floor, and left the jade dragon and the ring on the desktop instead of locking them away as usual.

Tomorrow. He would put them away tomorrow.

Something tore at his throat, at his chest. A weight pressed down on his shoulders. Darkness devoured him, and he knew its name. Loneliness.

He was a solitary creature by nature, but there was a difference between being alone and lonely. At least this time he knew better than to do something that would make it worse instead of better.

He turned off half the lights, then climbed the back staircase to his rooms above the shop. His furniture in the living room was dark reds and black, and the lamps and the pictures gleamed with touches of gold and silver. A meow came from the black chair in the corner. Mystic, curled up, wisely staying away from the fracas. On the table next to the black chair, a tenor saxophone glimmered in the dusky light.

Noah crossed the room, bent and picked Mystic up. Her body was warm, pliant. He sat, draping her on his lap. She allowed him to pet her, her body rumbling with purrs.

“I have you,” he said. Usually he had more than one cat, but he’d seen too many die. Every death wore on his soul. Even beasts had souls, and sometimes lately he thought his was rubbed down to translucency. Like a fine silk cloth, so thin only threads remained.

A siren wailed outside. Mystic meowed, jumped off him and padded into the kitchen.

He didn’t follow her. He needed something to fill the gaping emptiness inside him. To smooth his rippled emotions. To bring him peace.

A need roared in his chest. Not for food, not for liquor, not for women.

Music. That’s what had kept him sane this all these years. Kept him alive.

He picked up the saxophone, the metal smooth beneath his fingers, bringing him a small measure of peace, mending the torn threads of his soul.

Then he lifted it to his lips, took a breath, closed his eyes and played “Is That All There Is?” The Peggy Lee version. Slow and sexy and sad.

The sounds outside faded, and nothing mattered. Not Beauty, not the thief, not the lonely, lonely years. Just the music that poured through him and out of him. Out of his soul.

When he finished, he sat in the chair for long moments as night invaded the room, darkness falling around him like a magician’s cloak.

“Is that all there is?” he whispered to the silent room. “Is that it?”

A noise answered, someone knocking on the alley door.

___________

Edie Ramer loves her cat so much, she wrote CATTITUDE, a book in which a cat changes bodies with a woman. Edie tried to put herself in her cat's mind. She managed so well it was eerily freakish.

She lives in southeastern Wisconsin with her husband, two dogs, and the original Belle the cat. She started writing in the 1990's, selling short stories in the mystery genre to National magazines and two Women Sleuth books. In addition to non-fiction articles, she wrote verses for greeting cards, and she possesses a drawer filled with cards for any occasion.

She's co-founder of Write Attitude (writeattitude.net), an inspirational website for writers, and a popular group blog, Magical Musings (magicalmusings.com).

You can visit Edie at www.EdieRamer.com.

CLICK HERE FOR NOOK

More Books by Edie:

We Have a Winner!

2011-02-26T06:11:00.000-08:00

The winner of a $10.00 Amazon Gift Card from yesterday's A Book and a Recipe is . . . .

JUDY!!!!!

Judy - email Markee at markeeanderson@gmail.com to arrange for delivery of your gift card.

CONGRATULATIONS!

I hope everyone enjoyed our most recent book club day. We'll be announcing the book for March next Friday. We hope to see you. And tell your friends!

[THIS POSTED EDITED ON SUNDAY: I POSTED MARKEE'S EMAIL ADDRESS INCORRECTLY ON SATURDAY, SO JUDY, THE EMAIL ADDRESS YOU SEE NOW HERE IS CORRECT! SORRY!]

Book and a Recipe Book Club: THE TESTAMENT by John Grisham

2011-02-25T04:03:00.000-08:00

Welcome to our second Book and a Recipe Book Club!

Last month hostess, Markee Anderson and I began this feature by discussing One for the Money by Janet Evanovich. We had a lot of fun and hope you did too.

Today we're talking about THE TESTAMENT by John Grisham. Even if you haven't read this particular book, but have read some John Grisham, join in the discussion. At the end of the day, we'll be randomly drawing one name from the list of those who comment and that lucky person will win a $10.00 Amazon Gift Card!

Okay, take it away Markee . . .

I consider this book to be one of John Grisham’s best. He takes a legal thriller and adds in some adventure and many forms of emotion.

In the beginning, an old man is ready to sign his will, but little do we know, his money will go to someone we never knew about. It’s up to a washed out lawyer named Nate O’Riley to find the person, taking him to the deepest jungles of Brazil, changing his life forever.

This book, and many of the older Grisham books, are wonderful to read, with different layers and subplots. My children read them for book reports, because I know they don’t have the things in them that I don’t want teenagers to know about yet. He writes simply, and there isn’t any unnecessary words to throw you off the plot, but keeps you turning the pages to know more.

I don’t want to give away too much, but seriously, this is one book that will strike your fancy. The beginning, with Troy Phelan, is perfect, in my mind. He’s quite a curmudgeon and I just love that character. It truly fits in ratcheting up the conflict, setting the scene for the entire book. I also love when Nate finds Rachel, and her comments to him. I about died laughing the first time I read it, in total shock. Brilliant…simply brilliant.

Anyway, I want to hear from you. What did you like about the book? Do you think, in real life, that the lawyers would try to prove Troy was insane? What other Grisham books do you like?

And to leave you with a wonderful sweet taste in your mouth, how about this recipe:

Truffles:
Ingredients
• 10 ounces semisweet chocolate bits
• 1 tablespoon unsalted butter
• 1/2 cup heavy cream
• 1 tsp vanilla extract (can use any flavoring here)
• chopped nuts, and/or toasted coconut, and/or cocoa powder, for coating truffles

Directions
Add the chocolate and the butter to a double boiler and melt. Slowly mix in heavy cream and remove from the heat when warm. Stir in vanilla. Pour mixture into 8X8 inch baking dish and put into refrigerator until cool for 1-2 hours. Using your hands or a spoon, scoop chocolate into balls and put on wax paper. Roll into nuts or coconut
Store in an airtight container in the refrigerator. Serve at room temperature. Makes 30-40 truffles.
_________
So let the discussion begin! And tell your friends to stop by - not only do you get a chance to talk about a great book, but you might just win a $10.00 Amazon Gift Card. Not too shabby!

Excerpt: Dead to Writes by Cathy Wiley

2011-02-21T06:56:00.000-08:00

"I'm already hoping for more books in this great series." – Mark Baker, Amazon Top 100 Reviewer

I recently had the privilege of hearing Cathy Wiley read from her humorous cozy mystery, Dead to Writes, and I enjoyed the excerpt so immensely, that I just had to ask her to come share here at Fiction for Dessert. This is SUCH a fun read and the voice of Cassandra Ellis is so priceless that you won't want to miss it!

DESCRIPTION:

Author Cassandra Ellis is thrilled to death when her first murder mystery novel is released. She enjoys glowing reviews, praise from friends and family, and all the excitement that comes from being published.

But her celebration is cut short when she becomes the primary suspect for a real life murder. One of the sources she used while writing her novels has been shot, and Cassie is the last to have seen him alive.

When she’s taken into questioning, she spends more time than she wanted in Baltimore City police headquarters. (Although she’d like to spend more time with James Whittaker, the homicide detective assigned to the case.)

When another of her experts is murdered, again right after meeting with her, she needs to apply the knowledge she gained while writing mystery novels to find the killer.

Before more friends die... or before Cassie herself is targeted.

AN EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER ONE:

One day, she was going to kill her best friend for always being late.

In the meantime, she would just kill someone else. As Cassie Ellis looked around the upscale restaurant, she barely noticed the sleek design, the contemporary furniture, or the exposed brick walls. She concentrated on the people. Waiting, watching, for that perfect moment, that perfect mark. Her eyes fell on a distinguished older gentleman sitting in a back corner. She smirked when she saw him glance over to the considerably younger—and considerably more attractive—blonde with him. Clearly, he was checking to see if his date was impressed by the ambiance of the restaurant.

Just as clearly, he was her perfect victim.

Still, she was a fair sport. If he didn’t order wine, he’d be fine. If he did order wine—at least a particular bottle—then he’d die.

He ordered wine. He had to show off for the blonde, after all. Cassie wasn’t surprised to hear him order the most expensive Merlot on the menu; she had him pegged as a Merlot drinker. A pretentious one, she thought, staring at him like her cat stared at a doomed mouse. She knew something about that particular wine, that specific bottle.

The waiter unknowingly acted out his part of the drama. He took the bottle from behind the bar, walked over, presented it, and waited until the man nodded his approval before wielding the opener. He then handed the cork over to the man for inspection.

She let out a sigh of relief when the man nodded again. The fool didn’t notice anything.
The waiter poured a small portion into the man’s glass. Even with the dim lighting, she was able to see the rich, deep ruby color. She approved of the man’s technique as he raised the balloon-shaped glass and swirled. Rivulets of liquid flowed down the sides of the glass, showing off the legs of the wine just like the blonde was showing off hers in a beaded black dress.
The man brought the glass to his lips. He sipped delicately, inhaled to aerate the liquid, and swished it around in his mouth. Finally, after the wine passed all those tests, he swallowed.
And all hell broke loose.

He lurched out of his chair, sputtering and clutching at his throat as his face took on a dark red color that rivaled the wine. The blonde screeched as he dropped the glass on the table, destroying the pristine whiteness of the linen tablecloth with shattered crystal and splattered Merlot.

Cassie didn’t blink as she watched the man—no longer so distinguished looking—crash into the next table. The guests screamed as the victim thrashed about, sendingwhipped potatoes, baby field carrots, and black truffle meatloaf all over the restaurant. She could hardly blame them, she’d scream too at the loss of such a delicious-

“Are you okay?”

She blinked a couple of times and brought her mind back to the real world. Her waiter stood next to her table with a concerned frown on his handsome face.

“Is everything all right, Cassie? I kept saying your name, but you didn’t answer.”

“Oh sorry, Alan. My mind was …well, elsewhere. Hazard of the writing profession.” She looked over at the table in the corner, where another waiter was just now bringing out a bottle of wine for the distinguished gentleman and the blonde. “I’ll wait to order until Michelle gets here, but could you prep a bottle of the Schramsberg Blanc de Blancs?”

The waiter raised one sandy eyebrow. “Bubbly, Cassie? Do we have something to celebrate?” He paused a moment and grinned. “Let me guess, your book’s being pub—

“Don’t say it,” she interrupted and held up a hand. “I want to tell Michelle first. I promise I’ll tell you afterward. Anyway, I want to surprise her. Can you bring out the bottle about five minutes after she arrives?”

“Of course. Shall I open it with a big flourish?”

She smiled her approval. When Alan left, she turned back to her couple in the corner. Just like in her fantasy, the man went through the entire tasting process, including distributing the liquid in his mouth. Even with her love of wines and appreciation of the tasting ritual, she never liked swishing wine around her mouth. It reminded her too much of gargling mouthwash.

She watched as he swallowed. The results were less dramatic than the story in her head. She had to laugh at herself when she heard the blonde ask about the wine and refer to the man as “Dad.” Obviously, she had read that scene incorrectly. But in her humble opinion, her version of the story was more interesting.

Cassie bent down to snag a notebook and mechanical pencil out of her purse. Tucking a curl behind her ear, she made a note to check out the efficacy and speed of cyanide poisoning. She tapped the pencil against her lips and wondered how the poison could be added to the bottle without any evidence of tampering. If she could figure it out, it would make a fascinating murder method for The Merlot Murders, a title idea thatcame to her. It would establish the “M” alliteration pattern she had started with Mailbox Murders with that title for her second book.
Her second book. Alan had been right, but more right than he knew. Than anyone knew. She couldn’t believe she had managed to keep the secret for this long, but she wanted to be certain it really was going to happen. So she had waited. And waited. And now…

As she put away her notebook—something on her “never leave home without list”—a flash of red from the depths of her cavernous bag brought a mixed surge of butterflies and pride. She wasn’t nervous telling Michelle the news; she knew her best friend would be excited. But her temperamental friend might get upset that she had withheld the information for so long. Well, she’d find out soon.

She grabbed the salt shaker from the center of the table and slid it back and forth while she resumed observing those around her. This time, she decided to forgo her usual diversion of imagining murders. Not that she felt animosity towards her fellow diners; she just was fascinated by mystery stories, especially murder mysteries. Since childhood, she had enjoyed following along with the clues, outwitting the villain, and cheering on the detective. Later, she enjoyed writing new and different ways to commit and solve such crimes. Now, the stories she created were going to pay off. Literally.

That would be good, since she didn’t make that much teaching online writing courses. She was fortunate to have a trust fund from her grandmother that she used to buy a house seven years ago when she turned twenty-one. She didn’t have to worry about a mortgage, and the writing courses paid the rest of her expenses. Mostly. She still had tons of student loans. If she sold enough books, she might even be able to pay them off before she turned forty.

The advance would help with that. Of course, she was putting most of it towards promoting her book. It wasn’t cheap to send out postcards, advertise online, and attend conferences and book signings. But it was going to be worth it. Her Great American Novel was getting published. She hoped it would even sell.

She popped up from her chair as a petite blonde scurried into the room, breathless with apology for being late. Seeing Michelle Edwards in her work clothes, she was glad she had changed into a nice outfit. Her emerald silk shirt and black pants weren’t as nice as Michelle’s navy blue suit, but at least she wouldn’t embarrass herself. She gripped her best friend in an enthusiastic hug.

As they sat down, Cassie reflected on how much they both had grown and changed over the years. She had known Michelle since they were in elementary school. They met through a book, naturally, a book both of them had wanted to read at the same time. When they fought over Trixie Belden and the Mystery off Glen Road, the teacher told them to share and read alternate chapters to each other. Mr. Baldwin probably regretted that action as the two girls became best friends and giggled and whispered back and forth throughout the school day.

Back then, Michelle had been a shy, nerdy girl with messy braids, broken glasses, and a buck-toothed grin. Now, her long, brown hair was smooth, her glasses stylishly Bohemian, and braces had repaired the overbite.

Cassie hoped the years had improved her as well. Her carrot-red hair had darkened down to a burnished copper, although the curls were wild as ever. Her skinny, gangly body had morphed into a tall, athletic one. Not a graceful one though, unless she was on a bike. Then she could almost fly.

“So… tell me. Why are we here? We only come to Corks to celebrate, so tell me, tell me, tell me.” Michelle was never patient.

Cassie had to laugh. That very impatience was the reason they had fought over that book all those years ago. Michelle refused to wait until she was done.

Of course, she was just as impatient. So rather than the long speech she had rehearsed, she took a deep breath and blurted it out. “I’m being published. I mean, my book is being published.”
Michelle leaped out of the chair with a squeal and grabbed her in a choking hug. “That’s incredible, Cassie! Mailbox Murders, right? Who’s publishing it? When? How can I buy tons of copies?”

Her best friend was never lacking in enthusiasm, Cassie thought as her grin widened. “Yes, Mailbox Murders. DSG is publishing it.” The name of one of New York’s largest publishers brought out another squeal from Michelle.

“Oh my God! That’s so awesome. When will it be out? This year, oh no, probably not, publishing takes forever. Next year?” She sat back down, bouncing in her seat.

“Actually…” Cassie bit her lip as she reached into her bag. “July 8th.”

“Of next year?”

“No, this year. As in Saturday.”
_____

While her dream of biking and camping around the United States never came true, Cathy Wiley has achieved her childhood goal of writing mysteries. She's happiest when plotting stories in her head or on the computer, or when she's delving into research, be it hands-on or in books. (Or yes, the Internet, but she makes certain to confirm that information.)

She draws upon her experience as an event planner and human resources manager to show the lighter, quirkier side of people. And upon her own morbid mind to show the darker side.

In her free time, she enjoys scuba diving, dancing, wine, food, and reading. She lives outside of Baltimore, Maryland, with two very spoiled cats. She would greatly enjoy getting e-mail from her fans. She can be reached at cathy_wiley@zapstone.com

You can also visit her website at: www.CathyWiley.com
or follow her on Facebook and Twitter.

Also on Nook

Valentine's Special - An Interview with Romance Writer, Kristie Leigh Maguire

2011-02-14T03:46:00.000-08:00

Valentine's Day is a special day, so today I bring you an interview with a special lady - author of romantic tales, Kristie Leigh Maguire.

I first met Kristie at The Spinning Wheel - a virtual bookstore and coffee shop on the discussion boards at Amazon.com. Kristie is the proprietor - readers and writers come together and chat in this virtual world. There is a fireplace, bookshelves galore, a coffee pot, and comfy sofa and a loft where some of the wilder patrons have been known to throw popcorn over the balcony to bounce off the heads of others. It is all in good fun - even if the popcorn isn't real! And there is a porch with a swing, and a path to a pond. But mostly why people come to the spinning wheel is to meet and share with others who love to read and/or write.

And Kristie Leigh Maguire made it all happen. She's there every day jumping into discussions and scheduling authors for virtual readings. She's an amazing woman with a load of her own stories to tell, and that's why I'm so excited that she's joined me for an interview today as well as agreed to share an excerpt of her romance, Second Chances.

Karen: Welcome to Fiction for Dessert, Kristie!

Kristie: Thanks so much, Karen! I appreciate you having me here at Fiction for Desert. What a lovely name for a blog.

Karen: When did you first start writing?

Kristie: Reading has always been my passion but I was a late bloomer to the world of writing. When my husband and I were living in Japan in 1997, I found that it was very difficult to find books written in English. Remember this was before e-books became so popular and available with the click of a mouse from most anywhere in the world. Since I couldn’t find books to read, I started trying to write my own books. I had no idea what I was doing. I’ve never taken a writing class in my life but I have read all my life. Because romance is what I loved to read, romance is what I wanted to write. Trying to emulate some of my favorite romance authors didn’t work for me at all. Fortunately, I soon discovered my own writing voice and a passion for writing that equaled my passion for reading.

Karen: What do you like about writing romances in particular?

Kristie: Love is the spice of life and is what makes the world go round. I like telling a good love story. It takes me out of the everyday world of troubles and woes and makes me feel good.

Karen: How do you formulate an idea for a new book? Do you write off the cuff, or do you plan intensively before you begin?

Kristie: Sometimes the idea of a character comes first; sometimes the idea of a storyline comes first. With my Desert Heat and Cabin Fever books (Affairs of the Heart series), the characters came first and then I developed the storyline. With my Second Chances book, the idea of the storyline came first and then I developed the characters. It just depends on what sparks my imagination.

I write off the cuff. How can I outline when I don’t know where the story is going to take me? As the story goes along, my characters take on a life of their own. Sometimes my characters don’t want the story to go the way I originally thought it should go. If I try to force them to go in a direction they don’t want to go, my writing becomes stilted and doesn’t flow well. Usually at that point, I throw up my hands and just let the story flow according to what the characters want. OK, take me away to the funny farm now because I sound totally crazy.

Karen: I know you’ve traveled extensively abroad – do you draw from your overseas experiences when you write?

Kristie: Not directly but my overseas travels have made me who I am today so I suppose indirectly it does.

Karen: I know that one of my favorite aspects of writing, is developing characters. Do you find that as well, and if so, do you have a favorite character or two?

Kristie: I love developing characters. My all time favorite character is Marcie Treyhorne in my Affairs of the Heart series (Desert Heat and Cabin Fever). Marcie is a feisty steel magnolia. She is fun and flirtatious but not easily intimidated. She won’t take no for an answer, or at least not easily.

Karen: Do you think you might try writing in other genres? If so, do you have anything planned?

Kriste: I have written a memoir/travel book based upon my overseas travels. The title is You’ve Got Mail from Japan. Other than that, I don’t know if I will ever write in any genre other than romance. I do have a few ideas in other genres floating around in my head but I don’t know if I will ever act upon them. I have learned to never say never though so who knows? We’ll just have to wait and see. 

Karen: Tell me a little bit about The Spinning Wheel and why you started it.

Kristie: The Spinning Wheel is a thread I started at Amazon’s Kindle Discussion Group. I created it as a safe haven for authors and readers. We are now on are second generation of The Spinning Wheel (Amazon has a limit of 10,000 posts to each thread).

The Spinning Wheel is located in a lovely old white brick building on the main street of Amazon Kindle Land. The navy shutters framing the double windows on each side of the door creates a nice contrast to the mellow yellow lettering against a sea foam green background of The Spinning Wheel sign over the door.

Inside we have rows and rows of books on shelves with pots of ivy and geraniums scattered around. The scent of mulled cider candles combined with the smell of homemade oatmeal cookies and coffee drifting through the air creates an enticing aroma that is hard to resist.

Miss Daisy, the resident cat, loves to curl up and snooze on the top bookshelf. Ralph, the resident dog, likes it best in front of the potbellied stove in the corner. It always seems cold on that side of the room so we keep the fire burning all the time. Feel free to wander over and warm yourself and throw a log on the fire if it needs it. Across from the potbellied stove is the lounge area with enough comfortable easy chairs for everyone to have a place to sit, relax, and enjoy a good book. There are so many books just waiting to be read. Open your mind. Explore new possibilities. Think beyond what has normally been your comfort zone. If you aren't up to exploring new genres, we are bound to have something you will like on our shelves. The possibilities are endless.

Karen: How can people find The Spinning Wheel?

Kristie: Go to: http://tinyurl.com/SpinningWheel2 … or if we have completed TSW2 by the time this is posted, just go to the Main Kindle Discussion Group and look for the thread with The Spinning Wheel in the title.

Karen: Would you be willing to share an excerpt from one of your books with our readers?

Kristie: In honor of Valentine’s Day, I would like to tell everyone about my sweet contemporary western romance, Second Chances. I got the idea for this book when a friend of mine told me about an ad she saw in her local paper: “Free wedding dress. Worn only once by mistake.” My imagination caught fire trying to figure out what was behind that simple little ad in the newspaper.

Description of Second Chances:

Jane Porter’s dreams of marrying Mike Farley, the handsome cowboy who lives on the neighboring ranch, are shattered when Mike suddenly marries a redheaded stranger he met at the Wild Horse Saloon in Casper, Wyoming. After Mike stomped all over Jane’s heart with his cowboy boots, can Jane ever trust her heart to a man again?

Mike Farley marries beautiful Samantha Jo Smith after a whirlwind courtship with no thought to Jane Porter, his childhood sweetheart and the woman everyone in Fremont County thought he would marry one day. Mike soon learns to regret his hasty marriage to Samantha. Can Mike win back Jane’s heart even though he had shattered it into a million pieces?

Longtime friends and neighbors Jim Porter and Liz Farley turn to each other for support after the unexpected death of their spouses. Will Jim and Liz’s friendship turn into something deeper even though they both feel they have had, and lost, their chance at love?

Is it ever too late for love? Is it ever too late for second chances?

Set in rural Wyoming, Second Chances is a sweet contemporary western romance that will warm your heart. One reader stated, “I read it through in an evening, and felt as if I had spent that evening with ‘salt of the earth’ folk.” Another reader said, “I loved the double, no triple, second chance. It was a very sweet ending.”

Excerpt from Chapter 1 after Samantha finds out that Mike is going to marry Samantha:

“You bastard!”

Jane slapped Mike so hard it rocked him backwards, leaving an angry red welt in the shape of a handprint across his handsome face. Mike threw up his hands to ward off Jane’s angry blows but he knew he had it coming. Jane had every right to punch his lights out.

“Why am I the last to know you’re going to marry somebody else? You could have at least had the decency and enough respect for me to tell me first before everybody on God’s green earth knew about it!”

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way, Jane. I didn’t know Mom was going to hightail it over and tell your dad before I could tell you myself. I was going to come over and tell you this morning but she beat me to it. I wish she’d mind her own business and keep her nose out of mine.”

“Mike, you’ve never even gone out with anybody but me. Who is it? Who are you marrying?”

“Her name is Samantha Jo Smith. I met her when I was at the Wild Horse Saloon a few weeks ago when I went to Casper to stock up on supplies.”

“You’re going to marry some floozy you met in a bar a few weeks ago when for years you’ve led me to believe we’d get married? Have you been lying to me all these years? Did you ever have any intentions of marrying me?”

“I haven’t been lying to you all these years. I did intend for us to get married one day but I never counted on meeting Sammy Jo. She came into my life like a devil’s twister and turned it upside down.”

Jane’s beautiful brown eyes filled with tears as she looked at the man she loved, had loved all her life, trying to understand what he was saying. It was as though he was suddenly spouting Greek. Nothing he was saying made any sense to her.

“I never wanted to hurt you, Jane. You’ve got to believe me.”

“You can’t marry her, Mike. You can’t possibly love somebody you just met! You love me! I know you do. We’ve been going steady since I was twelve and you were thirteen. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“I don’t really know how all this came about. Me and Sammy Jo getting married I mean. I don’t remember actually saying the words ‘Will you marry me?’ but she must have thought I did because the first thing I knew she threw her arms around me and said yes. Now the date is set. She’s already bought her wedding dress.”

Jane gasped, her face going pale. She sank down onto the steps and put her head in her hands. Even though she had never fainted in her life, she felt as though she were going to now.

Mike sat down on the steps beside her and gently stroked her back.

“Look at me, Jane. Please.”

Jane raised her head but she couldn’t look at Mike.

Mike turned her face towards him, his black eyes looking into her teary brown ones.

“I’m a man of my word, Jane. I asked Sammy Jo to marry me even though I don’t remember saying those exact words. I have to stick by it. Can’t you please try to understand?”

“No, I don’t understand it! I simply can’t.” Jane sniffed back the tears that threatened to clog her throat and spill down her face. “What about me? I know I don’t have your engagement ring on my finger but for years you’ve led me to believe we’d get married one day.”

“I know I did, Jane. I’m sorry. I never meant for something like this to happen.”

“Mike, I’m begging you not to do this to us. Don’t throw away our future like this. We’ve never dated anyone else but each other since we were old enough to know there was a difference between boys and girls. My whole life has been wrapped around you. What am I supposed to do if you marry someone else? I can’t even picture my life as anything but being Mrs. Mike Farley.”

“I don’t know but I am going to marry Sammy Jo. I have to, Jane. A man’s word is his bond.”

“But you don’t know anything about her, Mike. She’s a complete stranger.”

“It’s true we’ve known each other only for three weeks but Sammy Jo’s not a stranger to me. Being with her is the most exciting thing I’ve ever experienced in my life.”

The tears in Jane’s eyes disappeared, burned away by white-hot fury. She jumped up, tossing the single heavy brown braid that almost reached her butt over her shoulder and glared at Mike.

“Are you talking about having sex with her?” She hit him. “Damn you, Mike Farley! If you don’t think having sex with me was exciting enough for you, then whose fault is that I’d like to know! All I know about sex is what you and I learned together. I was a virgin when we first made love down on the banks of Badwater Creek. I was only fifteen! I’d never been with anyone else but you and didn’t know a thing about how to do what we were doing except what you showed me how to do. Now you have the nerve to tell me that our lovemaking wasn’t exciting enough for you. If you didn’t like what we were doing, then you could have shown me how to do something different. I’m not such a prude that I wouldn’t have experimented.”

She hit him again.

“You lousy son-of-a-bitch!”

Mike caught her hands and held them.

“Jane, I never meant for this to happen. It just happened.”

“Just happened? Things like that don’t just happen!” she shrieked. “You could have kept your damned pants zipped! Even if you didn’t have enough self-control to keep from poking it to her, you sure as hell didn’t have to ask her to marry you!”

Jane struggled to get loose from Mike’s iron grip to no avail.

“We were supposed to get married, Mike. We were going to live the rest of our lives together. You and me! Not you and some floozy you met in a bar, for crying out loud.”

“Jane, I know I’ve hurt you and for that I’m very sorry. Can we still be friends?”

Jane looked at Mike as though he had lost his mind.

“Friends? I don’t want to be just your friend, Mike! If I’m not going to be your wife, I don’t want to be anything to you. You can go to hell. I never want to see you again.”

“Jane, please don’t be this way.”

“Let go of me, damn it!”

Mike let go of her hands and Jane turned to leave.

“I’ll never set foot on Double F Ranch again not even to see Liz. If she wants to see me, she can come over to my house. And don’t you ever come over to the Double P Ranch again either. I don’t want anything more to do with you.”

“Jane, we live on adjoining ranches. Our families are tied too closely together for us to avoid each other. Your dad is like a father to me and my mom is like a mother to you.”

Jane laughed bitterly.

“You should have remembered that before you asked Ms. Floozy to marry you. If I catch you ever stepping foot on my ranch again, I’ll take the shotgun and fill your ass with buckshot!”

“Jane…”

“You are a bastard and a poor excuse for a man, Mike Farley! I hope you catch some kind of venereal disease from Samantha Jo Smith.”
***

Karen: That was wonderful – thank you so much for joining us here today and sharing. Do you have a website where people can learn more about you and your works?

Kristie: Of course I do. (smile)
Website: KristieLeighMaguire.com
Facebook Fan Page: KristieLeighMaguire
Sizzling Hot Romance and Other Genres (blog): Sizzling Hot Romance.

Thank you so much for having me, Karen. It has been my pleasure. (smile)

Karen: You can purchase Second Chances at Amazon.com for just $2.99.

Other books by Kristie Leigh Maguire:

Affordable eBook Recommendations!

2011-02-10T04:02:00.000-08:00

Today's Recommendation:

Secrets of the Medallion: The Treasure Hunters Club, Book 1 by Sean McCartney

DESCRIPTION:

Treasure Hunting Legend...
Four Ordinary Kids...
Two Magical Medallions...
Pursued By An Ancient Evil...
In One Extraordinary Adventure.

Join the Treasure Hunters Club as they look to unlock the Secrets of the Magical Medallions.

...Some Secrets Are Better Left Alone.

When Tommy Reed received a medallion from his famous treasure hunting uncle "Diamond" Jack Reed he didn't think much of it.

Now an ancient evil is pursuing his every move and his treasure hunting club friends, Shannon McDougal, Jackson Miller and Chris Henderson are on the run.

They must unlock the secret to the medallion before evil can hunt them down.

An Amazon Customer Review:

"Secrets of the Magical Medallions will appeal to any age level child interested in adventure and history. The grown-up characters in the book present strong role models for children and the younger characters are easy for them to relate to. I am a former teacher and would have readily used this book in my classroom as a teaching tool. I bought the book for my grandchildren who are fourteen, thirteen, twelve, eleven, nine and six. I read it first to be sure that it was appropriate reading as many of todays books are not. It was refreshing to read a fast paced story line with no violence or sexual inuendos. Two of my gradchildren have finished the book and are eagerly looking forward to Mr. McCartney's next adventure book. I plan to give the book to my daughter to read to my younger grandsons knowing that they will like it."

Only $1.95!!!

Affordable Children's eBooks

2011-02-09T10:08:00.000-08:00

Today's recommendation: The Time Hunters by Carl Ashmore

DESCRIPTION:

Becky is a typical thirteen year old English girl. She likes Facebook, gossiping and plenty of sleep. So when she and her brother Joe are invited to stay with their 'loony' Uncle Percy at his stately home, she thinks it’ll be the worst summer ever. What she doesn't realise is that Bowen Hall is also home to a baby Triceratops, two Sabre-tooth tigers and the mythic hero, Will Scarlet...

'The Time Hunters' is a thrilling adventure that takes Becky, Joe, Uncle Percy and Will on a quest through time to find the legendary Golden Fleece.

The Clock is ticking....

An Amazon Customer Review:

"I read a lot of books and this is, without a shadow of a doubt, one of my recent favourites. I bought it for my grandaughter, she loved it and encouraged me to read it too. I did, and I have to say I found it absolutely terrific. We (my grandaughter and I) have talked a lot since reading this about the clever plot and characters and sincerely hope there are more books to come. Just fantastic. Well done." ("Grannyreader")

Just .99 cents!!!

Affordable Children's eBooks

2011-02-08T03:46:00.000-08:00

Today's Recommendation:

Night Camp by LC Evans

Here's an Amazon customer review:

"My son and I just finished reading "Night Camp." We started it a while ago and used it for his daily required reading. I believe he was to read at least a half hour per day for school.

This book really held my son's interest. What more could you ask for - spooky castles, caves, mysterious camp counselors, cute girls, dungeons, bats, and adventure.

I asked my son to provide his own review of the book. Here are his insights:

10 out of 10
Suspenseful
Fabulous
Interesting
A great kids book
I can't wait until she finishes Knight Camp (Me again: I have no idea if L.C. Evans is writing `Knight Camp' but my son would sure like her to.)

Great book. Thank you Ms. Evans!!"

DESCRIPTION:

A spooky graveyard. A creepy basement. A pair of coffins.
Thirteen-year-old Shane Andrews hates summer camp. When his parents allow him to choose, Shane decides to pick the worst camp he can find. Night Camp must be terrible. For one thing, activities take place at night and campers sleep during the day. That can’t be good, Shane reasons. His parents will realize Night Camp is even worse than they thought and they’ll come back to get him. Then Shane’s plans for summer freedom fall apart. His cousin Brad, a boy with a huge collection of tabloid magazines, convinces Shane that two of the camp counselors are vampires. Shane enlists the help of Brad and a girl camper named Nicole. The three set out to save themselves and the other campers. Then Shane uncovers the secret of Night Camp…

only .99 cents!!!!

Affordable Children's eBooks

2011-02-07T03:48:00.000-08:00

This week I will be featuring quality, affordable eBooks for children. I hope you find some gems!!!

Today's feature: Page Truly and the Journey to Nearandfar

DESCRIPTION:

What if … a girl and her tooth fairy flew away to the realm called Nearandfar and the girl discovered she had more power than the fairies?

Page Truly is on a mission. It won’t be easy. There will be danger. Page will have to be very brave and very smart.
It all happens one night when a sassy tooth fairy brings a borrowed wand and a big attitude to Page’s bedroom. She makes it look like a wand can do anything. That is until Page has to save Nearandfar, and discovers that a magic wand is only as powerful as the gifted one who knows how to unlock its secrets and use it wisely.
Page Truly and The Journey To Nearandfar is a fun adventure for children and adults alike. It touches on the issues of leaving childhood, accepting responsibility, relying on friends, caring for others, and being brave when it seems as if you have no power at all. As it turns out, Nearandfar is not so near but not so far either – if you have a child’s belief in dreams.

Written for ages 7 to 11, this is award-winning author L B Gschwandtner’s first novel for children.

$2.99!!!

Book and a Recipe Book Club: TESTAMENT by John Grisham

2011-02-04T06:32:00.000-08:00

I hope you all enjoyed January's Book and a Recipe Book Club hosted by Markee Anderson! Markee will be back with us on Friday, February 25th, with another GREAT recipe and fun discussion of TESTAMENT by John Grisham. This is one I haven't read, so I need to get busy!

This month I'm trying something VERY new - we'll be doing a giveaway of 1 Kindle book - winner's choice - by random drawing from all who join in the discussion! (limit of $9.99 cost or less - 1 book only)

So I hope you'll stop on by AND tell your friends too! :-)

Come to the KINDLE PARTY!!!!

2011-02-03T07:30:00.000-08:00

WHEN? Tonight, Thursday, February 3 7pm - 9 pm

WHERE? The Soundry via Livestream on your computer!!!

WHAT? Right. Good question. WHAT is a Kindle Party? Kindle/Nook/eReader owners can stop on by in person or via livestream feed and enjoy while authors read from their eBooks.

FUN? You Bet!

The authors reading tonight are:

Tonya Plank - Swallow
Lisa Leibow - Double Out and Back
LB Gschwandtner - The Naked Gardner
Laverne Thompson - author of sensual romances
Cathy Wiley - Dead to Writes
Misha Crews - Her Secret Bodyguard
Karen Cantwell - Take the Monkeys and Run
DA Spruzen - Not One of Us

I hope people will tune in and join us in this new experience for author readings!

CLICK HERE FOR LIVESTREAM

CLICK HERE for more information on The Soundry and the Kindle Party!

Giveaway Wednesday: Her Secret Bodyguard

2011-02-02T09:41:00.000-08:00

Do you love a GREAT romantic suspense? If so, you should enter this week's giveaway:

TWO lucky winners will receive a Kindle copy of Her Secret Bodyguard by Misha Crews

(I'm sorry, this book is Kindle only, so we'll only be able to give away Kindle versions)

DESCRIPTION:

When a Special Forces veteran is hired to protect a Malibu playgirl, sparks fly faster than bullets. But will they live long enough to realize they're falling in love?

In an exciting twist on her timeless tales of heart and home, author Misha Crews sets her latest story in Los Angeles, playground of former model Blake Sera. Although she's not yet thirty, jaded Blake is sure she's seen it all. Until she discovers that the man she's been been living with is up to his neck in the murky underworld of crime. When Special Forces veteran Caleb McKenna is secretly hired to protect the glamour gal, he's sure that Blake is just another pretty face whose only interests are sunning, funning and shopping till she drops. But soon he realizes that there's more to her than big blue eyes and a killer smile. Can they survive their passion? Can they survive at all?

______

And trust me, it's as good as it sounds!

So, to enter for a chance to win in this GIVEAWAY, leave a comment to this post saying that you would like to be entered, and please leave an email address. NOT TO WORRY - I don't use email addresses for anything other than notifying the winners!!!

Winners will be announced and notified Saturday, February 5th

So, START ENTERING!!!!

Book and a Recipe Book Club: ONE FOR THE MONEY by Janet Evanovich

2011-01-28T06:06:00.000-08:00

Welcome friend, author and blogger, Markee Anderson to Fiction for Dessert for our very first, "Book and a Recipe Book Club."

I'm so excited about this! I hope everyone will join in the conversation!

And now . . .

Here's Markee!

Did you hear that they’re going to make a movie from the first three of Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum stories? In honor of that amazing feat, here’s a small description of the first book, One for the Money (found here: for Kindle.)

If you haven’t read it, and you like HILARIOUS books (and I’m serious…her books get even funnier as you read more of the series), read these books. The Stephanie Plum books are the gold standard all other authors want to be compared to. There are sixteen of these books in the series so far, with other Stephanie Plum ‘between the numbers’ books also for sale.

Janet’s website is here: Evanovich.com in case you’re looking for a t-shirt from Stephanie Plum or want to play the contest (click on fun stuff at the top of her home page).

The Stephanie Plum books are primarily about Stephanie Plum and her job as a bounty hunter. She’s a 5’7”, 125-130 pound frizzy-headed brunette who lives in the ’burg,’ a blue-collar chunk of Trenton, NJ. In most of the books, she has to decide if she wants to date one of two suitors, while picking up FTAs (failure to appear) fugitives from the law. In this book, we meet Joe Morelli, a cop who’s been charged with killing an unarmed man, Lula; a woman with a passion for men; and Ranger, another expert bounty hunter. In the meantime, she runs into a crazy prizefighter named Benito Ramirez, and we meet some rather strange characters, but being from Pennsylvania myself, some of them are typical for New Jersey.

If you want to read more of the description of the book, CLICK HERE.

Stephanie Plum is a huge junk food fan. She likes cheese curls, birthday cake, and donuts, to name a few things. Here’s a quick recipe for donuts…with no yeast. I tried it the other night, making donut holes, then poured cinnamon sugar over them. They were really good!

Quick donuts:

1 egg
¼ cup brown sugar
¼ tsp. salt
½ cup half-and-half
1 ½ tsp. baking powder
1 ½ cups flour plus flour for rolling
Oil for frying

Beat egg and brown sugar.
Add salt, half-and-half, baking powder, and 1 ½ cups flour. Mix.
Roll out to ½ inch thick on floured surface, mixing in more flour if needed (I added about ¼ cup extra)
Cut out into donuts or donut holes. Let rise (about an hour).
Fry in hot oil, turning before completely browning.
Remove from oil and cool before eating, or coat with topping.

Toppings: cinnamon sugar, powdered sugar, or melted chocolate.

Now, in honor of keeping spoilers from those who haven’t read it, please keep your comments generic. Don’t give away the ending or any parts that would make a reader howl in laughter.

Feel free to share your recipes, tell us your favorite characters from the Stephanie Plum books, or tell us which man Stephanie should end up with -- Joe Morelli or Ranger? Let the conversation begin!!!!!

Character Contest Winner!!!!

2011-01-26T11:52:00.000-08:00

Back in December, I announced the "Be an Insane Character Contest" where people who left comments would be entered to win a chance to be a character in my next Barbara Marr novel, Citizen Insane.

A winner was selected randomly from the list of entrants some time ago, but I've been waiting for a good time to announce the winner.

TODAY, I am proud to announce that the winner is reader, Karen Bell!!!!

YAY!!!!

Hoorah!!!

Karen will actually appear as TWO different characters in Citizen Insane: Special Agent Bell and villain, Kiki Urbanowski (Karen's nickname and maiden name combined).

So keep your eyes out for Citizen Insane, starring Barbara Marr and Karen Bell, currently scheduled for release in May, 2011.

Next month, I'll have a cover available for preview.

What's the story behind Citizen Insane you ask?

Here's a description. Stay tuned for more.

Film lover and soccer mom, Barbara Marr, hates PTA meetings worse than movies with talking animals. Reluctantly, she attends one anyway, becomes witness to a post-PTA fracas, and decides maybe all meetings aren’t nearly as boring as she thought, when one mother threatens murder in the heat of the moment. Then, when Barb discovers the body of the threatened PTA mom . . . well, it becomes the stuff that thriller movies are made of, and as usual, Barb is caught right in the middle of the action.

Excerpt: My Perfect Wedding by Sibel Hodge

2011-01-24T03:42:00.000-08:00

It's Excerpt Monday at Fiction for Dessert, and today I'm very pleased to be posting Chapter One from the newly released romantic comedy by Sibel Hodge, My Perfect Wedding.

DESCRIPTION:
Helen Grey is finally getting everything she wants. She’s about to have the perfect dream wedding and begin an exciting new life abroad on the sunny Mediterranean island of Cyprus. But living the dream isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

After a mix-up at the airport, Helen finds herself drawn into the midst of an elaborate plot to steal an ancient statue and assassinate a local businessman. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, her wedding dress is AWOL, the statue seems to be cursed, and Helen is wanted by the police.

With the big day rapidly approaching, a roller-coaster of mishaps, misunderstandings, and disasters threatens to turn the newlyweds into nearlyweds.

Can Helen prevent an assassination, save the statue, and have the perfect wedding? Or will the day to remember turn into one she’d rather forget?

Sounds like a fun read, doesn't it?

For your reading pleasure, CHAPTER ONE of My Perfect Wedding:

The customs officer flipped open Kalem’s passport and scrutinized the photo.

I tapped my foot. Come on, come on, don’t you know we’ve got a wedding to get to? My perfect wedding, nonetheless. And on top of that, the duty-free shops were seriously calling my name. We’d already been shuffling along in the security queue for forty-five minutes like a couple of tortoises, and I could almost smell the teasing waft of bargain perfumes, designer lipsticks that stay on for three days, and bumper packs of chocolate sending out silent buy me signals in the shopping area beyond.

Luckily, we’d got to the Airport in plenty of time. Kalem wanted to check in early to try and get a seat with extra leg-room. Not that it bothered me, really. At five foot nothing, I never had a problem with being crammed in like a stuffed sausage, but Kalem’s legs were long and toned and…well, pretty damn sexy.

Kalem ran a hand through his cropped dark hair and nodded towards the passport. ‘I probably had more hair then,’ he said to the customs officer.

I giggled, remembering the frizzy out-of-control footballer’s perm he’d had when the photo was taken, which resembled my unruly curls on a good hair day.

‘I don’t think so,’ the customs officer muttered, narrowing his eyes at Kalem.

I stepped out from behind Kalem and leaned on the counter. A wave of loud tutting broke out from the queue behind me.

‘It’s a serious offence to tamper with a passport, sir,’ the customs officer said in a deadly tone, glaring at Kalem.

‘Pardon?’ Kalem’s eyes widened with surprise. ‘I can assure you that my passport hasn’t been out of my sight. And it definitely hasn’t been tampered with. If you’ll just let me show you –’ Kalem reached out his hand.

The customs officer shot his hand in the air, passport held up high, so Kalem couldn’t get anywhere near it.

‘Sorry...’ my eyes shot to his name badge, ‘Officer Head. What seems to be the problem?’ I asked, thinking he was obviously some sort of jobsworth with nothing better to do than annoy innocent travellers.

Officer Head tried the same suspicious glare on me and shot his other hand up for silence. Then he picked up a phone on the counter and whispered something into it. I heard the words ‘possible’ and ‘terrorist’ but the rest of it was inaudible.

I gulped. What was going on? This was ridiculous.

‘Right. You two will have to come with me.’ Officer Head climbed out from behind the passport control booth and marched off along the airport floor.

Another loud tutting session erupted from the group of people behind us.

I glanced at Kalem with a questioning look. ‘What’s happening?’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It’s probably just some kind of simple misunderstanding. The quicker we get this over with, the quicker we can get on with our pre-honeymoon.’ He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘And don’t say anything.’

‘What do you mean, don’t say anything? If he asks me a question, I’ll have to say something, won’t I?’

‘You know what I mean – don’t say anything ridiculous.’

Me? Ridiculous? As if.

We fell into step behind the crazy customs guy. ‘I know.’ I smirked at Kalem. ‘This is the surprise you said you’d organized, isn’t it? I bet we’re really going to be escorted to a VIP lounge, where we can drink champagne and eat those little canapé things. Ooh, great. I love those. I wonder if they’ve got those little smoked salmon rolls with the cream cheese fillings. Yum.’

‘This isn’t the surprise.’ Kalem’s forehead scrunched up into frown lines.

‘Oh, yeah, good one. I bet you’re just saying that so I’ll be even more surprised when we get there.’ I paused. ‘Well done. Good surprise.’ I giggled. Wow, this was going to be such a great start to our brand new, exciting life together.

‘It’s not,’ he hissed at me.

My jaw dropped open. ‘What do you mean, it’s not? What is it then?’ A sudden blanket of fear swept over me.

Kalem was saved from answering as we reached a door marked Customs – Private.

Officer Head punched in a security code on the keypad lock and led us into a massive rectangular interrogation room with a desk at the far end, separated by two chairs on one side and two on the other. The desk seemed miles away from the entrance, like I’d suddenly been transported into a freaky Alice in Wonderland world, where everything was out of proportion. I felt like Kalem and I had turned into tiny little munchkin-type people, but everyone and everything else was ginormous.

‘Sit,’ Officer Head barked so loud that my ear almost imploded.

We dropped down onto the hard plastic chairs. This was not good. Not good at all.

‘Another officer will be joining us shortly,’ Officer Head began, ‘but until then, I’m going to ask you some questions.’ He opened Kalem’s passport again. ‘Right. Let’s start with you.’ He looked at Kalem. ‘What is your name?’

I gazed at Officer Head, who actually looked like Mr. Potato Head – only his nose was a little less red – and panicked. My brain flickered away like a dodgy light bulb. There had to be some completely rational and normal explanation for this mix-up. I mean, yes, normal and rational weren’t words that I could usually associate with my life. I would probably describe myself more as accidentally challenged. But still, this was just a simple mix-up, surely.

‘Kalem Mustafa,’ Kalem replied.

‘Ha-ha.’ I let out a nervous laugh.

Officer Head gave me a narrow-eyed stare, then turned back to Kalem. ‘Is that your real name?’

‘Er…excuse me. Is that a trick question? It’s obvious what his name is. It’s in his passport,’ I said, not wanting to state the obvious, but someone had to do it.

Oh, I get it now. It must be a dream. Yes, that was it. Recently, I'd been having a few of those pre-wedding jittery dreams – well, more like nightmares, actually – where I turned up at the venue in front of all our guests, and my wedding dress had suddenly turned see-through. And, even worse, I'd somehow decided to have my bikini area waxed into the shape of a dartboard, complete with bullseye. This was just one of those nightmares, that was all.

I leaped off the chair. ‘Come on Kalem, let’s go.’

‘You can’t go until I say you can go,’ Officer Head insisted.

‘I can do whatever I want. It’s my dream,’ I said to him with a haughty gleam in my eye.

‘SIT DOWN,’ he shouted back at me.

I heard a loud ringing in my ear. Surely you didn’t hear ear-ringing in a dream? I pinched myself. Ow! Shit. I was still awake. I slumped back in the chair. Uh-oh. This was for real.
The door swung open and another customs official with a toilet brush crew cut walked in.

‘Richard,’ the second officer acknowledged his colleague with a tilt of his head and then turned to us. ‘I’m officer Goodbody.’ He sat down, and I heard a noise like a whoopee cushion exploding. I couldn’t tell if it was him or the chair, though.

‘Let’s start again, shall we?’ Officer Head leaned forward. ‘Is that your real name?’

Kalem swallowed. ‘Of course it’s my real name.’

I looked between the customs men with suspicion. Richard Head? Was this for real? The light bulb was back on full power now. ‘Ha! I know what’s going on.’

They both raised an intrigued eyebrow and waited for me to enlighten them.

‘No one could be called Dick Head and Officer Goodbody. It sounds like something out of a bad Seventies porn movie. This is one of those TV shows, isn’t it?’ My eyes darted around the room like a maniac, looking for any signs of hidden cameras and cabling. ‘It’s like Candid Camera, or You’ve Been Punk’d, or something. Or…I know.’ I squinted at them. ‘Are you Ant and Dec in disguise? Are we going to be on their Saturday Night Takeaway show where they’re always playing practical jokes on people?’ I leaped up and leaned over the desk, so I was inches away from their faces, examining them for signs of false noses and excessive, disguising make-up.

Kalem shot me a horrified look.

‘Give me your passport.’ Goodbody ignored my outburst and held his hand out to me.

OK then, maybe not.

I reached into my bag and handed it to him.

‘Now, where were we?’ Dick Head shuffled in his chair. ‘Ah, yes. Kalem Mustafa. I will ask you again. Is that your real name?’ He glowered at Kalem.

‘Yes.’ Kalem shot me a silencing side glance.

‘And what’s your name, hmm?’ Goodbody asked me.

‘You know what my name is; it’s on my p–’

Kalem stared at me, jerking his head towards Dick Head and Goodbody, silently willing me to just answer their questions.

I sighed. ‘Helen Mustafa.’

‘Ah ha!’ Goodbody waved my passport around. ‘It says Helen Grey here. Is this a fake passport?’

‘No! Sorry, I meant to say that my name’s going to be Helen Mustafa in six days time. We’re getting married. At the moment, I’m Helen Grey. You know how it is when a girl’s getting married: she gets a bit over-excited and starts signing her new married name for months in advance and repeating “Mrs. Mustafa” over and over again.’ I could tell by the look on his face that he didn’t have a clue what I was on about. ‘In fact…’ I glanced at my watch. ‘We’re supposed to be catching our plane in about forty-five minutes. We’re supposed to be having a few days of relaxing pre-wedding sand, sea and s… ’

‘Sharap,’ Kalem interjected.

‘Did you just tell me to shut up?’ Dick Head frowned at Kalem.

‘No, he said sharap. It’s Turkish for wine,’ I informed him. Since I’d found out that Kalem and I were going to be moving to North Cyprus, I’d desperately been trying to learn some Turkish words. So far, I’d mastered the important things like: “More wine please” and “Where are the toilets?” I could also say: “cat”, “thanks”, “very much”, “I’m full”, “cucumber”, “large”, and “melon”. It wasn’t a lot, I know, but it could make for an interesting sentence.

‘Why have you got a single plane ticket? Why aren’t you returning to the UK?’ Dick Head peered at us as if this were highly suspicious.

‘We’re moving abroad. We’re going to live the dream.’ I gave him a wistful smile as I thought about how perfect our new life was going to be.

‘What dream?’ Goodybody said.

‘You know, we’re escaping the dreary British weather and the rat race to experience life in the sunny and relaxing Mediterranean.’ Daydreams rapidly filled my head: walking hand in hand with Kalem on a sandy beach after a leisurely swim in the warm sea; sitting on our orange blossom scented, sun-baked villa terrace with a chilled glass of rosé as we watched the blazing sun set over the sea; sipping tiny cups of strong coffee in a chic waterfront café; eating succulent, freshly caught sea bass or juicy king prawns, cooked to perfection on a barbeque.

‘Your name sounds like a Muslim name. Are you a Muslim?’ Officer Head’s voice broke into my daydreams, sending me spiralling back to the reality of being stuck in a tiny, lifeless room with overpowering lights and a sweaty, stale smell. ‘Well?’ He peered at Kalem, waiting for his answer.

Kalem folded his arms casually across his chest. ‘Not really.’

‘Hmm. Not really. That’s a strange answer. What does “not really” mean?’

‘Well, my parents are Turkish Cypriot. The religion of Turkish Cypriots is Muslim, but we don’t exactly practice it or anything. Most Turkish Cypriots are relaxed in their religious practices and very tolerant of other people’s religions.’ Kalem shrugged.

I jigged my leg up and down. We were going to miss our flight. My wonderful pre-honeymoon would be ruined.

‘Is that what they told you to say?’ Goodbody leaned in closer, resting his elbows on the desk.

‘Who?’ Kalem asked.

‘Are you a member of Al-Qaeda?’ Officer Head looked deadly serious. ‘We have to be extremely vigilant these days, you know.’

‘What?’ Kalem blustered. ‘Of course not!’

‘Where are you travelling to?’ Goodbody wanted to know.

‘North Cyprus,’ I said, jigging harder. ‘We’ll miss our flight if you keep us here any longer. What’s going on?’ I whined, feeling my heart bouncing around in my chest. I was going to have a panic attack in a minute. Maybe if I fainted, they would let us go. I slouched down further in my chair, so I wouldn’t have as far to fall if I hit the ground.

‘Are you a suicide bomber?’ Dick Head growled at Kalem.

‘He’s a teacher!’ I cried.

‘And who do you teach? Terrorist cells?’ Dick Head beamed with excitement at Officer Goodbody.

‘I think we’ve got one of the Al-Qaeda’s main men here.’
Kalem shook his head in amazement. ‘I teach woodcarving and sculpture!’

‘Is that a code name of some sort?’ Goodbody asked Dick Head. ‘I seem to recall one of the Bin Laden breakaway groups had a code name like that. What was it now?’ He scratched his toilet brush head, deep in concentration. ‘Ah yes! The Splinter Group.’

‘I haven’t heard of that one before.’ Dick Head frowned. ‘But it’s possible. Woodcarving… splinter…yes, it sounds possible to me.’

‘Why are we here?’ I furrowed my brow and gazed at both of them, interrupting what seemed like the most surreal conversation I’d ever heard in my life.

Dick Head ignored my question and stood up. ‘Hand over your bags, please. I want to take a look inside.’

I gave him mine. Kalem lifted his rucksack and put it on the table in front of us.
Goodbody rummaged around in my bag with interest and then pulled out my camera. ‘Why do you need such a big camera? Are you going to be taking surveillance photos?’

‘I’m a photographer,’ I said.

‘Hmm. A likely story.’ Goodbody’s eyebrow shot up.

Dick Head started on Kalem’s rucksack, pulling out a book, a couple of apples, and a tub of edible chocolate body paint. He held up the body paint to Kalem. ‘What’s this?’ He unscrewed the lid and glared at it as if it were packed full of Semtex.

Kalem shrugged. ‘Well, it is going to be our pre-honeymoon.’

I felt my insides turn to goo. He still had that effect on me. Oh, yes, bring on the chocolate body paint!

‘Was that the surprise you were talking about?’ I said to Kalem, turning my head away from the customs men who were busy scouring our bags for hidden compartments.

Satisfied there was no Semtex, suspicious looking shoes, or packets of nails in our hand luggage, they returned their attention to us.

‘We’re going to miss our flight.’ I looked at my watch again, desperately hoping they’d hurry up.

‘Why has your passport been tampered with?’ Dick Head asked Kalem again.

‘It hasn’t,’ Kalem insisted.

‘Well what do you call that then?’ Dick Head turned the passport around to face Kalem.

I gulped and my brain did a silent mental shriek. ‘Oops,’ I squeaked, suddenly feeling nauseous.

Kalem stared at the photo section on his passport. The picture of a footballer-permed Kalem had been replaced with a picture of an old, fat, bald man with huge black square glasses.
‘I think I’m going to pass out,’ I muttered. If I caused a distraction, maybe we could just make a run for it.

‘What’s that?’ Kalem gasped, turning his head slowly to me with dread.

Dick Head and Goodbody gave me an icy glare.

‘Ah,’ I croaked. It was all my fault. How was I going to explain this one?

‘Well?’ they said in unison.

‘Erm…well…what happened was…Kalem is always playing practical jokes on me,’ I paused, thinking how this was going to sound. ‘Anyway, about four months ago I bought this hair dye…’

Goodbody snorted.

‘What does hair dye have to do with this?’ Dick Head growled.

‘It’s very relevant, actually,’ I started again, running a shaky hand through my hair. ‘So, I bought this hair dye, and when I got it home, I realized I didn’t like the colour.’ My eyes darted to Kalem, who gawped at me. ‘A few days later, I took it back to the shop and asked the woman at the counter if I could return it. But when she took the box back off me, she stared at it for a while with a puzzled look and then turned it around to show me.’
Dick Head and Goodbody had deadly straight faces.

‘Do go on. This is thoroughly enlightening,’ Goodbody said in a voice that clearly meant it wasn’t at all.

‘Well, that was when I noticed that someone had drawn a moustache and beard on the picture of the woman on the front of the box.’ I narrowed my eyes at Kalem, who chuckled under his breath, remembering.

‘Anyway, I was really embarrassed and had to pretend that it must have been like that in the shop when I’d bought it.’

‘Is there a point to this?’ Goodbody asked, glancing at his watch.

‘I wanted to get Kalem back, and I knew he was going to the building society a few days later to get some money out, and he needed to take some ID. He can never find his driving licence, so he always takes his passport,’ I paused. ‘Because I’m a photographer, obviously I’ve got loads of old photos lying around, so I thought it would be really funny to pay him back for all the practical jokes he plays on me. I found this photo, cut it out, then stuck it over his passport photo with removable adhesive and put it back in the drawer. Then, of course, I forgot all about it.’ I tried to swallow, but my throat felt like I’d swallowed a Brillo Pad. ‘Until now.’ I tucked my hair behind my ears with shaky hands.

Kalem coughed. ‘Actually, I managed to find my driving licence and took that to the building society instead.’

I cast him a sheepish look. ‘Yes, I realize that now.’

‘You see! This is all perfectly innocent,’ Kalem said to Dick Head and Goodbody. ‘Can we go now?’

‘Not yet. Are you a Muslim too?’ Goodbody asked me.

‘No, I’m not a Muslim,’ I said.

A confused glance passed between Dick Head and Goodbody. ‘Well you certainly look like one. Can you please explain why you’re wearing a burka if you’re not Muslim,’ Goodbody asked me.
I glanced down at the floor length, head-to-toe black burka that I’d almost forgotten I was wearing. Even if the rest of the stuff sounded slightly odd, there was at least a perfectly reasonable explanation for this.

‘Well, there’s an ancient tradition with Turkish Cypriot families. When a new bride-to-be arrives in North Cyprus to get married, it’s good luck for her to be wearing a burka, isn’t it?’ I glanced at Kalem, willing him to explain this peculiar custom further. Instead, he kind of gave me a small shake of his head, and his jaw dropped.

Oh, God. I recognized that look. There was no such custom. This was another one of his wind-Helen-up practical jokes. If they could’ve seen my face, which of course they couldn’t because I only had a two inch rectangular slit for my eyes, they would’ve seen it completely drain of colour. Luckily, they accepted this explanation, and neither of the customs officers seemed to notice that my eyelids had just pinged open in surprise or that Kalem’s face had turned a scorching-hot shade of pink.

Dick Head picked at the adhesive on Kalem’s passport photo and pulled it off, examining the official picture of Kalem underneath. ‘What do you think?’ He handed the passport to Goodbody.
‘Mmm.’ Goodbody scrutinized it. ‘It looks legitimate.’ He sounded disappointed.
‘That’s a shame,’ Dick Head huffed and turned to Officer Goodbody, frowning. ‘Seems like we’ll miss out on our CAT bonus.’

‘What’s that?’ Kalem asked.

‘Catch-a-terrorist bonus,’ Dick Head grumbled at us. It was clear from the look on his face that he’d already worked out what he was going to spend it on.

‘Can we go now?’ I pleaded.

‘OK,’ Goodbody said with much reluctance. ‘But don’t let this happen again.’

‘Thanks, Dick.’ I yanked Kalem’s arm and hurried him away to catch our plane before they changed their minds.

We arrived at the gate with minutes to spare, just as a rather harassed looking baggage handler was about to search for our luggage to offload.

OK, maybe this wasn’t exactly the kind of start to our perfect life together that I had in mind, and one day I was actually going to laugh about this, but I couldn’t allow myself to relax until we were sitting in our allocated seats and the plane was taxiing down the runway. We were on our way to an exciting destination, full of possibilities. Living a life abroad that most people just dreamed about but never got to experience. An amazing adventure that nothing was going to spoil.

Nothing will spoil my wedding. Nothing will spoil my wedding. Nothing will spoil my wedding.
Or so I thought.

Copyright © Sibel Hodge 2011
__________

Sibel Hodge has dual British/Turkish Cypriot nationality, dividing her time between Hertfordshire and North Cyprus. She is a qualified personal trainer, sports and massage therapist, and writes freelance feature articles on health, fitness, and various lifetyle subjects. Prior to this, she also worked for Hertfordshire Constabulary for ten years.

Her first novel, Fourteen Days Later, was short listed for the Harry Bowling Prize 2008 and received a highly commended by the Yeovil Literary Prize 2009. It is a romantic comedy with a unique infusion of British and Turkish Cypriot culture. Written in a similar style to Catherine Alliott and Marian Keyes, Fourteen Days Later is My Big Fat Greek Wedding meets P.S. I Love You.

The Fashion Police is her second novel and is the first in a series featuring feisty, larger-than-life insurance investigator, Amber Fox. It is a screwball comedy-mystery, combining murder and mayhem with romance and chick-lit. Written in a similar style to Janet Evanovich, The Fashion Police is Stephanie Plum meets Bridget Jones.

My Perfect Wedding is her third novel and the sequel to Fourteen Days Later. To learn more about Sibel and her works visit her website
Sibel Hodge.com.

Other books by Sibel Hodge:

SNEAK PREVIEW

2011-01-22T08:38:00.000-08:00

I thought I'd take this day to give a little sneak preview of my current work-in-progress -- a novel co-authored with friend and fellow writer, LB Gschwandtner:

Foxy's Tale

So far, we're calling it a humorous, chicklit YA, women's fiction, vampire mystery.

Hey, we're covering all bases.

Here's a little description:

Antique shop owner, Foxy Anders has problems. So does her teen-aged daughter, Amanda who likes to blog about her biggest problem – Foxy. And shoe-loving, stylish Knot, who has just rented Foxy’s basement apartment – he’s a master at creating his own problems. They’re a quirky threesome to be sure, but when the mysterious, bumbling, Yiddish-speaking Myron Standlish arrives on the scene, desperately seeking his long-long-long-lost steamer trunk, he brings along his own set of problems, larger and stranger than all of theirs put together. Oy vey. How will Myron’s search and discovery affect their lives? Well. . . that’s Foxy’s Tale.

Keep on the lookout for Foxy's Tale, April of 2011 on Kindle and Nook.

Other books by Karen Cantwell and LB Gschwandtner:

Author Interview: Drabble and Short Story Writer, Michael Crane

2011-01-21T05:38:00.000-08:00

I have a confession to make: I have a dark sense of humor.

And of course, it's no secret I love great writing.

So when I met author Michael Crane at a reader's and writer's forum at Amazon, I just had to have him at Fiction for Dessert to talk about and share some of his DRABBLES.

What's a DRABBLE?

I'll let him tell you . . .

K: Welcome to Fiction for Dessert, Michael. I’m excited that you are here sharing some of your 100 word shorts with my readers.

M: Thanks so much, Karen! I’m honored to be here.

K: How long have you been writing 100 word short stories?

M: Actually, I just started to write them back in October. I had never attempted them before then. I’ve done short-shorts before, but nothing like this. I think that’s one of the reasons I’m so shocked by how well LESSONS AND OTHER MORBID DRABBLES is doing.

K: Why 100 words?

M: There was an online contest awhile back on Kindleboards where you had to write a story using only 55 words, if I’m not mistaken. The title didn’t count, so long as it wasn’t very long. I participated and had a blast. It was a challenge, but it was so much fun. The great thing about a story being that short is that it doesn’t overstay its welcome. That’s always a fear of mine. That a story will go on for too long.

When I mentioned that I took part in the contest, Mary McDonald (author of NO GOOD DEED) asked me if I ever tried to write a drabble, which is a story that is only 100 words long. I never did, but I have read a couple of them. Mainly, from David McAfee’s excellent collection, THE LAKE AND 17 OTHER STORIES. I was really intrigued by the idea, so I wanted to try it out. With it being October at the time, I thought I would do horror, sticking to a Halloween theme. I thought I’d only be able to come up with one or two, and then I’d put them up on Smashwords for free… but to my surprise, I couldn’t stop myself once I started! I was having way too much fun writing them.

I figured if I could get at least 25 done, then that would make a good collection to put up on Amazon. Of course, I worked on this very quickly since I wanted to get it done before Halloween. This was all done within a month, miraculously. It was a crunch, but I pulled it off. It was thrilling to write something that was completely different from what I normally write. It’s one of the exciting things about being a writer. Trying out new things, see what works and what doesn’t. LESSONS worked, Thank God.

K: I love these stories – they are darkly humorous. I know you write other short stories as well – are they all on the dark side, or do you write different types of fiction?

M: Thanks, Karen! It means a lot coming from you. I do tend to write dark stories, but usually they’re focused on human drama. I love to write slice-of-life type stories. Raymond Carver and Richard Yates were HUGE influences on me. I just love to take an ordinary situation and see how the characters react to it. My short story collection IN DECLINE mostly deals with tragic stories about everyday things—addiction, heartbreak, lies etc. I still try to add a bit of humor to them, as well. But LESSONS is a completely different beast. I’ve never written anything like it. Think that’s why I was nervous when I first published it—and then overwhelmed by the praises and success of it.

And that’s why I decided to do a follow-up: LESSONS II: ANOTHER MORBID DRABBLE COLLECTION. I was a bit hesitant to do it at first. I was afraid people wouldn’t like it as much as the first one, but that’s a risk you have to take as a writer. My love will always be writing about human drama, but I can’t deny that I’ve stumbled onto something new for me. The 100-word stories have worked for me so far, so I can’t turn my back on them.

I’m also proud to be a part of two short story anthologies/collections. My drabble, “Apology” from LESSONS appeared in David McAfee’s A POUND OF FLASH. A completely new short story of mine also appeared in A LAND OF ASH by David Dalglish, and I’m featured with a bunch of insanely talented authors. That story was fun to do, because it was going back to my roots with human drama, much like with IN DECLINE.

K: As my readers know, I’m a huge fan of short fiction both to read and to write. What particular challenges do you find in writing short stories?

M: I don’t find them as challenging as writing a full length novel. As I mentioned before, one of my biggest fears is that a story will somehow outstay its welcome. Sometimes the execution can be the biggest obstacle. You can have a great idea, but it means nothing if you can’t execute it properly.

The real challenge of short stories and short story collections is selling them. Surprisingly, a lot of people don’t like to read them. That’s something I’ve learned. I can understand. I think people want something that’s longer. I’m the opposite. I have such a short attention span that short stories are the best for me to read. It’s hard for me to commit to a novel at times. Even if it’s good!

K: Is there a novel in your future?

M: Right now, I am working on a novella, although the drabbles have kind of gotten in the way. But that’s not a bad thing. You have to go with what’s working at the moment. The novella I’m working on is GOODMAN’S BAD DAY. It’s something I’ve been working on for years. I never got around to finishing it when I was at college, so after I discovered eBook indie publishing, I ended up completely re-writing what I had. I’m close to finishing the first draft, but as I said, I get easily distracted!

K: Thank you so much, Michael, for stopping by Fiction for Dessert and for sharing your “drabbles.” I’m a big fan of your work. Maybe you’ll stop by again sometime and share a bit of a short story?

M: It’d be my pleasure, Karen! You know how to get in touch with me. I doubt you’ll have to drag me kicking and screaming! This has been a real honor, and I’m glad I was able to entertain you with my writing. I love it when I hear positive feedback from readers, and to receive it from a fellow author makes me very happy.

Michael has been gracious enough to share a few of his DRABBLES from both collections. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do!

BEDTIME

“There isn’t a monster under your bed,” Daddy says.
“Is so.”
“Bradley, I’m not going to let you stay up late because you’re making up stories about monsters and whatnot,” he says, folding his arms and frowning.
“Look under there, and if there isn’t a monster I’ll go to sleep.”
Daddy laughs and shakes his head. “Fine. If that’ll make you feel better.” He gets down on his knees and sticks his head underneath my bed.
Then there’s a scream and a loud chomping noise. I see the color red spill on the floor…
Daddy doesn’t have a head anymore.

APOLOGY

Chucky gave his mother the evil eye as he sat on the bed. His arms were folded and he gave a wicked scowl.
“Sweetie, I know you’re mad at me,” she said.
He huffed and his eyebrows became one.
“You’re right to be mad. I’m mad at myself, too. I hope you can forgive me.”
Chucky said nothing as he continued to stare. His lips closed tightly, forming a straight line.
“I swear, next time you tell me there’s a monster in your closet, I’ll believe you.”
He looked down at the stump, where his right leg used to be.

DETENTION

Joseph’s arm hurt from writing, Ms. Elroy is not a monster a hundred times on the chalkboard. He tried to stretch, but he only felt pain.
Old Ms. Elroy and her funny glasses stared at him. “Have we learned our lesson?”
“Yes.”
“And that is?”
“That you’re not a monster?”
“That’s right.”
“Can I go home now?” he asked.
She gave an answer by growing yellow, sharp fangs. Her eyes became blood-red.
“Go?” she hissed. “But you’ll miss the fun!”

GUEST

“Help! Let me in, Dan!”
I open the door and see that George’s eyes are all big and wide, like he’s seen a ghost.
“What’s wrong?”
“Billy and his goons are chasing me! Might’ve called them a few names or something. I need shelter!”
I let him in and look outside for a moment to see if they’re around, but there isn’t anybody out there. Were they hiding?
It’s after I close the door that I feel sharp teeth biting into my neck.
The last thing I hear George say is, “Sorry, Danny. Needed you to invite me in somehow.”

FOOLISH

His wife was screaming about zombies. How retarded was that?
“There’s no such thing, Ellen. Calm the hell down.”
“They’re here! They’re on their way here!” she screamed as she gripped his arm, with her nails digging into his flesh.
“Ouch, goddammit! You’ve watched too many horror movies. They aren’t real.”
“But I saw one!” she shouted. Her nails dug deeper into his arm.
He shook her off. “Probably some homeless bum. Trust me, there ain’t no zombies.”
Cliff thought his wife was bat-shit crazy. That is, until she turned into one.
Now, he doesn’t do much thinking at all.
__________

Michael Crane is an indie author and scribbler of inane babble that can sometimes end up as stories. He went to Columbia College Chicago where he earned a BA in Fiction Writing. He is the author of IN DECLINE and LESSONS AND OTHER MORBID DRABBLES, and he also might've written two books while he was in high school, but he refuses to own up to them and that's why they aren't included on this page. His work has appeared in A POUND OF FLASH by David McAfee, and A LAND OF ASH by David Dalglish. He lives in Illinois and is always trying to work on something new, unless he's battling stupid writer's block.

Some of his favorite writers are Raymond Carver, Richard Yates, Kurt Vonnegut, Chuck Palahniuk, Bret Easton Ellis and Hunter S. Thompson. You can learn more about his works by visiting his AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE.

I have also had the pleasure of reading some of Michael's short stories from his other collections and recommend them highly as I am truly a fan!

Other works by Michael Crane:

Interview with Author Linda Prather

2011-01-20T03:29:00.000-08:00

I'm currently reading a page-turning paranormal mystery-thriller, The Gifts, by Linda Prather. I've been so taken by the writing and the story, that I asked Linda to stop by today for an interview about her Jacody Ives Mystery Series as well as her plans for future works.

K: Welcome to Fiction for Dessert, Linda. Thank you for spending this time to talk about your works.

L: Thank you for having me, Karen.

K: You have two novels out now, The Gifts and Sacred Secrets, both of which are Jacody Ives Mysteries. I’m reading The Gifts now and love it – the writing and story are compelling. Can you tell readers about the Jacody Ives series and how you were inspired to write them?

L: I've always been something of an amateur sleuth and loved following clues and figuring things out. The best mysteries to me were the ones that kept me guessing all the way to the end. I wanted to combine that type of mystery with my love of metaphysics and create a somewhat psychic character and show that being psychic didn't give you supernatural powers. In fact, it was often just the opposite because you never really knew if what you were seeing, hearing or feeling was true until after it happened. This leaves most psychics with a feeling of helplessness or frustration. From there I created Gavin McAllister/Jacody Ives. Once the character was created the story for The Gifts just flowed from beginning to end, and I would have to say that I was probably as shocked as anyone at some of the character twists and turns in that book. It truly was character written.

Sacred Secrets was written from reader requests. People wanted to know more about the split between Gavin McAllister and Jacody Ives and what caused it. So Sacred is actually the story behind the story, which must have been somewhere in my mind when I wrote The Gifts, because it too flowed easily from beginning to end.

K: Do you have a third book planned for this series?

L There are two more books planned in this series which hopefully will be released at the same time as the third book ends with a cliff hanger leading up to the fourth and I don't want readers to have to wait a year or longer to know what happens.

K: In real life, you are a paranormal investigator, which I personally find fascinating. Have you always been interested in the paranormal and can you talk a little about what it means to be a paranormal investigator?

L: Research for the third Jacody Ives Mystery led me to my interest in paranormal investigation. I've always believed that spirits and/or ghosts existed, and could on some levels communicate with us. I've studied and been tested as a psychic myself, and participated in some medium study. The third book includes a paranormal investigation group and I needed to know what they did, how they did it and why. During my quest for knowledge I met several wonderful people who led me through the process of the scientific investigations and the equipment used for those investigations. After a lot of work I earned the title paranormal investigator and still participate in investigations throughout the state of Kentucky and occasionally investigations in other states.

Being a paranormal investigator literally means trying to prove through undisputed scientific evidence that something alleged to be paranormal actually is paranormal. You first have to rule out every possible normal explanation, and even then you may not be able to prove one hundred percent that something paranormal exists. It means watching hours upon hours of blank video and listening to hours upon hours of audio. And when you do find something possibly abnormal you compare that to every other piece of audio, video or photographic evidence in an effort to first debunk it and if you can't debunk it then you attempt to authenticate it. It can be very boring, but at times also very exciting. Out of the hundreds of investigations I've attended only two have produced things I could not debunk, although I could not one hundred percent authenticate them either.

K: Many writers find it hard, once they’ve written within a certain genre, to step out of that genre and write with a different type of voice. Do you think you’ll write outside of the mystery genre, and if so, what?

L: Good question, Karen, and it came at a good time because I just started a book that is totally outside my normal style and voice. I have no idea where it came from, but I have enjoyed writing it. I shipped it off to several of my regular readers asking them if I should continue or give it up. They all agreed unanimously that they loved the voice and wanted to read more. I'm hoping to finish this in first draft form within the next three months. My biggest fear is that my mystery readers won't like it. It will have some aspects of a mystery to it, but it's written in first person not third which is my normal writing style. I’m a little scared of that and the challenges in marketing that it may present.

K: Would you be willing to share a little preview?

L: Love to. Here's a portion of Chapter One.

CHAPTER ONE

You grow up poor you've got to wonder if God's got a sense of humor. All the crap life throws at you. And He gives you mothers. It's kind of like that guy Brandon Lee said in the movie The Crow--"Mother is the name for God on the lips and hearts of all children."
He got that right. My momma wasn't just a good woman. She was a Saint. Somehow she managed to raise four kids on a waitress' salary. And three of them turned out pretty good. Or would have, but that's another story.

Sometimes when I'm thinking about momma I have to wonder if she knew about God's sense of humor. She read us the good book every night, but she never said nothing about no sense of humor. Still, she had to know something. I mean, after three girls she got me. She had to figure God was up to something.

I’m Jake Savior, and yeah you might as well go ahead and laugh. Everybody else does. My clients are always telling me God's got a sense of humor. The people looking for me weren't looking for a savior. They were mostly searching the want ads for killer for hire. That's me. For the right price I put a lot of people out of other people's misery. Heck, I even done some for free. Some people deserve to die, and being the nice guy I am, I gladly obliged them.
But I'm digressing. Let's get back to God's sense of humor.

I'd had a pretty good day. Won a few bucks on the horse races. Did a little charity work by ridding the world of one more piece of garbage. The courts seen fit to let a pedophile go--I didn't. So I was feeling pretty good about myself, except I was out of cigarettes.
Now anyone that knows me knows I love a good smoke. Last count I was up to five packs a day. Momma always said those thing were going to kill me. Turns out she was right.

Only a die-hard smoker goes out at 2:00 a.m. for smokes. Especially since all the safe places close down early, leaving only a few gas stations and convenience stores open at that hour. Still, I was willing to take my chances. It was too damn cold for thieves to be out and I really, really wanted that last cigarette before I turned the lights out and called it a day.
You've probably already concluded that I'm a smart ass bastard that beats my own drum. Some people will smoke anything. Not me. I'm a strict Kentucky Red's Best smoker. Which means whether I liked it or not I was gonna have to hoof it over to Winchester Road at this time of night. Not everybody carried Red's Best.

Being the cautious person I am, I scouted the parking lot and looked inside for milling customers. No cars and only one customer at the counter. I quickly ascertained he was one of the good guys like me, needing that last deep drag to calm his nerves before he called it a night. Boy was I wrong. Wrong place, wrong time and wrong guy. Five minutes after I entered the door of the Shaky Seven Gas to Go bullets started flying.

I've always heard that your life passes before your eyes when you're dying. Trust me, that's all bull. My last vision was that pack of Red's Best I held in my hand, and my last thought was how good that cigarette was gonna taste as soon as I got outside. Of course, that wouldn't have surprised anyone who really knew me. It wasn't any big surprise to me. I was surprised though. Having listened to momma all those years and growing up with three sisters extolling virtues that I never needed or wanted, I was expecting either that bright light to take me to Heaven, or most likely in my case, a little fire and brimstone trail leading to Hell. That didn't happen either.
# # #

K: Wonderful! I look forward to seeing the finished product. If readers want to learn more about you and your books, do you have a website or blog for them to visit?

L: I have both, and they can drop by and check out samples of both The Gifts and Sacred Secrets, or just catch up on what I'm up to now. My blog is: Jacody Press and my website is: Prather-Author.com

K: Thank you for your time today, Linda!

L: Thank you for having me, Karen.

If you like a really well-written, powerful mystery with strong characters, I highly recommend The Gifts.

Excerpt: Second Chances by Valerie Maarten

2011-01-19T03:27:00.000-08:00

SOMETIMES WHEN YOU ARE FACED WITH THE REALITIES OF LIFE…
Kadi Crowe has spent her entire life believing in the innocence of her father, convicted of murder. But could she prove it?
ONLY TO BE BURDENED BY THE HARSHNESS AND BITTERNESS OF HATRED…
Dain McKnight waited for the day to come when he could wield his own brand of justice. The only justice he believed fitting for a cold-blooded killer.
MERCIFUL FATE WOULD STEP IN AND OFFER SECOND CHANCES…

That is today's excerpt - romantic tale, Second Chances by Valerie Maarten:

Hanna tucked Little Kadi Crowe in her bed and told her one of her favorite bedtime stories, but before she got to the end of the tale Kadi was fast asleep…a serene smile on her cherub-looking face. Kadi always loved a story with a happily ever after.

Hanna leaned over and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. Of all the children she’s babysat for over the years, she loved Little Kadi the most. Kadi was kind, considerate and compassionate and she was adored her spirit.

She looked down at the sleeping child. Her heart swelled with pride knowing that in a small way she was responsible for what type of woman Kadi was going to become. And Hanna wanted great things for her…and one day she wanted her to have her own personal happily ever after.

Hanna turned off the light and left Kadi to her pleasant dreams. In just a little while Mr. & Mrs. Crowe would be coming home, so she only had a short time to do what needed to be done. Something that becoming harder and harder to put off.

She picked up the phone.

“Hello.”

Hanna’s heart thundered in her chest. She wasn’t sure if it was merely anticipation or trepidation. At this moment, it was probably a mixture of the two.

“Hey Bobby, it’s Hanna,” she said.

There was an uncomfortably long pause on the other end of the phone before he spoke. “What’s up?”

Dread…that’s what Hanna was feeling right now. She knew she loved Bobby, but she wasn’t sure how he felt about her…truly felt.

Sure he said he loved her in the heat of passion, but did he mean his words now when his true feelings were about to be tested. Or, was he just confused as he said before? She needed to know…she was desperate to know. Now more than ever.

“We need to talk,” she said.

She held her breath. She had come to learn that he did not appreciate being told what to do, but she hoped that he would hear her desperation and concede to see her…to hear her out.

Bobby blew into the phone in exacerbation. “Hanna, we’ve been through all of this before. There’s nothing else left to say. Why can’t you just let it go and move on?”

He was referring to their recent break up. A break up that he insisted upon when he began dating someone else. Hanna’s ire rose at the thought of the other girl that took her place and though she didn’t know her, she hated her just the same.

In that moment she didn’t care about Bobby’s vile temper or his penchant towards violent rages. She wanted to hurt him like he had hurt her.

“Well, you had better talk to me or everyone, including your new girlfriend, is going to know that you’re going to be a father,” Hanna threatened.

Though her words came out harsh, she didn’t mean them. Right now, she was speaking from the sense of pain and betrayal that she was feeling. Yet, her words did catch his attention. He was listening now.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Are you threatening me?” His tone changed from a bland curiosity to a bone-chilling coldness.

“N..no. I’m not threatening you. I just think we need to talk about…”

He cut her off. “Meet me at the park at ten o’clock tonight.” He said this in a deadly calm voice. “And don’t keep me waiting.”

********

The next morning, the gossip was rampant about the young girl’s body that was found brutally and savagely beaten to death in the local park. It was called a crime of passion.

Yet, it wasn’t long before the Crowe’s learned the identity of the girl that was splashed across the news all morning. They were one of the first families that were interviewed after the tragic news was broken to the McKnight family. Hanna McKnight had met with a vicious and violent end. The nature of the crime was enough to unnerve the most hardened law enforcement agents.

“Mr. Crowe, you were the last person to see Hanna alive. Are you sure she never said anything about meeting with someone after you dropped her off?” The Detective asked for, what seemed like the millionth time.

“She never said anything. Like I said earlier, I dropped her off at her house like I do every time she babysits for us.

“Did you wait to see if she went into the house to make sure she arrived safely inside?”

Ryan Crowe closed his eyes, trying to remember, but nothing stood out in his mind. He could see the pleasant but strained smile on Hanna’s face as she bounded up the front stairs…then she turned and waved. That’s when he drove off. He didn’t remember her going into the house. Did she ever go into the house?

“I don’t remember her going inside,” Ryan Crowe finally said, a faraway look in his eyes. “I remembered that she waved and I drove off.

The Detective looked at the other Detective in the room, his eyes displaying nothing, except to his partner that learned to read his unspoken thoughts over the years.

They both got up and left Ryan Crowe in the small room…alone.

“What do you think?” The lead investigator asked.

“He’s hiding something. He was the last one to see her alive and I don’t believe his story that she waved and went into the house. Even her mother said she never made it home because she waited up for her.”

“What about the boyfriend? Do you believe his story?”

He thought about it for a moment. “Yeah. His mother seemed credible enough and what reason would he have to beat her to death. From what he’s said, they were already broken up and seeing other people. I think we can let him go. Mr. Crowe on the other hand has some serious explaining to do.”

********

Three days after the funeral an announcement was made that the police were close to making an arrest in the case of Hanna McKnight’s murder. On the fourth day, the police came knocking on the door of Ryan Crowe, charging him with her murder and hauling him away from his hysterical wife and wailing daughter in handcuffs.

Six months later, in a packed courtroom full of news media, family and spectators, he was convicted and sentenced to twenty years in prison. He never said a word in his defense, believing that justice would prevail. His wife could be heard bawling in the distance…the McKnight family could be heard crying silently as the sentence was read.

It was a thirteen year old Dain McKnight that broke through the quiet order of the court. His outburst was a startling revelation of the anguish felt by his entire family…voiced by him.

“I’M GOING TO KILL YOU! I don’t care how long it takes. As soon as they let your miserable ass out of jail, I’ll be waiting…and when you next see me, I will be the last person you’ll ever see. I hate you! I will never forgive you! You’re going to pay for what you did…do you hear me? You’re going to pay with your own miserable life.”

Dain McKnight made his declaration as he was being ushered out, by force, by the bailiff and his distraught father. It was a promise and a rage that would grow and fester inside him and he would carry for the next twenty years like a cancer eating away at his humanity.

And he waited…and waited, until…
_______

What readers are saying: "I was sitting at lunch with my arms around myself only letting go to turn the page on my Kindle. Sigh. When I got to the end without bloodshed, I went home and re-read the end so I could write this review. It was a very good book. I enjoyed weeping over it, being terrified by parts of it, and loving Dain, Kadi’s knight." - Teresa Miller

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