tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1331323091243751192024-03-17T23:03:59.157-04:00WordWranglersMargiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03843006118151762550noreply@blogger.comBlogger2609125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-133132309124375119.post-42204327520657131342024-03-16T01:30:00.021-04:002024-03-16T01:30:00.142-04:00March Blues by Jana Richards<p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh62Kpt7ORTz3EZYzD56tXiKY_jU_e3lCbYnzY5dSRPhGRE1BOp6_Rd79klYXvVV5ewDCRkb0qJjqxuQIDQSlJiAw14okj2jGVnZ6ZIH8yPVl1s5WEyak7lz4NXSJQaO7RnLAvJTQyfTw37o1ltJmv2BkbiLiZ955t9WU12sSwwxWTi0-OB59XF7eciXss/s4080/March%202024%202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4080" data-original-width="3060" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh62Kpt7ORTz3EZYzD56tXiKY_jU_e3lCbYnzY5dSRPhGRE1BOp6_Rd79klYXvVV5ewDCRkb0qJjqxuQIDQSlJiAw14okj2jGVnZ6ZIH8yPVl1s5WEyak7lz4NXSJQaO7RnLAvJTQyfTw37o1ltJmv2BkbiLiZ955t9WU12sSwwxWTi0-OB59XF7eciXss/s320/March%202024%202.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">March - wet, dirty snow. Yuck!</td></tr></tbody></table>I’ve spent most of this month—and most of January and February—hunkered down in my writing cave. I’m working on a three-book time travel romance (with angels) and it’s a big project. Or at least it feels big and overwhelming right now. I’ve got a decent first draft of the first book completed and it’s with my editor. I’m working on book two right now and I’m feeling something of a sophomore slump. This has happened to me before with the second book in a series. I have a clear vision for the first book and I know how I want the series to end, but number two? Yes, I know what has to happen in this book, but at the moment it’s not coming easily. </p><p>I blame it on winter. Even though temperatures have been above average this winter and not nearly as harsh as usually, I’m so ready for winter to end. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX5cI5NPLsMbF6Ak72v7AqD0lxnFPmAwV_XZY_7JmVQ4UcCGv7cu-NIz9ocNKy3hAVnio_2hIZMHNK7TEiGACPiTh5vzz3Uzg4My7O64AORstaLoXTKlYcb0_xnXwZqbRlLmJ9Uf__UYstV3FKQrL8uvolC3WPabtVu3-JkoeyWlqnYPM3WMOQJpRwnmY/s4080/March%202024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4080" data-original-width="3060" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX5cI5NPLsMbF6Ak72v7AqD0lxnFPmAwV_XZY_7JmVQ4UcCGv7cu-NIz9ocNKy3hAVnio_2hIZMHNK7TEiGACPiTh5vzz3Uzg4My7O64AORstaLoXTKlYcb0_xnXwZqbRlLmJ9Uf__UYstV3FKQrL8uvolC3WPabtVu3-JkoeyWlqnYPM3WMOQJpRwnmY/s320/March%202024.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sidewalk is a lake, when it's not a ice rink.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Perhaps I need a change in venue. Luckily, I’ll be getting a couple of changes later this month. The last week in March, my husband and I are going to Las Vegas. Neither of us has ever been and we decided a trip to Vegas is something we want to experience, at least once. We’ll see some shows, eat great food and experience a lot of desert sunshine. I’m especially looking forward to a little warmth. My hope is that a break and some R and R will reinvigorate me, and my writing.</p><p>My second change in venue happens almost as soon as we get back from Vegas. My friend and I found a venue nearby where we can have a writing retreat at a reasonable price. We’re going to spend a couple of days there starting March 31. I’m really looking forward to it. Even though I’m retired and, in theory, I should have all the time in the world to write, it never seems to work that way. I get distracted by other things I *should* be doing. For two days, the only thing I’m going to think about is my story. </p><p>I can’t wait to shake off these March blues! What do you do to get rid of the winter doldrum?</p>Jana Richardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16624650840243322617noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-133132309124375119.post-33600323160128205232024-03-13T11:36:00.000-04:002024-03-13T11:36:27.368-04:00Evolution of an Idea<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw5bECsSAwtQNbPX-4g9_1r4k07ljnqBx9QlwN1lJLA5_CtGOVcqEfl7LV2jq6QKX8hdFO5fxvBbr_fvuAJgGxe3uguSsOMNgLWcmNa-zPehnz3gTN9iTJ3NPbNudRdSPhLeoLwP0pLPXzMlb3hhPikhT6UvKAqUIXpEcM8UCdELJCVDpAHZ3dVEWDXVfC/s640/IMG_7023.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="355" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw5bECsSAwtQNbPX-4g9_1r4k07ljnqBx9QlwN1lJLA5_CtGOVcqEfl7LV2jq6QKX8hdFO5fxvBbr_fvuAJgGxe3uguSsOMNgLWcmNa-zPehnz3gTN9iTJ3NPbNudRdSPhLeoLwP0pLPXzMlb3hhPikhT6UvKAqUIXpEcM8UCdELJCVDpAHZ3dVEWDXVfC/w223-h400/IMG_7023.jpg" width="223" /></a></div><br /> by Margie Senechal<p></p><p>Probably the number thing writers are asked is where we get our ideas. The truth is I don't have any trouble coming up with ideas, it's selecting the idea that has a viable future within my mind and keyboard.</p><p>Last night I was thinking about the things I wished I'd saved from my childhood. It's not a lot, but one of the things was my grandfather's pencil sharpener. He had one of those old school type ones mounted to his garage wall and I wish I'd thought to remove it when we sold his house.</p><p>I grew up next door to my grandparents, about twelve steps away. Sometimes when I needed a reprieve from my family (Debbie), I'd go down to Grandpa's garage and take a pencil with me. I'd walk around the cement floor and gaze up into the rafters where there was a hurking big suitcase. </p><p>Seriously, suitcases were enormous in the seventies. I guess after using trunks, the suitcases of yore seemed small. For me, the suitcase held possibilities. I imagined where I might travel if I had a suitcase of my own. </p><p>Oh, and the pencil? That was my excuse if one of my grandparents wanted to know what I was doing in their garage. Dreams weren't on the agenda when I was growing up. Homework was.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9hj-7VHBjSQ3CI03R3qtSzJlZFweE_49uqcJUQ4mhFv3_JTWZwqJyZ7ky8gvTSRm_SDOJfDz8tVwIf1jlQDxJHgIdelfa8r4YHje6Sx3bQSl9sj8hY8Go7FqERgf5OcSQMBUv1MIoMF5CEGs89fJma2M_XomLVUsFu3r8BMTENCe6bJAkPhwd8BIwxEa0/s640/IMG_8612.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9hj-7VHBjSQ3CI03R3qtSzJlZFweE_49uqcJUQ4mhFv3_JTWZwqJyZ7ky8gvTSRm_SDOJfDz8tVwIf1jlQDxJHgIdelfa8r4YHje6Sx3bQSl9sj8hY8Go7FqERgf5OcSQMBUv1MIoMF5CEGs89fJma2M_XomLVUsFu3r8BMTENCe6bJAkPhwd8BIwxEa0/s320/IMG_8612.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>I received my first suitcase as a graduation present from my boss at the deli I worked at. I loved that I finally had my own suitcase, even if it was half the size of the one in the rafters.<p></p><p>Fast forward a few decades, into the new century when I began a job at Burlington. When I'd come into work, I walked down the suitcase aisle and dream on my way to the time clock. I never bought one despite my employee discount, but I thought of it. </p><p>One day I thought, "I could collect suitcases like other women collect purses."</p><p>And that's how my novel, Suitcases, came to be born. I followed that thought up with, "Even if I never go anywhere."</p><p>Why doesn't she go anywhere? Not me. My character who started out with a couple of different names until I landed on Analise Kennedy. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi3xLDlBN6BbD7-cpObz8aG8C1iQObDwloT3tnh6vmSbar1Cu84LpnTyQrzvukA28CSZBqdvfNfp34_fnZsHFnTp8KJ1WI1XEU9_atpBwn6jAvL0nGA_LJdhbb8AVDzWl_OXJu9WkNmAsI-J7kfKvUX6nEymqTuhMbf1unuOCINTgeC15SOVkm7gDihkb3/s640/IMG_7810.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi3xLDlBN6BbD7-cpObz8aG8C1iQObDwloT3tnh6vmSbar1Cu84LpnTyQrzvukA28CSZBqdvfNfp34_fnZsHFnTp8KJ1WI1XEU9_atpBwn6jAvL0nGA_LJdhbb8AVDzWl_OXJu9WkNmAsI-J7kfKvUX6nEymqTuhMbf1unuOCINTgeC15SOVkm7gDihkb3/s320/IMG_7810.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>I saved my original brainstorming sheet in where the not-Ana character is a sleeper agent who is awakened by a single phrase. Or had an abusive mother. Or--<p></p><p>Once I met Analise, I knew I had to tell her story. And then I met Danny and it all gelled together through several editions into what I have now. </p><p>And you know what, suitcases still make me dream about life's roads, the ones not taken, the ones that could be just around the next corner, and the adventures waiting in my mind.<br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>Margiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03843006118151762550noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-133132309124375119.post-91880768915282361582024-03-02T04:00:00.001-05:002024-03-02T04:00:00.133-05:00Something New by Liz Flaherty<p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmpLNw2qiJ1itVSOWkq-6CY3y_-HDc6nQlmtgwYboNJpwPKQEKquQaSAPJjSaMEX_YJZs_bIfmRdXTOXkeHV9tmm_VLzQ8JtkUtisARuNHWSG_ZEP1ZhMVw4mJ7xd8pGGNl4LuTcx8u13zbrkQhIle2XE9HZehNN8jq6l6qTRT6im6eF4Xfz18lb2-uE8/s120/revised.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="84" data-original-width="120" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmpLNw2qiJ1itVSOWkq-6CY3y_-HDc6nQlmtgwYboNJpwPKQEKquQaSAPJjSaMEX_YJZs_bIfmRdXTOXkeHV9tmm_VLzQ8JtkUtisARuNHWSG_ZEP1ZhMVw4mJ7xd8pGGNl4LuTcx8u13zbrkQhIle2XE9HZehNN8jq6l6qTRT6im6eF4Xfz18lb2-uE8/w200-h140/revised.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">I am working on a manuscript. Not just looking for repeated words or using "just" 1027 times or deciding regretfully that a scene has no place in the story--no, I'm adding a complete new plotline to a beloved story. I am hoping to make it more interesting, to quicken its pace, to make it more...what, commercial? So that more people will like it. Yes, that. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">And I'm learning stuff, because the plotline is outside my wheelhouse, skill set, comfort zone, and passion cup. (I just made passion cup up, in case you wondered, but I'm pretty sure you get it.) I don't know if I'll do it well enough, and I'm worried about that. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">I've complained some about trying to get going on something new at my age, because it is in truth harder now. It takes me longer and I'm less sure of myself, but I am so happy that no one else is overtly concerned about my age. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">For this I am grateful. </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUTRBl9zGn0Zx4OKHynSlY39fPfDzsLz9OxG2waNYXg0X-2NreN0eGTPfgoAGcjtAg6C9kiujvQUIJISUEmefb-w3jhcgbZjBkcy3P46ETj-yUW0JSh1SVzzC8yXEr18HTbpppiw7204ya82w8Sam2OLHnHNDP3ePu8T_RC2rTYY8WLCIdLOXAxUxHLA8/s1600/front%20(3).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUTRBl9zGn0Zx4OKHynSlY39fPfDzsLz9OxG2waNYXg0X-2NreN0eGTPfgoAGcjtAg6C9kiujvQUIJISUEmefb-w3jhcgbZjBkcy3P46ETj-yUW0JSh1SVzzC8yXEr18HTbpppiw7204ya82w8Sam2OLHnHNDP3ePu8T_RC2rTYY8WLCIdLOXAxUxHLA8/w640-h360/front%20(3).jpg" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;">Fallen Soldier, Pennsylvania, a small lake town in the shelter of the Alleghenies, is a place soldiers have come to heal, to find new lives, and--sometimes--to die, in all the wars since the 1860s. Its comfort and welcome has extended to others in need of a place to heal and a place to begin again.</span><p></p><p><a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0CLD2PPHY?ref_=dbs_p_pwh_rwt_anx_b_lnk&storeType=ebooks"><span style="font-size: medium;">https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0CLD2PPHY?ref_=dbs_p_pwh_rwt_anx_b_lnk&storeType=ebooks</span></a></p><p><br /></p>Liz Flahertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06794565644883272260noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-133132309124375119.post-32796043606133915982024-02-16T01:30:00.016-05:002024-02-16T06:22:29.552-05:00Moving Forward, Sort Of by Jana Richards<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSd4TVcF2wukYovmvHk72IX8lk8-IwLgwA-2YMsCbISxZg6avKhZ1M8C3rSZxMjjxjhDIJxykbemFtAvN4W5H5jQqSDVuOW4ELjDAgTigUE-GwbAakyrYRqwP15R5qjSiHqLlKxX7qnpzX_GTdGFGmRo-E-ZyDgVvTVhiBcXWyuVmWW2xg1LrdHTikvj0/s7360/Depositphotos_16276055_XL.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4912" data-original-width="7360" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSd4TVcF2wukYovmvHk72IX8lk8-IwLgwA-2YMsCbISxZg6avKhZ1M8C3rSZxMjjxjhDIJxykbemFtAvN4W5H5jQqSDVuOW4ELjDAgTigUE-GwbAakyrYRqwP15R5qjSiHqLlKxX7qnpzX_GTdGFGmRo-E-ZyDgVvTVhiBcXWyuVmWW2xg1LrdHTikvj0/s320/Depositphotos_16276055_XL.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">As I write this, I’m coughing all over my keyboard. I’ve been struck down by a nasty bacterial infection and my brain has pretty much turned to pudding, so I’ll keep my post short and sweet. When I finish writing this, I think I’ll take a nap. Even though I have a lot of things to do, like writing my current work-in-progress, I need to take care of myself so I can live to write another day. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I’ve been busy all through January and the first half of February (until this plague hit me). A project I just completed was the launching of my new website. I’d been thinking for some time that it would be nice to give my website a refreshed look, or perhaps create an entirely new site, but it hadn’t been a top priority. Until suddenly it was. Last year my web mistress let me know that she was retiring and would not be available to update the website any longer. After procrastinating a bit while I launched a new book last fall, I started looking around at different options.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I decided I wanted the ability to update the site myself. Yes, I am a control freak. There are a lot of possibilities for websites out there, but not all of them were a good fit for me. One was way too expensive, and another was way too difficult for me to figure out. I checked out several build-your-own sites that were great, but I am terrible at design, even if I’m using a template. Apparently, I wasn’t born with the design gene. After asking several writers what they use for their websites, I finally landed on <a href="http://PottertonCreative.com">PottertonCreative.com</a>. Melinda at Potterton Creative designed a new website for me and also handled the heavy lifting technically to get things up and running. I appreciate having someone I can go to for support. My site’s going to be on the Wix platform, so I’ll be able to update it myself. Like Goldilocks, I found the website that was just right. Check out my new site at <a href="https://www.janarichards.com">https://www.janarichards.com</a> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Like I said, I’ve also been writing. I’m working on a new time-travel romance series I call Twice in Lifetime, that will eventually be three books. Here’s the premise of the series: <i>To earn his wings and become a citizen of Heaven, an apprentice angel will give three mortals a second chance at love. Along the way, the apprentice learns truths about himself and the mortal life he left behind.</i> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I’ll leave you with an excerpt from book 1 that I’m tentatively calling “We’ll Meet Again”. In this scene, Nathan, the apprentice angel, wakes up alone in a strange room after having a car accident:</span></p><span style="font-family: arial;">Nathan carefully got to his feet and circled the strange room, which was about the size of a small bedroom, maybe ten feet by ten feet. A white wooden table and two matching chairs sat in the middle of the room. An old-fashioned television in a mahogany cabinet occupied one corner. A clock hung on the wall above the TV, and a desk calendar, the kind with pages that flipped over, sat on top of the TV. He noted that the date showing was December 5—the day of the gala.<br /><br />The day Sloane said goodbye.<br /><br />How did he get here? He had no conscious memory of traveling to this place. The last thing he remembered was being in his car. There’d been a crash, but he was uninjured and felt no pain. Was he in a hospital? If he was, it was the strangest hospital he’d ever seen. <br /><br />A ripple of unease slid down his spine. He didn’t care what this place was. He was getting the hell out. <br /><br />He opened the door and looked out onto a beautiful meadow filled with flowers of every color and size, their lovely heads waving in the gentle breeze like a multi-colored flag. How were the flowers possible? It was December in Canada. Nathan shook his head in disbelief as fluffy white clouds meandered across an impossibly blue sky. In the distance, on the crest of a hill, a castle sparkled in the sunshine. <br /><br />Longing filled him. He wanted to run through that wonderful meadow and reach the shining castle. He didn’t know why or how, but he knew in that place there’d be no trouble, no grief, no fear. He’d be happy there. Safe.<br /><br />As he attempted to cross the threshold, his right foot and his nose crashed painfully into something immovable and solid, even though he could see nothing in his way. He tried again, reaching out his hand. It encountered the same hard wall, some sort of invisible barrier. What was it? No matter how hard he pushed or pounded his fists against it, the invisible wall stood between him and the meadow. He shook his head in disgust. The story of his life. True happiness had always been out of his reach. <br /><br />He sat on one of chairs and stared out the open door to the meadow beyond. What happened now? Where was everybody? If this room was part of a hospital, where was the rest of it? It should be filled with doctors and nurses and sick people. Where were they?<br /><br />In the distance, he saw someone amble across the meadow. The flowers leaned away from the man, as if making room for him to pass. As if the flowers were the sea and the man was Moses parting the waves.<br /><br />Nathan shook his head. I’ve got to be losing it.</span><p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I hope you enjoyed the snippet. And now I’m going to have a nap!</span></p>Jana Richardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16624650840243322617noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-133132309124375119.post-80830534061932980232024-02-09T02:00:00.001-05:002024-02-09T02:00:00.133-05:00The Boys In the Band by M.J. Schiller<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigkqOxVFcYozscwmU0WRLNSVK2CrhsicYlDcvpC61CW1Ygpt1j1yR6Y0Lyz5Gy5fgD2NpzYaP-0aO156_OjiV229Rp7VTm6vZsqKE_Qs4ekOkcXoFl0nFOW6dmiKcZQXezqZ9aVo3om9g2BLF9np-cg2bsMacG5Ss2PpDUV-kHOW0eXjNHntWPYlLd2EE/s2000/RockWithTheRythm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="2000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigkqOxVFcYozscwmU0WRLNSVK2CrhsicYlDcvpC61CW1Ygpt1j1yR6Y0Lyz5Gy5fgD2NpzYaP-0aO156_OjiV229Rp7VTm6vZsqKE_Qs4ekOkcXoFl0nFOW6dmiKcZQXezqZ9aVo3om9g2BLF9np-cg2bsMacG5Ss2PpDUV-kHOW0eXjNHntWPYlLd2EE/s320/RockWithTheRythm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p><b><i>The Wranglers are happy to have M.J. Schiller join us today to talk about the Boys In the Insatiable Fire band!</i></b></p>Thank you for having me today and entertaining the boys in the band. I think the rock stars that haunt my writing are born from my husband’s and my love for music, particularly live music. I enjoyed writing my first rock romance series—the LOVE AND CHAOS SERIES, centered around the band Just Short of Chaos—so much that I followed it up with my latest series about the band Insatiable Fire.<p></p><span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none;">This is my third Last Chance Beach Romance. The first two were about the drummer, Levi Cannon,</span> (<i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px;">BEATING IN TIME</i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none;">) and the lead guitarist, Caleb Winthrop, (</span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px;">LEAD ME ON</i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none;">). The final two are about the</span> Blackstone brothers. My newest release, <i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px;">ROCK WITH THE RHYTHM</i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none;">, is about the lead singer and rhythm</span> guitarist Phoenix Blackstone. It will be followed by Dakota Blackstone’s story, <i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px;">BASSIST’S INSTINCT</i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none;">, (he</span> plays bass guitar for Insatiable Fire).<br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px;" /><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px;" /><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none;">Phoenix and Dakota are about as physically different as you can get. Dakota is barrel-chested, with long,</span> dirty blond hair and the glaring lack of a filter. He takes after his Swedish mom. Phoenix, on the other hand, is more long and lean. He generally is a pretty smooth talker, with long, black hair, and the dark coloring of his father’s Apalachee ancestors. It’s only when he’s around Savanah Drew that he becomes a bit tongue-tied.</span><o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="Style2"><b><span>Rock star Phoenix Blackstone never dreamed he’d </span><span>fall in love with the designated driver.</span></b></p><p class="Style2"><span>Rock star Phoenix Blackstone never thought he’d fall in love with the designated driver.</span></p><p class="Style2"><span>Sure, she’s strait-laced and uptight, maybe even a little prickly at times. Not the best fit for a “rock star”, </span><span>right? But that’s part of the appeal. There was always something about Savanah.</span></p><p class="Style2"><span> In high school I </span><span>worshiped her from afar. But while I was the boy from Last Chance Beach’s version of a ghetto, she was </span><span>born into a 24-carat crib. She was the beautiful princess in the castle; I wasn’t fit to live in her gatehouse.</span></p><p class="Style2"><span>Although Savanah had never seemed like the rest of the glamor girls, she was still untouchable. But now </span><span>I’m coming back to the island having garnered fame and fortune. Maybe my platinum records will tip the </span><span>scales in my favor.</span></p><p class="Style2"><span><b>Savanah Drew never wanted the silver spoon stuck in her mouth.</b></span></p><p class="Style2"><span>But it’s not like I could do anything about it. And Phoenix’s dad may have worked on the docks, but </span><span>Phoenix was the one who was unapproachable. His good looks, charm, and charisma, made him popular </span><span>beyond my reach—I always knew he would go far. But when we were growing up, some people looked </span><span>down on him because his dad wore a slicker and not a three-piece suit. One thing I can tell you, the </span><span>Blackstones would be the first to come to the aid of someone in need. The people on my side of the </span><span>island? If they can’t throw money at it to fix it, they don’t want anything to do with it.</span></p><p class="Style2"><span>But no amount of money or charisma can keep you safe when someone is out to get you, and </span><span>someone on the island is gunning for the band members of Insatiable Fire, and anyone they’re close </span><span>to.</span></p><p class="Style2"><span>Is Savanah the next target?</span></p><p class="Style2"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx1riD4_t-Ma1045sffj3ElaOjA7-ifxwx90s_KbLj8ueYJwwGs3nN702OMnrX46vN56ZSJ2G_pZz7wGuOAP5_k7nWQijkMrFw7n1RojI5CxvfyKna0PnqQ33wUK1wfOBUWf6i4OZruBqMrW7FEmfHsLip9AQmF3Scv_VI8WzP4rcDHzcmNmkFOi_Sg-Y/s1024/ROCK%20WITH%20THE%20RHYTHM%20scuba%20couple%20teaser.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx1riD4_t-Ma1045sffj3ElaOjA7-ifxwx90s_KbLj8ueYJwwGs3nN702OMnrX46vN56ZSJ2G_pZz7wGuOAP5_k7nWQijkMrFw7n1RojI5CxvfyKna0PnqQ33wUK1wfOBUWf6i4OZruBqMrW7FEmfHsLip9AQmF3Scv_VI8WzP4rcDHzcmNmkFOi_Sg-Y/s320/ROCK%20WITH%20THE%20RHYTHM%20scuba%20couple%20teaser.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><b>Excerpt</b><span> </span><p></p><p class="Style2"><span><b>Phoenix</b></span></p><p class="Style2"><span>Women gulping down drinks in fish bowls could work to a guy’s advantage, as it might </span><span>put his woman in the mood. Or, it could work to his disadvantage, if she drank too much and </span><span>ended up lying on the tile at the foot of the porcelain deity all night long. I liked to watch couples </span><span>from the high platform of the stage while I sang and try to determine which scenario would play </span><span>out for them.</span></p><p class="Style2"><span>But tonight I was focused on a couple in particular. A couple of girls. One was screaming </span><span>“Insatiable Desires” —the song that had catapulted my band, Insatiable Fire, into the </span><span>limelight—over and over again at the top of her lungs. The other was Savanah Drew.</span></p><p class="Style2"><span>“Insatiable Desires” was actually on our setlist, a few songs away from what we were </span><span>currently singing. But the girl was annoying me. I’ll take requests. In fact, I love requests. I had </span><span>even taken one earlier from this same girl. But this wasn’t a request; it was a demand, and I was </span><span>starting to feel like an organ grinder’s monkey.</span></p><p class="Style2"><span>I turned to my boys. “So, we’re going to play her song, because we don’t want to be total </span><span>pricks, and it was on the setlist…but it’s going to be at the end of the night.”</span></p><p class="Style2"><span>They nodded and grinned, agreeing with me that not giving in was the best course of </span><span>action. But I had my doubts. Mostly because the party in question was still screaming as Savanah </span><span>shushed her. </span></p><p class="Style2"><span>I wasn’t really paying attention to the loud mouth though. I was eyeing Savanah.</span></p><p class="Style2"><span>Even </span><span>though we’d been in the same class at school, she was a complete mystery to me. I was intrigued </span><span>because she seemed different than the people she ran around with in high school. </span></p><p class="Style2"><span>Does she still see them?</span></p><p class="Style2"><span>I knew nothing about her life now. We’d come back to Last Chance Beach a couple </span><span>dozen times since we’d first left to try to make it to the big time eight years ago. But whenever I </span><span>came home, I was pretty monopolized with family stuff. And even had I not been, I would have </span><span>never asked Savanah out. </span></p><p class="Style2"><span>The island had its own little caste system when I was growing up, and </span><span>Savanah and I had been from different strata. Her dad was the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. </span><span>Mine was a supervisor down on the docks. Hers wore $500 an ounce aftershave. Mine smelled of </span><span>fish. My family wouldn’t have even been able to afford the golf cart that took the Drews from </span><span>one end of their property to the other. She was the princess in the castle. I wasn’t fit to tend her </span><span>gate.</span></p><p class="Style2"><span>But I was returning a very wealthy man. </span><span>I wonder if a pile of platinum records evens the scales some…</span></p><p class="Style2"><span>I knew to some people it wouldn’t matter what my net worth was; I would still always be </span><span>the son of a dockworker and therefore unworthy. The question remained, was Savanah one of </span><span>those people?</span></p><p class="Style2"><span><b>Links ~</b></span></p><p class="Style2"><span><b>For MJ</b></span></p><p class="Style2"><span>Website: <a href="https://mjschillerauthor.blogspot.com/">https://mjschillerauthor.blogspot.com/</a></span></p><p class="Style2"><span>BookBub: <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/authors/m-j-schiller">https://www.bookbub.com/authors/m-j-schiller</a></span></p><p class="Style2"><span>Facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/MJ-Schiller-Romance-Author/286382241460365">https://www.facebook.com/pages/MJ-Schiller-Romance-Author/286382241460365</a></span></p><p class="Style2"><span>Pinterest: <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/mjschiller/">https://www.pinterest.com/mjschiller/</a></span></p><p class="Style2"><span>Twitter: <a href="https://twitter.com/mjschiller">https://twitter.com/mjschiller</a></span></p><p class="Style2"><span>Tumblr: <a href="http://mjschilz.tumblr.com/">http://mjschilz.tumblr.com/</a></span></p><p class="Style2"><span>Instagram: <a href="https://instagram.com/mjschiller">https://instagram.com/mjschiller</a></span></p><p class="Style2"><span>Goodreads: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6479377.M_J_Schiller">https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6479377.M_J_Schiller</a></span></p><p class="Style2"><span>Amazon: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/M-J-Schiller/e/B009JOQFQQ">https://www.amazon.com/M-J-Schiller/e/B009JOQFQQ</a></span></p><p class="Style2"><span><b>For <i>ROCK WITH THE RHYTHM</i></b> </span></p><p class="Style2"><span>Books2Read: <a href="https://books2read.com/RockWithTheRhythm">https://books2read.com/RockWithTheRhythm</a></span></p><p class="Style2"><span>Amazon: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0CCYMNPTB">https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0CCYMNPTB</a></span></p><p class="Style2"><span>Nook: <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/rock-with-the-rhythm-m-j-schiller/1143836177">https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/rock-with-the-rhythm-m-j-schiller/1143836177</a></span></p><p class="Style2"><span>Kobo: <a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/rock-with-the-rhythm">https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/rock-with-the-rhythm</a></span></p><p class="Style2"><span>iTunes: <a href="https://books.apple.com/us/book/rock-with-the-rhythm/id6453885394">https://books.apple.com/us/book/rock-with-the-rhythm/id6453885394</a></span></p><p class="Style2"><span><b>Bio</b> </span></p><p class="Style2"><span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihbmpw6y3Yg7Gy0tbNFnwVAKHA3LGTAWgXy5lTF4DAYertbBc-oYdy8z_YcT69FAKQ-8Yh94ro1Mdu0ONybOJS2Y2XIWRwSvdMNhn8DUhGWIWLeUVwWc5E6-hVuxZTT86_BYqi9NOS51HZNUEaEd6w5mXUhAVjCerYvThrXuyEjxnGqP7cRSreDRCX53E/s679/M.J.%20Schiller,%20Romance%20Author%20(1).jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="679" data-original-width="482" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihbmpw6y3Yg7Gy0tbNFnwVAKHA3LGTAWgXy5lTF4DAYertbBc-oYdy8z_YcT69FAKQ-8Yh94ro1Mdu0ONybOJS2Y2XIWRwSvdMNhn8DUhGWIWLeUVwWc5E6-hVuxZTT86_BYqi9NOS51HZNUEaEd6w5mXUhAVjCerYvThrXuyEjxnGqP7cRSreDRCX53E/s320/M.J.%20Schiller,%20Romance%20Author%20(1).jpg" width="227" /></a></span></div><span>M.J. Schiller is a retired lunch lady/romance-romantic suspense writer. She enjoys writing novels </span><span>whose characters include rock stars, desert princes, teachers, futuristic Knights, construction </span><span>workers, cops, and a wide variety of others. In her mind everybody has a romance. She is the </span><span>mother of a twenty-eight-year-old and three twenty-six-year-olds. That's right, triplets! So having </span><span>recently taught four children to drive, she likes to escape from life on occasion by pretending to </span><span>be a rock star at karaoke. However…you won’t be seeing her name on any record labels soon.</span>Liz Flahertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06794565644883272260noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-133132309124375119.post-38092182596883441182024-02-02T02:00:00.004-05:002024-02-02T10:44:21.907-05:00Delight by Liz Flaherty<p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO7xnyk5VD4mutjrb71JsMQSuTP69YyC4umkfNHcjrudBXOlA3hUVuIv4DKJVG-mENW2-hq4Gkssz778zuD7u0e0dfabxglCSDcDHzlCp0vANLmxQ0XmyxA5_qiT9GnptKUwHxJNHWRdx_9bMrigUXPxqZtaMe-FhstnsEOTHte_IGdRRiPA5d6rtrhLE/s1360/2018-12-04.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="765" data-original-width="1360" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO7xnyk5VD4mutjrb71JsMQSuTP69YyC4umkfNHcjrudBXOlA3hUVuIv4DKJVG-mENW2-hq4Gkssz778zuD7u0e0dfabxglCSDcDHzlCp0vANLmxQ0XmyxA5_qiT9GnptKUwHxJNHWRdx_9bMrigUXPxqZtaMe-FhstnsEOTHte_IGdRRiPA5d6rtrhLE/s320/2018-12-04.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Heidi Echols</td></tr></tbody></table>The delights of writing jump out in front of us sometimes, don't they? Never more than when we spend time with other writers.<p></p><p>Nan and I spent a few days in Nashville, Indiana this week on our twice annual writing retreat. It was a good time, the best retreat we've had in years--which is what we say after each and every one. (Except possibly for the notable one last year when I broke my wrist.) Some of the great gratitudes of my writing life are these sojourns. </p><p>When we are gone, we drink some wine. This time, Nan drank wine and I drank eggnog. </p><p>When we are gone, we call our husbands every night and talk with murmuring voices and quiet laughter and exchange <i>I love yous </i>with them just as if they were there with us. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyRyLCGN2Gi53dEzpBxGnUIxf2oqFGjfcI1zzm63p8ZRXI8roh5Bgn_TA4U_t4-7SgFs6E9Ap7WqGbugDBrxFZrIODdmWKVsztJ4qG3ppug7JtCuU8MQTJ1_Kgx3LDG82WRmCQHZoe2N1oUL6wp3knkM5wdu10d4iqhBRdt0HUXUoZZmt6ApanFnX5Gbs/s1200/5d41e04444ba3.image.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="821" data-original-width="1200" height="137" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyRyLCGN2Gi53dEzpBxGnUIxf2oqFGjfcI1zzm63p8ZRXI8roh5Bgn_TA4U_t4-7SgFs6E9Ap7WqGbugDBrxFZrIODdmWKVsztJ4qG3ppug7JtCuU8MQTJ1_Kgx3LDG82WRmCQHZoe2N1oUL6wp3knkM5wdu10d4iqhBRdt0HUXUoZZmt6ApanFnX5Gbs/w200-h137/5d41e04444ba3.image.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>When we are gone, we usually shop some, buy a little. We distribute rack cards and bookmarks and--usually--someone will be excited about meeting real authors and we will each give her a book. Sometimes we leave one in a Little Free Library. <p></p><p>When we are gone, we revel in the singletude of it. We would never want to actually <i>be </i>single--we love the aforementioned husbands and the lives we share with them--but a few days of thinking of no one but ourselves is one of those things you never thought would be a gift but<br />it is. It is. </p><p>When we are gone, we do not think of cooking or vacuuming or cleaning up anything or doing laundry or remembering appointments.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii2_-cXOiDPcUK0beAb5-D3sgAZuXW5SzVOLAUxggPGMgXkg6Rqkb2yv8-RvYgjAYb3oCMvz0MvFk64YrfoE5VrbeDvBKA9WOn7XnOta2KIFLqqEV0JUvJZrGo_08vwhdKjaCvnbeMEyfBEsUJwVdM1-MCFzgRwC3pX1BuiWU4ShXrqo1wW2la6c91zMU/s485/NC%20pic%203.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="485" data-original-width="405" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii2_-cXOiDPcUK0beAb5-D3sgAZuXW5SzVOLAUxggPGMgXkg6Rqkb2yv8-RvYgjAYb3oCMvz0MvFk64YrfoE5VrbeDvBKA9WOn7XnOta2KIFLqqEV0JUvJZrGo_08vwhdKjaCvnbeMEyfBEsUJwVdM1-MCFzgRwC3pX1BuiWU4ShXrqo1wW2la6c91zMU/s320/NC%20pic%203.jpg" width="267" /></a></div>When we are gone, if one of us spends two hours on a single six-line paragraph, the other one completely understands and talks her through it one word at a time. At the end of the six lines there is a celebration and some jumping up and down involved. The story is saved until the next crisis. <p></p><p>When we are gone, we talk of things that never go beyond the walls of the friendship. We spend a few hours of catharsis to get us through what might be painful at some point. </p><p>When we are gone, one of us is usually in a better place than the other, and the person in the bad place remains happy for the one in the good one. The one in the good one helps to get through what seems like endless darkness. </p><p>Times like these are professional blessings not just for Nan and me but for every writer. Call them retreats or getaways or whatever name you suits you. It can be two, as we usually are, or as many as you like as long as your spirits intermingle. One of the best times ever was the one in North Carolina with Margie and Janie. Another was a weekend when we gave a presentation with Kristi. I think all of the Wranglers have posses they spend quality time with, finding those delights of writing even if they have to struggle through the swamp of discouragement to find them.</p><p>I am so sleepy now, this night we've returned from the Artists Colony Inn. I'm glad to be home, back in tandem with the love of my life, but in a few months, in late spring or in the fall, we will go again. To Michigan, probably. We will reconnoiter and talk and laugh and drink adult beverages. We'll relish the sound of our own voices in our written words and in each other's as well.</p><p>It will be fun. It will be a delight. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFtbEVGyW0ftoxJLYqZqydjDuE_8Y2mGRgMqbALeEaDAnmCg9PxF6cODDzunm85I7koBQAihifQ1CCjRbjdycKtVHwNC_5icJvvYQR_QM5QDEmFI-Nk5LriEKMOdDruEUKV1-Qi2HjMV_80DwPsPfZXv2GJQms23wOvX9zu5lrr1owrgdlWjx-fJNjbbM/s300/Liz%20(1).png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="300" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFtbEVGyW0ftoxJLYqZqydjDuE_8Y2mGRgMqbALeEaDAnmCg9PxF6cODDzunm85I7koBQAihifQ1CCjRbjdycKtVHwNC_5icJvvYQR_QM5QDEmFI-Nk5LriEKMOdDruEUKV1-Qi2HjMV_80DwPsPfZXv2GJQms23wOvX9zu5lrr1owrgdlWjx-fJNjbbM/s1600/Liz%20(1).png" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Liz Flahertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06794565644883272260noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-133132309124375119.post-48825525858350166122024-01-26T08:27:00.008-05:002024-01-26T08:27:44.763-05:00Winter Blues...Not So Much<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeicvuB1EnsulmIMA4EKYNoTqK9T8MTU73m-x7K-M_wXMfDHDZxzSOsLaymB9TG_ouylk08w92Bh-8dsxz1tTlshgrmLFE3k9NLW1ztxFqYd_sYiBSfuLqB_zjFWCSAy7Ant3X45ZuuH26JhQjHio1F6CVJR9Ml9Okxf3YdBx7eONVUkpZDqtT2yX9WeE/s3264/20191216_074803.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeicvuB1EnsulmIMA4EKYNoTqK9T8MTU73m-x7K-M_wXMfDHDZxzSOsLaymB9TG_ouylk08w92Bh-8dsxz1tTlshgrmLFE3k9NLW1ztxFqYd_sYiBSfuLqB_zjFWCSAy7Ant3X45ZuuH26JhQjHio1F6CVJR9Ml9Okxf3YdBx7eONVUkpZDqtT2yX9WeE/w480-h240/20191216_074803.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br />I'm at age (ahem) where a lot of my friends leave the Midwest right after Christmas, headed for warmer climates. Florida, Texas, Arizona, Mexico--anywhere where the sun is shining and the temperatures are higher than 70 degrees. I confess, I don't get it. <p></p><p>One of my very favorite things about living in the Midwest is the change of seasons--real change of seasons, not a slight temperature drop. If someone asks me what my favorite season is, I truly can't pick one. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxz7o1Lf_o3kiGGYGpkhfIZ3GFYlx2Wv-kFHg-3Z2btjbm53_UP5LjzZQJBeNlyWm5imBAgNebldxOGuDjnV2iSn-4RLY0hfU4S58yBDFAorS8hHxMVWbmn2UHnSYMbTSeUpdZFkOPfsppU_VSd7Li5RsaACFyjT1DrxkqdGOXYdoBf4RR8YFP87F9vL8/s1440/IMG_20230405_082711_088.webp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxz7o1Lf_o3kiGGYGpkhfIZ3GFYlx2Wv-kFHg-3Z2btjbm53_UP5LjzZQJBeNlyWm5imBAgNebldxOGuDjnV2iSn-4RLY0hfU4S58yBDFAorS8hHxMVWbmn2UHnSYMbTSeUpdZFkOPfsppU_VSd7Li5RsaACFyjT1DrxkqdGOXYdoBf4RR8YFP87F9vL8/w237-h237/IMG_20230405_082711_088.webp" width="237" /></a></div><br />I love spring--all the showers and the new life bursting out--trees in bloom, tulips, daffodils, and hyacinths full of color, the scent of fresh earth as we dig in the gardens, pulling away the winter detritus and putting down mulch. Seeing my gardens come back to life gives me the same thrill every single spring.<p></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgHLuKfOndiySjzgb-aPBN7iX4HfzBKPoROjpt9fHpjplen7vvNxuj9mQaJ9dvR0zvxj2e-KKawi6EdtviNypKLBCZbbNwOQUk1igMx7aqcTavPgxipdvEyseuvZBLz7Jyg5vWaY9jq8EDbitAC2IADQKxv5_v7OU3Kzt2ix7xNw3kG3QODzN5PdUPyKc/s1600/51450.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgHLuKfOndiySjzgb-aPBN7iX4HfzBKPoROjpt9fHpjplen7vvNxuj9mQaJ9dvR0zvxj2e-KKawi6EdtviNypKLBCZbbNwOQUk1igMx7aqcTavPgxipdvEyseuvZBLz7Jyg5vWaY9jq8EDbitAC2IADQKxv5_v7OU3Kzt2ix7xNw3kG3QODzN5PdUPyKc/w171-h228/51450.jpeg" width="171" /></a></div><br />Summers are grand--the lake, boating, swimming, the scent of new-mown grass and wine on the deck (either at home or at the lake). I love seeing my lake buddies, swimming in the bay with pal Moe and Grandboy, Son, and DIL. Heading out onto the lake in the boat to read while Husband fishes. Cookouts--steaks, fish, or chicken on the grill and grilled veggies--yum!<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_almGoUh2U0UQi4gSCdVY3iMLU3IutaROK9FHFFvsFPtHxudpyat7rfk9LMNuuFCzjWJM-7omYqHmGhmffy2NM-4t620y2RaYXOl4VhCCNfmq-U26PYTe91wK5mdwKYOaz0TIYtXjpy2y2_4JCASRiJ2z7DA1HwVtbPfsvpT2UiSUz385pnPe6sZZ064/s2992/20221004_143843%20(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2992" data-original-width="2992" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_almGoUh2U0UQi4gSCdVY3iMLU3IutaROK9FHFFvsFPtHxudpyat7rfk9LMNuuFCzjWJM-7omYqHmGhmffy2NM-4t620y2RaYXOl4VhCCNfmq-U26PYTe91wK5mdwKYOaz0TIYtXjpy2y2_4JCASRiJ2z7DA1HwVtbPfsvpT2UiSUz385pnPe6sZZ064/w200-h200/20221004_143843%20(1).jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Fall delights me--all the changing colors, the crisp air, the blue, blue skies. Closing up the lake cottage is often bittersweet, but we know we'll be back again, and it's time to start getting ready to hibernate. Fall is when Liz and I go on retreat--always someplace new and different, but I confess we both love Michigan and it's great time to go there because the summer vacationers are gone. We write, have wine and great food, wander the jetty and lighthouses... all in all, a wonderful time.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9vdONJwXJWnj05FHwa4mTrG0FdTWfIa5c9cUqjFyDKxbalPwllJM2VX0amVX3yfBD5eP2In7eyBQ1oYiE5x7jg3xuc5MLfD5Pewh_qsgHwirogIJaaB9ijsQESKyIZrV9_GXSRuAb34ME-ETV8KMEcyw2eEXMKfXY6-xNj94kADKXTurgAx-oEIdwMvA/s4000/20240106_064141.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9vdONJwXJWnj05FHwa4mTrG0FdTWfIa5c9cUqjFyDKxbalPwllJM2VX0amVX3yfBD5eP2In7eyBQ1oYiE5x7jg3xuc5MLfD5Pewh_qsgHwirogIJaaB9ijsQESKyIZrV9_GXSRuAb34ME-ETV8KMEcyw2eEXMKfXY6-xNj94kADKXTurgAx-oEIdwMvA/s320/20240106_064141.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />But winter, ah, winter. I've never dreaded to cold, but I'm fortunate to have a lovely warm house, flannel sheets for my bed, and lots of layers to wear when I walk outside with my neighbor/pal Mary. So far, it's been a good winter--enough snow for a white winter, enough bitter cold days to freeze the earth all the way down to the damn moles, and enough decent-temperature days to get a couple of miles of walking in. I love winter. I love snow, I love a cup of coffee or tea by the fireplace, I love looking out my office window as I work and seeing snow falling or a rich sunrise full of colors. I love going out the front door in the twilight to smell the snow. Have you ever smelled snow? It's the most amazingly clean scent. <p></p><p>All of this to say, I won't be going South this winter. I'm sticking close to home, happy to shovel snow or stay inside if the temperatures are dangerously cold. I'll read by the fire, have oatmeal for breakfast, and take walks in the brisk air. And I won't feel any envy when friends/family text pictures of themselves on a beach, their toes in the sand and sipping a beverage with an umbrella stuck in it. I'm just fine right here in the Midwest.</p><p>How about you? Are you a snowbird or do you stay in your home territory and enjoy your winter?</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghpKvOhIqh0d0oZCCtugVao1AvSxn3ZlwOkONk0zZUQm0e7wJLhegk7aXLCcyzi2tXgZUIx1i0yaCeigfdGcABvtGcwZtCdEzaXjw-pCT0nx9hUx0e9kHqkyOrrUojB09r1EeLygR1xBIxlGK_Scaz-R6zaA_M3_dUHtX3Q-kX67N8eSn7vgNWLBRQHig/s1110/nan%20sig10092020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="408" data-original-width="1110" height="118" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghpKvOhIqh0d0oZCCtugVao1AvSxn3ZlwOkONk0zZUQm0e7wJLhegk7aXLCcyzi2tXgZUIx1i0yaCeigfdGcABvtGcwZtCdEzaXjw-pCT0nx9hUx0e9kHqkyOrrUojB09r1EeLygR1xBIxlGK_Scaz-R6zaA_M3_dUHtX3Q-kX67N8eSn7vgNWLBRQHig/s320/nan%20sig10092020.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>Nanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08809913527142033733noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-133132309124375119.post-17633836402890578912024-01-16T01:30:00.020-05:002024-01-16T01:30:00.139-05:00Starting New by Jana Richards<p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp96VsM6x4wEKOXwb6S_nz4JmH0AXsqD9Q9CS3-6ZbSqTPr5OP6WraM0HN3Jd3FK_U0JzUmIWAmViTlYXodCl0OQyMA6J-e8OZhhALVC_YUZRxxslmENncq-CWAzsnHVeEcYIwxwd4PdimHLnUaRZgEE28YbAa_LHPwOj_upXJ7-qb54wPEBrohkA8LGE/s800/renata-adrienn-ebvCsRypmxM-unsplash.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp96VsM6x4wEKOXwb6S_nz4JmH0AXsqD9Q9CS3-6ZbSqTPr5OP6WraM0HN3Jd3FK_U0JzUmIWAmViTlYXodCl0OQyMA6J-e8OZhhALVC_YUZRxxslmENncq-CWAzsnHVeEcYIwxwd4PdimHLnUaRZgEE28YbAa_LHPwOj_upXJ7-qb54wPEBrohkA8LGE/s320/renata-adrienn-ebvCsRypmxM-unsplash.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@bajkorenata?utm_content=creditCopyText&utm_medium=referral&utm_source=unsplash">Renáta-Adrienn</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/grey-and-black-pen-on-calendar-book-ebvCsRypmxM?utm_content=creditCopyText&utm_medium=referral&utm_source=unsplash">Unsplash</a></td></tr></tbody></table>It’s a brand-new year! As the calendar turns the page to another January, many of us consider what we want to accomplish in the months ahead. I love thinking about the year ahead and making plans. However, I’ve learned not to get too carried away by setting too many goals or it can bite you in the butt.<p></p><p>Case in point: my goals for 2022. I had some lofty ones. And I had a lot of them. I pushed myself to get them done, so much so that I burned myself out by July. I ended up missing a deadline with my editor, and wasn’t able to finish my Christmas book, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Christmas-Solace-Lake-Love-Romance-ebook/dp/B0CH5DTYNS" target="_blank">CHRISTMAS AT SOLACE LAKE</a>, until well into 2023. </p><p>So, this year as I think about goals, I’m trying to give myself some grace. I don’t want to become overburdened and end up burned out again. That was awful. </p><p>I’m trying to be more practical this year. To combat burnout, I’ve decided to only make goals for one quarter of the year at a time. Right now, I’m only looking as far as the end of March. If I don’t quite reach all my goals by the end of March, my mantra will be “Oh, well. I’ll do that next quarter.” It doesn’t mean I’m going to slack off. Believe me, I have a lot of things on my list. I’m just giving myself permission to push them back a little if I can’t get everything done at once. </p><p>As everyone knows, we can set all the goals we like, but often the unforeseen happens and upsets all our neat little plans. That’s already happened to me and it’s only mid-January! It’s important to stay flexible and not get upset when things don’t go the way we’d like. Or at least, that’s what I keep telling myself.</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNDSYR8JUYCu9sbX3p1vctZ9LP1mYCSTGoiVi5E4FlX-ff_WMPbUFE3Jv2Z7BxzNNisFpqf7pApun04xSS1c9xjWUtPG-zQRY7Z4p-XPaQb3PAuP6phYvIZJh7ZUOZNnuqLq6zGoWkryncsThdxaY2a5k09RkGf-2QZv3xa01nKWTc4iLSdPuGY50RAAQ/s6000/roland-denes-24CcFvbRsBE-unsplash.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="6000" data-original-width="4000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNDSYR8JUYCu9sbX3p1vctZ9LP1mYCSTGoiVi5E4FlX-ff_WMPbUFE3Jv2Z7BxzNNisFpqf7pApun04xSS1c9xjWUtPG-zQRY7Z4p-XPaQb3PAuP6phYvIZJh7ZUOZNnuqLq6zGoWkryncsThdxaY2a5k09RkGf-2QZv3xa01nKWTc4iLSdPuGY50RAAQ/s320/roland-denes-24CcFvbRsBE-unsplash.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Roland Denes on Unsplash</td></tr></tbody></table>The one thing on my goal-setting list that I won’t change is the actual writing itself. I can push back marketing and promotion goals into the next quarter, but new writing takes precedence over everything. The fun thing is that I get to start this year by writing a brand-new story. So far, I have only the barest of outlines to go by, so it’s a daunting, and slightly terrifying prospect. But it’s also a thrilling one. When beginning a new story no longer excites me, or when it's no longer fun, that’s when I’ll know it’s time to hang up my keyboard.<p></p><p>I’d love to hear about your goals and resolutions for 2024. What’s something on your list?</p>Jana Richardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16624650840243322617noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-133132309124375119.post-29550177020551052522024-01-02T02:00:00.001-05:002024-01-02T02:00:00.239-05:00Keep Your Tools with You by Liz Flaherty<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMSlrnbkeR0kvRr30eNEQEJTSARrG7xw1Gt7N9k5z5cC3Hz_uMuw6rL77bwU9U5XjFu3A7PSPQV7fd3rew9xvVN0T2dHXm2RhdeaiRHuSnhRjW5-YG0w7gGhA0tO-n6p-OZLmuAyR0dfps2wG58yQuViJMIohucHiW6FPRp1elqzlLr_FguF640we5ypM/s450/Untitled%20design%20(2).jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #cc0000;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="450" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMSlrnbkeR0kvRr30eNEQEJTSARrG7xw1Gt7N9k5z5cC3Hz_uMuw6rL77bwU9U5XjFu3A7PSPQV7fd3rew9xvVN0T2dHXm2RhdeaiRHuSnhRjW5-YG0w7gGhA0tO-n6p-OZLmuAyR0dfps2wG58yQuViJMIohucHiW6FPRp1elqzlLr_FguF640we5ypM/w200-h200/Untitled%20design%20(2).jpg" width="200" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: Dancing Script;"><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: x-large;">It's best to have your tools with you. If you don't, you're apt to find something you didn't expect and get discouraged. - Stephen King</span></b></div></span><div><br /></div><div>I typed out a Christmas letter several weeks back, putting two of them on a page in landscape view, then cut the pages in half, using the trusty cutter I bought in 1999. In those days, I used card stock to create bookmarks, and cutting the two-inch by eight-inch strips with scissors just wasn't working out. I've also created business cards, post cards, invitations, and church bulletin inserts over the years. <br /><br />My paper cutter doesn't look too good these days. I've spilled candle wax and coffee on it, leaving it scarred in places. But it still cuts. It's still in the top five of my favorite office tools. (In case you didn't realize it, office tools and writers go together. We may not always need them, but we do so love to have them.)<br /><br />I put the paper cutter back into its place behind the printer table and stood looking at its handle. And wondering. So I asked my friends.<br /><br />Tell me, I said, what are your favorite office tools.<br /><br />"Pencils!" declared Wrangler <a href="https://www.amazon.com/stores/Nan-Reinhardt/author/B007OYDC6O?ref=ap_rdr&store_ref=ap_rdr&isDramIntegrated=true&shoppingPortalEnabled=true" target="_blank">Nan Reinhardt</a>, writer of the acclaimed River's Edge books from Tule Publishing. "I love a cluster of freshly sharpened pencils and brand new notebook with lined paper. So much possibility."<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs4_1FNQ3fpi9cSc9jTspyy4sEFEBdW_apfvoMoh49SUaG2YcH9m_hvigMPrCRQnld3t_BenfzDPYhxUWbBhf6oAFD-9IJ0qFbUJP7i22p5eZ6hVWjCi0fteYuE0Scl_lBi4fyKz15umGyJDe2RBOq87rEpM5-MUBYXz8FjKl6xaJXO6bRx4XOnPNn8cE/s450/Blue%20eyes,.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="450" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs4_1FNQ3fpi9cSc9jTspyy4sEFEBdW_apfvoMoh49SUaG2YcH9m_hvigMPrCRQnld3t_BenfzDPYhxUWbBhf6oAFD-9IJ0qFbUJP7i22p5eZ6hVWjCi0fteYuE0Scl_lBi4fyKz15umGyJDe2RBOq87rEpM5-MUBYXz8FjKl6xaJXO6bRx4XOnPNn8cE/w200-h200/Blue%20eyes,.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B0051HEPQC" target="_blank">Laura Hunsaker</a>, whose writing leans toward Scotland, said, "Post its. I need post its all the time, but I now buy cute and creative ones since I use them so much." <br /><br />I do, too, Laurie. Not that I use that many--I just buy them because they're cute.<div><br />Prolific author <a href="https://www.amazon.com/stores/Bonnie-Edwards/author/B001IO9UTO?ref=ap_rdr&store_ref=ap_rdr&isDramIntegrated=true&shoppingPortalEnabled=true" target="_blank">Bonnie Edwards</a> treasures her Polestar business agenda. "They have room for every kind of <br /><br /><img src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/t25/1.5/16/1f4dd.png" /> note!"<br /><br />"I’m very fond of my current favorite pen. I make a lot of notes by hand and I can’t do it without the right pen," said <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s?k=kathleen+lawless&i=digital-text&crid=1MJAVAAW0IPM0&sprefix=kathleen+lawless%2Cdigital-text%2C143&ref=nb_sb_noss_1" target="_blank">Kathleen Lawless</a>, a best-selling Western romance author.<br /><br />"Spiral notebooks!" said Kara O'Neal. "I have to have one. I love them so much, especially when they are brand new and filled with fresh paper!"<a href="https://www.amazon.com/stores/Kara-ONeal/author/B00FL19TH8?ref=ap_rdr&isDramIntegrated=true&shoppingPortalEnabled=true" target="_blank"> Kara</a> writes Western romances, too, and has some of the most beautiful covers!<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYZ9aEHgzjPvj9hU5boMkVKSVlRYNFz9hCYbtRiW513iuwNxccyKCfjMBm_7f3dn5UZzNNrv0Ofx2NW1a756H6ESTgsL_flynW_GPR5wWjaVSMBgKFDNEvqzUH2Kmzgm4TP6TJqsVuGLuv169LBXoy6OK4L8hmTC8ihgH5Wz8f2vQmVwfLr6_nHBQWdc4/s640/image0.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYZ9aEHgzjPvj9hU5boMkVKSVlRYNFz9hCYbtRiW513iuwNxccyKCfjMBm_7f3dn5UZzNNrv0Ofx2NW1a756H6ESTgsL_flynW_GPR5wWjaVSMBgKFDNEvqzUH2Kmzgm4TP6TJqsVuGLuv169LBXoy6OK4L8hmTC8ihgH5Wz8f2vQmVwfLr6_nHBQWdc4/w150-h200/image0.jpeg" width="150" /></a></div><br />Wrangler <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s?k=Kristina+Knight&i=digital-text&crid=1OCZH3W361XE0&sprefix=kristin+knight%2Cdigital-text%2C132&ref=nb_sb_noss_1" target="_blank">Kristina Knight</a> has a set of three hourglass timers, "Well, I <i>had</i> a set of three, the smallest one (two minutes) broke a few months ago and I haven’t replaced it. But the 10 and 20 minutes timers get a workout when I’m sprinting."<br /><br />"Pens, pens, pens—in different colors. And dot-grid notebooks. I don’t like lined paper, it’s too restrictive. I do most of my first drafts with pen and paper. I think better not on a computer, especially now that I work on one. Although, what does that say about my work<img src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/t8d/1.5/16/1f914.png" /><img src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/t8d/1.5/16/1f914.png" />." Wrangler Margie Senechal made sure I had to look something up. I'd never even heard of dot-grid notebooks. Now I'm wondering if I should have one. <br /><br />"I love my teacher's planner. The same kind I used in a previous life!" <a href="https://www.amazon.com/stores/Suzanne-Winslow/author/B0892W8WCL?ref=ap_rdr&store_ref=ap_rdr&isDramIntegrated=true&shoppingPortalEnabled=true" target="_blank">Suzanne Winslow</a>, author of the Smoke and Fire series, joins the planner loyalists.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUhoBzBsCPQ-BqWDcPXXj06gZJkPy_PWgAXepsvld4PpsJzf3upKzWvD-sbnMFfWDDhOl5dPI3cf7k_5NqtlTkC-iuANMcb8NYRXAioH3hGunRlKNpHJHLIsceqtGjJmLxTYMI2kV1m32K_D5Qid-pZnHG1YlJoVl5a7paVCRwm_3mbkERwW_cr-RSW-A/s1600/Untitled%20design%20(3).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUhoBzBsCPQ-BqWDcPXXj06gZJkPy_PWgAXepsvld4PpsJzf3upKzWvD-sbnMFfWDDhOl5dPI3cf7k_5NqtlTkC-iuANMcb8NYRXAioH3hGunRlKNpHJHLIsceqtGjJmLxTYMI2kV1m32K_D5Qid-pZnHG1YlJoVl5a7paVCRwm_3mbkERwW_cr-RSW-A/s320/Untitled%20design%20(3).jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br />As does <a href="https://www.amazon.com/stores/Kari-Lemor/author/B00ON2YDI6?ref=ap_rdr&store_ref=ap_rdr&isDramIntegrated=true&shoppingPortalEnabled=true" target="_blank">Kari Lemor</a>. "My planner! I write everything down that I am attempting to do, goals, plans, etc... Then I check them off as I do them. Nothing more satisfying. Plus I don't forget anything that I'm supposed to do." <br /><br />Since Kari summers in New England and winters in St. Augustine, I would expect her to need reminders. I feel compelled to add that I use a planner, too, but I also have to admit that sometimes I misplace it, which makes it totally useless. 😄If I wintered anywhere besides home, you can bet my planner would be lying on the desk in the wrong house. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNwnxkLF0nkfDCCzMgBYjDOJVJgW6_BezZuB8Z_gO6X2GE7_Hqdc1TzgJySTP5QPxnoexszL7P7ATP62Du09TMsV6spzk7ceidKUR87FtYcJgFoo5WBuBlHC26qVjTGGYfuT_O_fmAFo1Rra2GBslgP4MZitRvCkW7jTAwUgijUHjTTQtT-iIiEcBunmg/s900/Untitled%20design%20(4).jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNwnxkLF0nkfDCCzMgBYjDOJVJgW6_BezZuB8Z_gO6X2GE7_Hqdc1TzgJySTP5QPxnoexszL7P7ATP62Du09TMsV6spzk7ceidKUR87FtYcJgFoo5WBuBlHC26qVjTGGYfuT_O_fmAFo1Rra2GBslgP4MZitRvCkW7jTAwUgijUHjTTQtT-iIiEcBunmg/s320/Untitled%20design%20(4).jpg" width="213" /></a></div>Kentucky author <a href="https://www.amazon.com/stores/Jan-Scarbrough/author/B001K8768A?ref=ap_rdr&isDramIntegrated=true&shoppingPortalEnabled=true" target="_blank">Jan Scarbrough</a> said, "I don’t know if this is what you’re looking for — but I love my computer desk with drawers where I keep track of my business expenses. I also love my desk chair that my father gave me years ago and that my cat has destroyed its back because she used it as a scratching post."</div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, I get that. My desk is a teacher's desk that belonged to a retired college professor from Lyndon State College in Vermont.</div><div><br /></div><div>Wrangler <a href="https://www.amazon.com/stores/Jana-Richards/author/B002DEVWWG?ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1&qid=1704110138&sr=1-1&isDramIntegrated=true&shoppingPortalEnabled=true" target="_blank">Jana Richards</a>, writer of the Solace Lake series, loves calendars and day books. "There's nothing more satisfying than making a list in my day book and crossing off things as I accomplish them."</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Now that we've shared, it's your turn. What are some of your favorite office tools? And what makes you treasure them?</b></div><div><br /></div><div><i>Happy New Year from the Word Wranglers! We wish you joy, good health, and lots and lots of words in 2024. </i></div><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcMy9jpujjvXpuo1C2V_uN1BHUEp_tL45a_Esc9NTB6BuTaSKKDy-ujxkB3I86VRVM0wojk_h6I17dpWmjPcmKjQA8NRD3V2HvhgtM3ItZvGAVMIKS_c-nbrmTthnGJRD7VPs7q-O5deK7IATbm8VBPVkNQcFTo14vQaNkmaEd2zt34thwH0_Dw-mckTc/s300/Liz%20(1).png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="300" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcMy9jpujjvXpuo1C2V_uN1BHUEp_tL45a_Esc9NTB6BuTaSKKDy-ujxkB3I86VRVM0wojk_h6I17dpWmjPcmKjQA8NRD3V2HvhgtM3ItZvGAVMIKS_c-nbrmTthnGJRD7VPs7q-O5deK7IATbm8VBPVkNQcFTo14vQaNkmaEd2zt34thwH0_Dw-mckTc/s1600/Liz%20(1).png" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>Liz Flahertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06794565644883272260noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-133132309124375119.post-84967454599554772032023-12-13T21:05:00.001-05:002023-12-13T21:05:16.863-05:00The Stockings Were Hung<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrjxYsXSBnqMSYa6lUsgfmnS-VemtVqfW5cuW4nBcy6FDaNU1sS2T6gkHNDHp0LODD158erSZDEAuq4PSxKK2nKfp8tMW0OT2oy_ye0h3-zaXPr7Rmw2f6VT9su2WfdOjEUxZglsCQSUmCeXSFwroIbU2FHt8Lm9msywukXeLaQGnPyIHbY8vIcmeMVNtw/s630/IMG_8249.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="608" data-original-width="630" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrjxYsXSBnqMSYa6lUsgfmnS-VemtVqfW5cuW4nBcy6FDaNU1sS2T6gkHNDHp0LODD158erSZDEAuq4PSxKK2nKfp8tMW0OT2oy_ye0h3-zaXPr7Rmw2f6VT9su2WfdOjEUxZglsCQSUmCeXSFwroIbU2FHt8Lm9msywukXeLaQGnPyIHbY8vIcmeMVNtw/s320/IMG_8249.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> by Margie Senechal<br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Since its December and Christmas is everywhere, I thought
I’d share my family’s favorite tradition.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">After my daughter was born, my mom announced that this was
the last year she was doing stockings. The horror! No stockings? I still got
mine from Mike but as much as I love my husband, stockings were not his
strength. He’s gotten better in the almost forty years we’ve been married.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My sisters both younger and single didn’t have anyone to do
their stockings. So somewhere in the desperation, I suggested we draw names and
exchange stockings. I’m sure both my sisters will claim the idea came from one
of them, but it was my idea. All mine. Or maybe not. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It was just our immediate family to begin with. There were
six of us and everyone pitched in a present for Kristen’s (and later, Jordan’s
and even later, my nephews’) stocking. My uncle joined in after the first year whenever
he was planning to visit over Christmas. Which was quite frequently in the
early years of the stocking exchange due to the health of my grandparents.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">You wanted Les to draw your name as much as you didn’t want
to draw his name. How do you find something for the man who has everything he
wants or needs? The year Les drew my name, I received a trip to Disneyland for
four. The girls were six and nine when we flew down the following spring. The
year he drew Mike’s name, we got a trip to Reno (when Reno was still fun).<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij0fzvLxw1FeOS2hDK-oiZagW1XDSNwWGe7_KyxXAl2Vke9oTyyfMVRJhpAOzNOzX_dWYlTNj9bLLpiYxv0Yl3Omlo555szshx0WDQMSQ7CSnFB2Qugt2QTsJl-dQmi81O_fZUcXL254F2i7OxTRjXVy6dil79O5QY4Ha_ECDLOOJDOPuIUWveep100Qub/s630/IMG_5239.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="473" data-original-width="630" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij0fzvLxw1FeOS2hDK-oiZagW1XDSNwWGe7_KyxXAl2Vke9oTyyfMVRJhpAOzNOzX_dWYlTNj9bLLpiYxv0Yl3Omlo555szshx0WDQMSQ7CSnFB2Qugt2QTsJl-dQmi81O_fZUcXL254F2i7OxTRjXVy6dil79O5QY4Ha_ECDLOOJDOPuIUWveep100Qub/s320/IMG_5239.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When Alec joined the family, he tried, but he really didn’t
understand our love of stockings. He opted out years ago. As the kids have
gotten older, they’ve joined in and have grown into worthy stocking stuffers.
This year will be Evan’s wife, Graci’s first year. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This year we decided that we’re only doing stockings ($100)
and a gift for the white elephant exchange ($50). Not having to buy for
everyone has turned into a blessing. It’s been a lot more fun to hunt down
quality gifts and little things for my nephew, Kyle, rather than having to
spread out the budget and time amongst us all. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Also on the plus side, I’m done with my official shopping
and we’re not even halfway through the month. Which is a good thing since the
hose on my power steering decided to take a vacation. And while Mike’s car is
available, it’s a shift. And I really don’t like driving a stick unless it’s
some sort of emergency. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Friday is my last day of work until the 27<sup>th</sup> and
I plan to bake, write, and query. Rinse and repeat. Maybe I won’t even miss my
car.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Merry Christmas to you and yours. If you live in my hood,
reach out, I might have holiday treats available.<o:p></o:p></p>Margiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03843006118151762550noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-133132309124375119.post-28549671439489189772023-12-02T10:35:00.000-05:002023-12-02T10:35:03.955-05:00Booksignings, Covid, Holidays and Wine by Liz Flaherty<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhewEr3TpECsR60MWdCFh0kH9b3pEHQ9LxD08rWuUSByhDOzUlG0y1pwu0EBUaGHyTBd6R4lJ1vm5lKtXaklQ0sxcbHaN9I2HxGmLSryHTIaZVNDB3c56YttyPZerLebxLP4mnjBzqKA7VzWAzk7TE8xHbb6FEcAG38QjXzw0lUz1FoWVdvgW8CKKJfwOM/s201/snowman16.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="179" data-original-width="201" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhewEr3TpECsR60MWdCFh0kH9b3pEHQ9LxD08rWuUSByhDOzUlG0y1pwu0EBUaGHyTBd6R4lJ1vm5lKtXaklQ0sxcbHaN9I2HxGmLSryHTIaZVNDB3c56YttyPZerLebxLP4mnjBzqKA7VzWAzk7TE8xHbb6FEcAG38QjXzw0lUz1FoWVdvgW8CKKJfwOM/s1600/snowman16.gif" width="201" /></a></div>Good morning. This is my day to blog, but I'm only stopping in for sympathy... Just kidding! However, I am on the downside of Covid and even though it hasn't been terrible, there has been some misery involved. So I urge you to stay safe and stay healthy. <p></p><p>While I'm here, if you live around central Indiana, I urge you to visit Kokomo this afternoon. Eight Indiana authors will be at <a href="https://www.facebook.com/whytehorsewineryandbistro" target="_blank">Whyte Horse Winery & Bistro</a> selling and signing books. It's <i>killing </i>me not to be there, so I wish you'd all go and buy at least one book from every author and mention how much you miss me being there. (Okay, you don't have to do that, but it will be a great event this afternoon.) The owner of the bistro, Amanda Crain, has been so supportive of authors! Plus the wine and food is great!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLeyXeiSa23qLuKpluoNTRZ6uFQpZ5s2bhsKncYmA7tl8_46W5QZSrZPJhUW0xMk8JoulJFGLeg9wlUSwHNZo4-zUFM69jUPFzPffTFm065tcFNedg0PebuzZggXLNBh1-GiD7g-0r5UmYdHljpbu1z908iiSH1V4m9OokLkKdGYBLPydJq6YuyJ7Bylc/s843/signing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="843" data-original-width="843" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLeyXeiSa23qLuKpluoNTRZ6uFQpZ5s2bhsKncYmA7tl8_46W5QZSrZPJhUW0xMk8JoulJFGLeg9wlUSwHNZo4-zUFM69jUPFzPffTFm065tcFNedg0PebuzZggXLNBh1-GiD7g-0r5UmYdHljpbu1z908iiSH1V4m9OokLkKdGYBLPydJq6YuyJ7Bylc/w400-h400/signing.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>All three books of the <a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0CLD2PPHY?ref_=dbs_p_pwh_rwt_anx_b_lnk&storeType=ebooks" target="_blank">A New Season series</a> have been released now. They are re-releases, but if you missed them before, I hope you'll give them a try now. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgyi7b5qluQDW2wbFsqLMz7NbrsVeYd-uaYjE8KFQOlN5NVaekY7gZaY_6wumigmQpy7Cz8ev8CvK20F48TrFrlPNEho7IrrWT-DQZJ39MVy6REvJdQJI8OfPKI1-1XwUUp1TxV2HbtPQaNWDSPgNxF5oybPAipRxpF_t_MdeDV47ub1pCttXtNMLBX-A/s1600/front.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgyi7b5qluQDW2wbFsqLMz7NbrsVeYd-uaYjE8KFQOlN5NVaekY7gZaY_6wumigmQpy7Cz8ev8CvK20F48TrFrlPNEho7IrrWT-DQZJ39MVy6REvJdQJI8OfPKI1-1XwUUp1TxV2HbtPQaNWDSPgNxF5oybPAipRxpF_t_MdeDV47ub1pCttXtNMLBX-A/s320/front.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>This whole thing's going to be a commercial, isn't it? Oh, well...</p><p>While you're out and cyberly about, please come by my personal blog, <a href="https://windowoverthesink.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Window Over the Sink</a>, where I'm having guests every day between Thanksgiving and New Year's. It's been so much fun. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO7LBPhIPr7IwJ_A0SFeeFsvAjQy5OJl7jStAwlptPs7V8Av79bndoApxCFuSNXRccMg3iqsbYoGYIoAyEYdmupBO_iXuRLC3d8r7NAHD3o8FADl1buRPx53aZXY_3N4zjmTPmA6ZBgXBUP7648gIIvaYuAZ5k8nGo47UqOYuofBTVjggyj1Euwws3Fwg/s1080/Donna%20Cronk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO7LBPhIPr7IwJ_A0SFeeFsvAjQy5OJl7jStAwlptPs7V8Av79bndoApxCFuSNXRccMg3iqsbYoGYIoAyEYdmupBO_iXuRLC3d8r7NAHD3o8FADl1buRPx53aZXY_3N4zjmTPmA6ZBgXBUP7648gIIvaYuAZ5k8nGo47UqOYuofBTVjggyj1Euwws3Fwg/s320/Donna%20Cronk.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>Wishing you wonderful days and holidays, good health, and kindness. Blessings to you. Thanks for stopping by. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCot3f-M8PT5GadntejBZwdkmR66N1qwAk09U5d3sPD8KFRxz7jK6elXFWBEJaU61WJjjiRra6TFxxEMJnnP8fBiBhU_mlLfkgzL0MQx72lRWuyI1SxB8ljxvoQuhFwsgByqITA4StFBWHqBBHbP9lHXpjduc_fLZfWokHaO6MrKvmmb0EXhsJspXWAjg/s900/Liz%20(1).png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="125" data-original-width="900" height="88" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCot3f-M8PT5GadntejBZwdkmR66N1qwAk09U5d3sPD8KFRxz7jK6elXFWBEJaU61WJjjiRra6TFxxEMJnnP8fBiBhU_mlLfkgzL0MQx72lRWuyI1SxB8ljxvoQuhFwsgByqITA4StFBWHqBBHbP9lHXpjduc_fLZfWokHaO6MrKvmmb0EXhsJspXWAjg/w640-h88/Liz%20(1).png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Liz Flahertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06794565644883272260noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-133132309124375119.post-19669044949214779362023-11-28T02:00:00.017-05:002023-11-28T02:00:00.133-05:00Lessons learned...more to come by Peggy Jaeger<p><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">My friend and prolific writer Peggy Jaeger had this post on her blog. When I read it, it was like hearing, as Cheryl Reavis says, "the song of my people." Although I'm way behind Peggy on the efforts made, I'm in the same place. It's called mourning some days. I want her to be successful just as I want everyone else I know to be, but I have to admit to being glad not to be alone here. </span></i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;">Thanks, Peggy, for joining us. - Liz</span></i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;"></span></i></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #38761d;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV8m0hjZYwo6iY4zOeyeKcMZ_B67T-alvUrRgBNCVPPKU4RVIryqrcEpUwpu4G4BZfZT9avrv3m0Y0YXvdqB21w-IsN9AJrsBZ8URZKdzg6I1_RWINl6mDfr-9VX6qSNnCJhD1XhehPbcA9BhcYrklvJK98iVaqskt9YLnbBbnTKPiyoVDC1k1DNKnqUI/s200/peggyheadshot.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="133" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV8m0hjZYwo6iY4zOeyeKcMZ_B67T-alvUrRgBNCVPPKU4RVIryqrcEpUwpu4G4BZfZT9avrv3m0Y0YXvdqB21w-IsN9AJrsBZ8URZKdzg6I1_RWINl6mDfr-9VX6qSNnCJhD1XhehPbcA9BhcYrklvJK98iVaqskt9YLnbBbnTKPiyoVDC1k1DNKnqUI/s1600/peggyheadshot.jpg" width="133" /></a></span></i></div><i><span style="color: #38761d;">So.</span></i><p></p><p style="border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #38761d;">I’ve been writing full-time and professionally now for 8 years. I’ve had to learn stuff I never in a million years thought I’d need to learn back when I got my first publishing contract in 2014.</span></p><p style="border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><em style="border: 0px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #38761d;">Book formatting. Branding. Marketing. On-spec writing. Copyright law. Book design.</span></em></p><p style="border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #38761d;">That’s only the tip of the iceberg.</span></p><p style="border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #38761d;">I joined <a href="https://twitter.com/peggy_jaeger" rel="noreferrer noopener" style="border: 0px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;" target="_blank">Twitter</a> ( back when it was called that and not whatever the hell it’s called now) <a href="https://www.instagram.com/peggyjaeger_author/" rel="noreferrer noopener" style="border: 0px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;" target="_blank">Instagram, </a><a href="https://www.pinterest.com/peggyjaeger" style="border: 0px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Pinterest</a>, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/PeggyJaeger.Author/" rel="noreferrer noopener" style="border: 0px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;" target="_blank">Facebook </a>( and multiple FB groups), <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13478796.Peggy_Jaeger" rel="noreferrer noopener" style="border: 0px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;" target="_blank">Goodreads,</a> <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/authors/peggy-jaeger" rel="noreferrer noopener" style="border: 0px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;" target="_blank">Bookbub</a>, <a href="https://www.linkedin.com/in/peggy-jaeger-296ab878" rel="noreferrer noopener" style="border: 0px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;" target="_blank">LinkedIn</a> – again, just to name a few.</span></p><p style="border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #38761d;">I’ve done more marketing than I ever in my entire life thought I’d ever want to do. Which is a lot considering I never wanted to do any.</span></p><p style="border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #38761d;">And now I’m on <a href="https://www.tiktok.com/@peggyjaegerauthor" rel="noreferrer noopener" style="border: 0px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;" target="_blank">TikTok</a>, hawking my books to booktokers.</span></p><p style="border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #38761d;">Here’s the lesson I just this week learned: none of the people on these platforms is my target audience.</span></p><p style="border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #38761d;">None.</span></p><p style="border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #38761d;">Tiktok? 18-24 year olds. I write 35+ age characters.</span></p><p style="border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #38761d;">Instagram – same demographic</span></p><p style="border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #38761d;">TwtX – I don’t even know what the demographic is there, other than the people on it are mean and grumpy and feel they can bully you anonymously</span></p><p style="border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #38761d;">Bookbub – okay, here I may have some traction, same as GoodReads, because…readers! Of all ages.</span></p><p style="border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #38761d;">Facebook – my professional page barely gets any traction/views other than my near and dear friends ( who also see the same content on my personal page because I’m a redundancy idiot). I don’t garner new readers to the professional page at all.</span></p><p style="border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #38761d;">Now, I could PAY for ads for all these places to try and get new readers, but 2 things: I have no money, and the ROI is never comparable.</span></p><p style="border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #38761d;">So my target audience is females, romance readers who like 35+ age romances, everything from sweet with heat to steamy, smalltown, romcoms and romantic suspense lite.</span></p><p style="border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #38761d;">Now, I have my target audience. Does anyone know where I can find them so I can tell them about my books?? Because I need to sell some books.</span></p><p style="border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #38761d;">My online holiday webstore has been open for 19 days and I’ve publicized the heck out of it.</span></p><p style="border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #38761d;">1 sale.</span></p><p style="border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #38761d;">KDP tells me I have no sales and no KU reads at all for the past 10 days.</span></p><p style="border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #38761d;">Forget KOBO, Nook, and all the other sites where some of my books are widely distributed. If I get .25 cents a month in total sale royalties combined from these sites that’s saying something.</span></p><p style="border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #38761d;">So, where can I find new readers? Where can I find readers who enjoy non-smutty, non-dark, non-erotic books, but love stories about regular people?</span></p><p style="border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #38761d;">Recently, I wrote and posted this for a TikTok to try and find my demographic there:</span></p><p style="border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #38761d;"><span style="border: 0px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><em style="border: 0px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">If you’re looking for spicy, dark, romantasy…I’m not your writer</em></span>.</span></p><p style="border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #38761d;">If you’re looking for gritty, brought and tumble love them and leave them alphamales…I’m not your writer.</span></p><p style="border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #38761d;"><span style="border: 0px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><em style="border: 0px; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">If you’re looking for historical, time travel fantasy or paranormal…I’m not your writer</em></span>.</span></p><p style="border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #38761d;">But…</span></p><p style="border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #38761d;"><span style="border: 0px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">If you’re looking for rom coms, small towns, and familycentric stories…I may be your write</span>r.</span></p><p style="border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #38761d;">If you like female billionaires who had it all, lost it, then got it back again all on their own, finding love along the way…I may be your writer.</span></span></p><p style="border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #38761d;"><span style="border: 0px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">If you like romance books about strong women, the families who support them, and the men who can’t live without them…I’m definitely your writer</span>.</span></p><p style="border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #38761d;"><span style="border: 0px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">And if you like to cry on one page and come out of it with laughter on the next…I am your writer</span>.</span></p><p style="border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #38761d;">So…if you like what you see here, and haven’t read anything by me, then please consider doing so.</span></p><p style="border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #38761d;">And if anyone knows where I can find readers who do like the kinds of stories I write…please let me know.</span></p><p style="border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, "Bitstream Charter", serif; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #38761d;">Thanks,</span></p><p style="border: 0px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: x-large;"><b>Peg</b></span></p><p style="border: 0px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: x-large;"><b>Videos on this:</b></span></p><div dir="ltr"><span style="color: #38761d;">Tiktok: <a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.tiktok.com/@peggyjaegerauthor/video/7303120337644932398&source=gmail&ust=1700579436162000&usg=AOvVaw0j9DiuJVrTSa9iQMSzmlBS" fg_scanned="1" href="https://www.tiktok.com/@peggyjaegerauthor/video/7303120337644932398" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">https://www.tiktok.<wbr></wbr>com/@peggyjaegerauthor/video/<wbr></wbr>7303120337644932398</a></span></div><div dir="ltr"><span style="color: #38761d;"><br /></span></div><div dir="ltr"><span style="color: #38761d;">Facebook: <a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.facebook.com/1127493635/videos/1333627900850371&source=gmail&ust=1700579436162000&usg=AOvVaw0_t7qq-ubdmAegT4WKgOfa" href="https://www.facebook.com/1127493635/videos/1333627900850371" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">https://www.<wbr></wbr>facebook.com/1127493635/<wbr></wbr>videos/1333627900850371</a></span></div><div dir="ltr"><span style="color: #38761d;"><br /></span></div><div dir="ltr"><span style="color: #38761d;">Find Peggy at her <a href="https://www.amazon.com/stores/Peggy-Jaeger/author/B00T8E5LN0" target="_blank">Amazon page</a> and her <a href="https://peggyjaeger.com/" target="_blank">website</a>. </span></div><div dir="ltr"><span style="color: #38761d;"><br /></span></div><div dir="ltr"><br /></div><p style="border: 0px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: x-large;"></span></p><div><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" /></div>Liz Flahertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06794565644883272260noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-133132309124375119.post-36645247647225813402023-11-16T01:30:00.065-05:002023-11-16T01:30:00.144-05:00Looking for Thanksgiving by Jana Richards<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj89igukG13DgHrh6l54JeelIgb-nUANuK5FV_Yi6AfmI5xl3gOELegxqVwtpJCPknOUdRbJsnkhwX-4FzPrVMQVdeaQ87BXQqdqUCF3wPnRDGqMR7GTidK1fVDNSuCDewQDv2zkDEEcj1iUdBNqG4i0ieJ9si0K0kxjiaRpmdeHZJibGRvWi0gOfJ-E9U/s1350/ChristmasAtSolaceLake_V1%20smaller%20900x1350.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj89igukG13DgHrh6l54JeelIgb-nUANuK5FV_Yi6AfmI5xl3gOELegxqVwtpJCPknOUdRbJsnkhwX-4FzPrVMQVdeaQ87BXQqdqUCF3wPnRDGqMR7GTidK1fVDNSuCDewQDv2zkDEEcj1iUdBNqG4i0ieJ9si0K0kxjiaRpmdeHZJibGRvWi0gOfJ-E9U/w213-h320/ChristmasAtSolaceLake_V1%20smaller%20900x1350.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>On October
18, 2023, the fourth book in my Love at Solace Lake series had its world-wide release.
CHRISTMAS AT SOLACE LAKE is the holiday story I’ve wanted to write for a long time,
so I was thrilled to bring it out into the world. So far, the reviews have been
good, and while I likely won’t make a bundle on sales, they’ve been okay.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That’s the
good news. The bad news is that just before this new release came out, I got
COVID for the second time in a year. It meant I wasn’t able to do as many
things as I would have liked on the days leading up to the release. Luckily,
I’d set up a few promotions in advance that took care of themselves. That was a
good thing, because for a few days, I didn’t do much aside from watching TV in
my jammies. Even after I was over the worst of it, I was still coughing, and l
felt tired and foggy-brained. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But by far,
the worst consequence of getting COVID again was not being able to go home to
visit family over Canadian Thanksgiving in October. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A year ago,
in October of 2022, my older brother passed away. Fortunately, my husband and I
were able to see him in the hospital before he passed. When we realized he
wasn’t going to make it, we quickly packed up and drove the 600 kilometers
(about 372 miles), late at night, just ahead of a snowstorm. Despite the awful
weather and the distance, I’m so glad we were able to say our goodbyes.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal">Before we left to see my brother, we tested for COVID because our daughter, who lives with us, came down with it. Thankfully,
our results were negative. They remained negative every day we were away.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiILaE_-BbfPHTPKNxnJjEmKnIf1OiBeVcCjP7NZbNTFuuGkRyQxw5iI3oVSWCGqQ-_HC-OSA6q1ob2y-0rtVO54PQ-I6mS23Qcw0fgzKweymSMHP41mqID6FLEUWR3YdKcndcQ8hY2FqPufsAAyaqQnqblOi51RNqUBGhhb63ndQx5ApmYXsqCG7AnZvs/s275/Wheatwyn%20church.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiILaE_-BbfPHTPKNxnJjEmKnIf1OiBeVcCjP7NZbNTFuuGkRyQxw5iI3oVSWCGqQ-_HC-OSA6q1ob2y-0rtVO54PQ-I6mS23Qcw0fgzKweymSMHP41mqID6FLEUWR3YdKcndcQ8hY2FqPufsAAyaqQnqblOi51RNqUBGhhb63ndQx5ApmYXsqCG7AnZvs/s1600/Wheatwyn%20church.jpg" width="275" /></a></div><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The funeral
couldn’t be held for over a week, so we decided to drive home. But on the
evening before we left, I started to get a scratchy throat. I felt like I was
getting a cold. As soon as I got home, I took another COVID test and this time
I was positive. A day or two later, my husband was positive, too. The COVID
tests remained stubbornly positive for two whole weeks. That meant we weren’t
able to go to my brother’s funeral. <o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Fast
forward to this October. Over Thanksgiving, my family made plans to bury my brother’s ashes at the country cemetery where most of our relatives are laid to
rest. Some of his ashes would also be spread at the old farm where he and I
grew up. But again, because of COVID, I missed out on yet another ceremony, and
another opportunity to honor him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXtlAbGr9YvRPquEjkSr6eGBlt38vbfBX-AZ-KD9nyQIy4DYZZTPv1d-nT6v1_0-0fYeS_BOyyRbKiVane-5qW3CZv6NYHXfB4_v89Rf92XlkGZZPaNEfChFDPGebSSjbmwojL_H2dUD3IXupyhctPHmibaiPylAL6eP8jijCDe8aiK7HJPhu9J5H0SYM/s259/Wheatwyn%20cemetery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="259" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXtlAbGr9YvRPquEjkSr6eGBlt38vbfBX-AZ-KD9nyQIy4DYZZTPv1d-nT6v1_0-0fYeS_BOyyRbKiVane-5qW3CZv6NYHXfB4_v89Rf92XlkGZZPaNEfChFDPGebSSjbmwojL_H2dUD3IXupyhctPHmibaiPylAL6eP8jijCDe8aiK7HJPhu9J5H0SYM/s1600/Wheatwyn%20cemetery.jpg" width="259" /></a></div>It’s beyond
ironic and frustrating. Because I’d missed his funeral, I really wanted to be
there for the internment. To have that also taken away was disappointing, to
say the least. <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I have to
focus on the positive. I was able to see him and say goodbye and for that I’m very
grateful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> And thankful.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">I really needed to get these emotions down on paper. Writing helps to process my feelings. </span></span>Thanks for letting me vent. </p>Jana Richardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16624650840243322617noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-133132309124375119.post-47028682300279458302023-11-02T02:00:00.003-04:002023-11-02T02:00:00.130-04:00Gratitude and Holidays by Liz Flaherty<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGDPF1X72XfCXq8WKzRYMqsFWcpVbmyaAbLwfNcGyz0l1c9xm9q3chi4-4WpGN65EV6kKMrCRUlZkBYMAGBfoFcl0HhFaH2ScAYJGWMfR9tQ6U3ED4D8ROoiPuR5v3y2w-VAvdq71WT8HV1Atq3pcuY0-Pjr6MyWOLklavDdcvnFFZSaCNKOpGhXl6LDA/s1080/Window%20Holidays%20(Instagram%20Post).jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGDPF1X72XfCXq8WKzRYMqsFWcpVbmyaAbLwfNcGyz0l1c9xm9q3chi4-4WpGN65EV6kKMrCRUlZkBYMAGBfoFcl0HhFaH2ScAYJGWMfR9tQ6U3ED4D8ROoiPuR5v3y2w-VAvdq71WT8HV1Atq3pcuY0-Pjr6MyWOLklavDdcvnFFZSaCNKOpGhXl6LDA/w200-h200/Window%20Holidays%20(Instagram%20Post).jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Yesterday started my online holiday celebration. While <i>Window Holidays</i> on <a href="https://windowoverthesink.blogspot.com/">Window Over the Sink</a> doesn't start until the day after Thanksgiving, I've done 30 Days of Gratitude on Facebook for a lot of years, and that starts on November 1. <p></p><p>It all makes me think of how things change. I have always loved the holidays, and I admit to loving them best when our kids were young and the presents were big and well planned and hopefully surprises. Those were the years of family celebrations on the day, the day before, the Sunday before, and the Sunday after. Sometimes for my family, it was New Year's Day. It was fun and worth the weeks of exhaustion that went with it. I had no trouble combining the religious and the commercial when it came to Christmas, because I loved them both. It was, in the end, all about the giving.</p><p>And, if I'm honest about it, the receiving. I loved getting presents, because gifts often took care of things I wanted but wouldn't buy, things I needed but didn't feel we could afford, and gift cards that allowed me to buy things--as comes naturally to me--on sale. </p><p>I miss it. I miss the excitement of the giving and the getting and the chaos of family gatherings. </p><p>So the holidays are different now. We decorate less. I bake less. I buy less. We go to fewer family gatherings and host fewer yet. There aren't as many gifts because there aren't as many needs or wants. I still send Christmas cards because I love doing it, but...yeah, different. </p><p>Which brings me to what I was talking about in the first paragraph. The online celebrations are different, as is the fact that we now buy Christmas gifts for children we don't know--Santa has the most fun when he's anonymous!--and donate to more places. </p><p>But the celebrations are still engaging and real--at least, they are for me and for readers of the Window. The 30 Days of Gratitude works as a reminder. That at the end of every celebratory day, it's still about the giving. </p><p>I hope you enjoy the holidays and visit the Wranglers both here and at their places of work and play online. </p><p>If you're looking for holiday reads, don't miss Jana's <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Christmas-Solace-Lake-interracial-contemporary-ebook/dp/B0CH5DTYNS/ref=sr_1_1?crid=IJBHREBKW0SR&keywords=christmas+at+solace+lake&qid=1698326715&s=digital-text&sprefix=christmas+at+solace+lake%2Cdigital-text%2C125&sr=1-1" target="_blank"><i><b>Christmas at Solace Lake</b></i></a>, Nan's <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Christmas-Rivers-Edge-Weaver-Sisters-ebook/dp/B0C7FP46QS?ref_=ast_author_dp" target="_blank"><b><i>Christmas in River's Edge</i></b></a>, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Christmas-Small-Town-Slippery-Novel-ebook/dp/B0727TQB4M/ref=sr_1_10?crid=10N7OMZFED8R1&keywords=Kristina+Knight&qid=1698326795&s=digital-text&sprefix=kristina+knight%2Cdigital-text%2C121&sr=1-10" target="_blank">Kristi's<b style="font-style: italic;"> Christmas In A Small Town</b></a> and this year's visit to Christmas Town, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Lights-Camera-Christmas-Town-Collection-ebook/dp/B0CGP387ZF/ref=sr_1_1?crid=18KUV48ZPIIIV&keywords=lights%2C+camera%2C+christmas+town&qid=1698326983&s=digital-text&sprefix=lights%2C+cam%2Cdigital-text%2C129&sr=1-1" target="_blank"><b><i>Lights, Camera, Christmas Town!</i></b></a></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrarOnFgNo4raRvFoMzkrnOvlT_QRPtZ0mzvV4g_yAEYmKFCVORENvhco3L9omdvrki3FyMM9ysX6cYmxAI9UlK3q4RCx3HqvmTk3D16SmJZ9q5vXcrxxygId3ThdFm108W7UnpLZ9mTHPzC8KMQGcn6TyT7vjIKeU0mwqAURS0lEv1XnaygtEqy5OiS4/s1080/wranglers.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrarOnFgNo4raRvFoMzkrnOvlT_QRPtZ0mzvV4g_yAEYmKFCVORENvhco3L9omdvrki3FyMM9ysX6cYmxAI9UlK3q4RCx3HqvmTk3D16SmJZ9q5vXcrxxygId3ThdFm108W7UnpLZ9mTHPzC8KMQGcn6TyT7vjIKeU0mwqAURS0lEv1XnaygtEqy5OiS4/s320/wranglers.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Liz Flahertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06794565644883272260noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-133132309124375119.post-27897019000780633592023-10-30T02:00:00.026-04:002023-10-30T02:00:00.153-04:00About Sparkling and Time by Vicky Burkholder<p><i>A little backstory...on October 2, I wrote a <a href="https://wordwranglers.blogspot.com/2023/10/about-blogs-by-liz-flaherty.html" target="_blank">post about blogging</a>. It was on the whiny side, and I mentioned (mournfully) that Vicky Burkholder's <a href="https://sparklingbookreviews.com/" target="_blank">Sparkling Book Reviews</a> was going to close at the end of the year. I said I didn't know why, so I asked. Here's what she had to say. Thanks for coming, Vicky, and thanks for all you share! - Liz</i></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRnJrcgRujlINsLwz9ddzVHzupMHsZ_kuXELIYVAJks8EcSes3RwF_ceRqZ-ih1OG89S8ahMNjImF7412guNAseiJryRkuHZXNBvSBmqDYREXqkFmzYLHGFApSdSKMV_E2RezsDaIu1HTXrsHg2lWpz5wj4dYNaB4pTG0_sm29rqWnXYrAenUkrO740hA/s1188/design2.webp" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="1188" height="129" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRnJrcgRujlINsLwz9ddzVHzupMHsZ_kuXELIYVAJks8EcSes3RwF_ceRqZ-ih1OG89S8ahMNjImF7412guNAseiJryRkuHZXNBvSBmqDYREXqkFmzYLHGFApSdSKMV_E2RezsDaIu1HTXrsHg2lWpz5wj4dYNaB4pTG0_sm29rqWnXYrAenUkrO740hA/w640-h129/design2.webp" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d;">From Sparkling Book Reviews Home Page</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>Recently I was asked why I’m closing down the Sparkling Book Reviews blog site. That’s a very good question. I mean, I have several hundred followers and subscribers, and I get requests all the time from authors who want reviews and/or spotlights. So why close down a seemingly successful site? The easy answer is time. The harder answer is…time.</p>You see, I have two blogs: the Sparkling site and my personal author website where I have a blog about all things author-ish. Coming up with two daily blogs along with double Facebook pages, double email accounts, double postings, double the money spent on the sites, and more has become onerous.<br /><br />Plus, I have all those books to read and review. Plus, my own writing. Plus, life outside… It all boils down to time.<br /><br />I am not quitting blogging. I’m just condensing and moving things around. I will continue to blog on my personal site and pages and continue to review and spotlight authors there, but having just one site will offer me the opportunity to maybe breathe a little. I don’t often get the chance to check out other author sites and maybe I can now. Or maybe I can finish that crochet project that’s been sitting on my table staring at me. Or write my next book. Or just watch the world go by. I haven’t done that in a long time.<div><br />Some people may call it burnout, and maybe that’s what it is. There is so much to take care of when you’re an author—you need to tweet, FaceBook, BlueSky, Instagram, InstaBook, etc. Sometimes it all just becomes overwhelming. Plus, I’m not getting any younger! (Who is, besides Dorian Grey?) I am into my seventh decade and want time to enjoy friends and family more. I recently had a health scare (I’m okay) and took a hard look at my life as it is now. My husband and I moved into a retirement community and other residents are often inviting me to join them in this or that activity, and maybe now I can.<br /><br />So why am I closing down a popular site? To give myself time. Something that is slipping away faster than I want. I will still be around, just at a different spot. I’m not quitting completely, just stepping back to take a breath - something we all need to do once in a while. Meanwhile, it’s a beautiful fall day outside.<br /><br />Think I’ll go take a walk. How ‘bout you?<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVvlJWi7v2YibagTQ_7doAkBHKIS6RKPAzmFRgw8p0UhJND8BYJ-wNS31J9V_Pw_u3WF4JwJpNKX-VR7h9A3EL7j4NUtNhqrSYED1qYB9m6z4yhi22D-1Dl0GpNswAjfgzPqCd7UL5scTFUkg_-KweTgPoe2Ra7zTQqtHgEPKUZjNSLAZWoXt4B0lAekI/s900/divider.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="125" data-original-width="900" height="44" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVvlJWi7v2YibagTQ_7doAkBHKIS6RKPAzmFRgw8p0UhJND8BYJ-wNS31J9V_Pw_u3WF4JwJpNKX-VR7h9A3EL7j4NUtNhqrSYED1qYB9m6z4yhi22D-1Dl0GpNswAjfgzPqCd7UL5scTFUkg_-KweTgPoe2Ra7zTQqtHgEPKUZjNSLAZWoXt4B0lAekI/s320/divider.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgflYdQ32t9PClg22tJ1st9B1S7yns09pm19DGrXtvk5dzVW7y770Ksgyqe99WwN4Pxarm8ThITyEuX2iaLc-aOixdjpJWM-wtpZrJodpiUlnG5ag7mm4JzD7XLF4mfP-9YIrzO1NvpcjlIkburCFCvkgiJbMEiJRP7A5PSVRxoUpnjgR9XrnoFRJkKaW4/s4032/Burkholder%20headshot.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgflYdQ32t9PClg22tJ1st9B1S7yns09pm19DGrXtvk5dzVW7y770Ksgyqe99WwN4Pxarm8ThITyEuX2iaLc-aOixdjpJWM-wtpZrJodpiUlnG5ag7mm4JzD7XLF4mfP-9YIrzO1NvpcjlIkburCFCvkgiJbMEiJRP7A5PSVRxoUpnjgR9XrnoFRJkKaW4/w150-h200/Burkholder%20headshot.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>As her alter-ego, Vicky has multiple homes all over the universe. She looks human - for the mostpart - but when she starts writing about characters being able to move things or flicking fire from their fingertips, or changing the course of rivers, people tend to get a little freaked out. She found the one guy out there in the universe who loves her for who she is and they&#39;ve been together forever and raised four wonderful (now) adults. Her career includes work as a technical writer/editor, a stringer for the local newspaper, and an editor and copy editor for various publishers. At various times in her life, she has been a teacher, a secretary, a short-order cook, a computer specialist, a DJ, and a librarian. When not editing or writing, she can be found in the kitchen creating gluten free goodies for her family.<br /><br />Website: <a href="http://www.vicky-burkholder.com">http://www.vicky-burkholder.com</a><br />Amazon Author Page: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Vicky-Burkholder">https://www.amazon.com/Vicky-Burkholder</a><br />Goodreads Page: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1264928.Vicky_Burkholder">https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1264928.Vicky_Burkholder</a><br />Facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Vicky-Burkholder-535739543163598/">https://www.facebook.com/Vicky-Burkholder-535739543163598/</a><br />Twitter: <a href="https://twitter.com/vickyburkholder">https://twitter.com/vickyburkholder</a><br />Bookbub: <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/authors/vicky-burkholder">https://www.bookbub.com/authors/vicky-burkholder</a><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #741b47; font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: x-large;">From Vicky</span></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b style="font-style: italic;">The Cane, The Puzzle, and Magic </b>by <span style="font-family: inherit;">Vicky Burkholder</span></div><div style="text-align: center;">An Urban Fantasy Romance <span style="font-family: inherit;">from The Wild Rose Press</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGsh_kmCK1lXGrR1B6CJXorJtktpu4UYC6acFrTHQB6xEkSTdXpvs3MBgC_jC8YAj0AWPCkH81F309saZODeyLA9y86_0dej5SwCJHaMEiPxfZwinwCEUDorbZQKJbw-O3qj3RwdeGv6tA3a8N8CTggRX2ZsLCtqOu-khcn0wZf7wDY99UQrG3-1A-eaY/s150/TheCaneThePuzzleandMagic_w12517_100.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="150" data-original-width="100" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGsh_kmCK1lXGrR1B6CJXorJtktpu4UYC6acFrTHQB6xEkSTdXpvs3MBgC_jC8YAj0AWPCkH81F309saZODeyLA9y86_0dej5SwCJHaMEiPxfZwinwCEUDorbZQKJbw-O3qj3RwdeGv6tA3a8N8CTggRX2ZsLCtqOu-khcn0wZf7wDY99UQrG3-1A-eaY/w133-h200/TheCaneThePuzzleandMagic_w12517_100.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>It’s never easy to fight a friend. It’s even harder to kill</b></div><div><b>one.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>Facing down an ancient evil, special agent <span style="font-family: inherit;">Elizabeth St. John is outnumbered, outgunned, and outmatched. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Local cop Kaeden Pike is the perfect choice to help her but </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">letting him—or anyone—into her life and heart is the most difficult challenge she’s ever faced.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div>Kaeden has never found the one person who fit him, until now. But how can he convince Liz that <span style="font-family: inherit;">they make the perfect pair, especially when the end of the world is coming? Someone has to </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">gather the forces of good to win this fight, but when Liz accepts the role, she finds that being </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">alone isn't a choice she has to make. Almost losing Kaeden to the evil who already took the only </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">other person she's ever trusted convinces her to open her heart and let him in...where he belongs.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div>The Wild Rose Press: <a href="https://www.thewildrosepress.com/bookauthor/vicky-burkholder">https://www.thewildrosepress.com/bookauthor/vicky-burkholder</a></div><div>Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Cane-Puzzle-Magic-Vicky-Burkholder-</div><div>ebook/dp/B0CDJ55FQG</div><div>Barnes &amp; Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1143862796?ean=9781509251032</div><div>Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/195596272-the-cane-the-puzzle-and-magic</div><div>BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/vicky-burkholder</div><div>Google Books: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Vicky_Burkholder</div><div>iTunes/Apple Books: https://books.apple.com/gb/book/the-cane-the-puzzle-and-</div><div>magic/id6456978093</div></span></div></span></div></div>Liz Flahertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06794565644883272260noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-133132309124375119.post-61676436980446710892023-10-26T07:09:00.004-04:002023-10-26T07:14:32.808-04:00A New River's Edge Book Has Launched! Squee!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBkvY4i197PbM4pzw-PeNaRMkeGk9Dj6elpms5IN754AWdBONoitTlQOcme4PnbBKpkOA7VkSHYuwbdiU5EBS9usUuYFMLLOUnCqJRtX2L0wMmWQ2mw-jKScTDGenBAIr_DfxjgYcOGY1oUmIMJ1sTRTSyr2UmGtc0DjqPju5tA7L5GqIh0ugXxGqbYfk/s1640/'Tis%20the%20season...%20celebrate!.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="924" data-original-width="1640" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBkvY4i197PbM4pzw-PeNaRMkeGk9Dj6elpms5IN754AWdBONoitTlQOcme4PnbBKpkOA7VkSHYuwbdiU5EBS9usUuYFMLLOUnCqJRtX2L0wMmWQ2mw-jKScTDGenBAIr_DfxjgYcOGY1oUmIMJ1sTRTSyr2UmGtc0DjqPju5tA7L5GqIh0ugXxGqbYfk/w420-h236/'Tis%20the%20season...%20celebrate!.jpg" width="420" /></a></div><br /> Hey, Wranglers, it's finally here! <i><b><a href="https://tulepublishing.com/books/christmas-in-rivers-edge/">Christmas in River's Edge</a></b></i>, book 3 in the Weaver Sisters trilogy has launched, and I'm so excited to have Gabe and Jenny's story out into the world. The reception has been wonderful--good reviews and readers are excited for another story from River's Edge. I really do love Gabe and Jenny--their romance is quiet and steady and open. They talk--truly communicate--and I love that about them. I'll be anxious to see what y'all think about this one--lots of holiday fun is stuffed into one story that spans time from Halloween through Thanksgiving all the way to New Year's Day.<p></p><p>Here's the scoop! </p><h2 style="text-align: left;">Christmas in River's Edge</h2><i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwdwMEOOrSg6lNrhFxcruV268dhXfHV4sevNPzd0kl292M6wUuYjDD18kXTGyI2heQDQ7pdy0qJ5XdGNYCJnqaqQa0FPElDMYask_EooKgotkMN7Qg1YWPtylEqLHRwWmflQW1DZlchmG7L9hLuBIwreWTiMbjEqOsmp3GP14-uWVIntGCqp0et-IAOmM/s648/ChristmasAtRiversEdge-MEDIUM.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="648" data-original-width="432" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwdwMEOOrSg6lNrhFxcruV268dhXfHV4sevNPzd0kl292M6wUuYjDD18kXTGyI2heQDQ7pdy0qJ5XdGNYCJnqaqQa0FPElDMYask_EooKgotkMN7Qg1YWPtylEqLHRwWmflQW1DZlchmG7L9hLuBIwreWTiMbjEqOsmp3GP14-uWVIntGCqp0et-IAOmM/s320/ChristmasAtRiversEdge-MEDIUM.jpg" width="213" /></a></div></i><i>You can go home again…<br /></i><br />After a painful divorce from her high school sweetheart, triplet <b>Jenny Weaver</b> returns to River’s Edge with her young son. While happy to be reunited with her sisters and working at the family’s marina, she has no intention of jumping into the dating pool, especially going into the holidays. Then Gabe Dawson, once a shy nerd who tutored her in history classes, arrives home transformed into a handsome hunk who makes her pulse race.<br /><br />Archeologist and history professor <b>Gabe Dawson</b> thought he’d long ago outgrown his teen crush on Jenny. Back in town for a few months to help his mom post surgery, he can’t resist reaching out to Jenny. She’s as beautiful, warm, and funny as he remembered and soon Gabe is reconsidering his future.<br /><br />Gabe is determined to seize this second chance, but can he convince a very wary Jenny that a globe-trotter is ready to come home for good this Christmas?<blockquote><div></div></blockquote><div>Thanks always for all your support, dear Wranglers! Enjoy this holiday read!</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYBJYzk7yKkvv1IcVW-YhbjQ4FRIcwsvpRkLbNm-lwHMoGyrjw-TOo2lyZjkDX4FrfUxRsbpFHgg2fwtvlp0Ar8aTJb9oxK8kkhuzmTSkNnuLUYw3upxA6lAB-UnxN0Iz4b0saXWTIPRIC3-43nXfpOczTgAuiTdveJllCeGrrhz3HfkK9K8dfvcr2Hq8/s1110/nan%20sig10092020.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="408" data-original-width="1110" height="118" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYBJYzk7yKkvv1IcVW-YhbjQ4FRIcwsvpRkLbNm-lwHMoGyrjw-TOo2lyZjkDX4FrfUxRsbpFHgg2fwtvlp0Ar8aTJb9oxK8kkhuzmTSkNnuLUYw3upxA6lAB-UnxN0Iz4b0saXWTIPRIC3-43nXfpOczTgAuiTdveJllCeGrrhz3HfkK9K8dfvcr2Hq8/s320/nan%20sig10092020.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /><blockquote><div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></blockquote></div>Nanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08809913527142033733noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-133132309124375119.post-23428620307791037432023-10-17T02:45:00.001-04:002023-10-17T02:45:00.146-04:00A Love Letter to Libraries ~ @AuthorKristina Knight<p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicJ-ddoTAMHRCG1oYntBYYBpa073fV7HG5wW_uGe2PDCCO1Ixp4NSll2uC3qsB7uwl2tIfPtDH1sGWDDtGuZM_-k60PMq_6LE2LuQSIPfNu0_V-K80v4tS5-qvwANSnKIBOtsQY5wBSCf8d-_c3z_2Sj1X9DPMHw8jz7MShSyIqNtfJot_17gaiSAbpR8/s319/SPL.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="315" data-original-width="319" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicJ-ddoTAMHRCG1oYntBYYBpa073fV7HG5wW_uGe2PDCCO1Ixp4NSll2uC3qsB7uwl2tIfPtDH1sGWDDtGuZM_-k60PMq_6LE2LuQSIPfNu0_V-K80v4tS5-qvwANSnKIBOtsQY5wBSCf8d-_c3z_2Sj1X9DPMHw8jz7MShSyIqNtfJot_17gaiSAbpR8/s1600/SPL.jpeg" width="319" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The library in my town</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Dear Libraries,</p><p>I hope this letter finds you surrounded by the whispers of countless stories and the gentle rustle of turning pages. I am writing to express my deepest gratitude and affection for the magical realms you have nurtured, the countless journeys you've allowed me to embark upon, and the warmth of your welcoming embrace.</p><p>Ah, the unmistakable scent of books that permeates your hallowed halls, an olfactory symphony that transports me to worlds unexplored. It's a fragrance that transcends time, bridging the gap between the dusty tomes of yesteryears and the fresh ink of modern tales. Opening a book in your midst is like unearthing a treasure chest, releasing the intoxicating aroma of knowledge and imagination.</p><p>Wandering through your stacks is a joyous pilgrimage, a quest for the perfect narrative that sends me on a delightful scavenger hunt. The serendipity of discovering hidden gems tucked between familiar titles is an experience unmatched by any virtual algorithm. Your shelves are the open arms that welcome me to explore the vast tapestry of human thought, offering solace in the promise that within your walls, every curiosity can find its answer.</p><p>And what about the nooks and crannies of your abode? Those secret corners and tucked-away alcoves<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbIIJ5cb8YUMVlaXMdT-47Jgr6lZhXRyYF2o8HaBXTpFOPMHG8QWehsH9MgqNcyejIpDJmdx7ewb2BkNAUnA3RO-HwnjnWA8f421bsCODsRmgaJogKJuxz04rMckp6rf0x6ZkOH3fOsAK_6iCNF6P1WCwYaARrAlohiasDQ8oGGPJuwFb7zPH5ArltU-g/s2048/392875296_10159644994536586_1418526063466111049_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1724" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbIIJ5cb8YUMVlaXMdT-47Jgr6lZhXRyYF2o8HaBXTpFOPMHG8QWehsH9MgqNcyejIpDJmdx7ewb2BkNAUnA3RO-HwnjnWA8f421bsCODsRmgaJogKJuxz04rMckp6rf0x6ZkOH3fOsAK_6iCNF6P1WCwYaARrAlohiasDQ8oGGPJuwFb7zPH5ArltU-g/s320/392875296_10159644994536586_1418526063466111049_n.jpg" width="269" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A stained glass skylight dome in a nearby library</td></tr></tbody></table><br /> that beg to be discovered. The creaking wooden floors, the aged leather of well-loved armchairs, and the soft glow of reading lamps create an atmosphere that feels like stepping into a time capsule. Your quirky, older buildings with stained glass windows and domes tell tales of generations past, and each step within is a communion with history and literature.</p><p>But it's not just the physical charm; it's the people who populate your spaces that make the experience truly enriching. Librarians, those unsung heroes of the written word, with their encyclopedic knowledge and infinite patience, are the custodians of your treasures. Their kindness and eagerness to assist turn every visit into a delightful encounter, making me feel like a cherished guest in a literary sanctuary.</p><p>I must confess, dear libraries, that some of my most cherished creations were born within the sanctuary of your walls. The quiet hum of activity, the hushed conversations, and the gentle tapping of keys are a symphony that inspires the birth of ideas. With you as my muse, I've penned stories that have found their way into the hands of readers.</p><p>In a world that seems to hurtle toward digitalization, you stand as a testament to the enduring power of the written word. Your existence is a reminder that, despite the allure of screens and pixels, there is an irreplaceable joy in the tactile experience of a book and the communal spirit of a library.</p><p>So, here's to you, dear libraries, the keepers of tales, the guardians of knowledge, and the sanctuaries of imagination. May your shelves always be filled with the promise of discovery, and may your doors forever swing open to welcome those who seek the solace and inspiration that only you can provide.</p><p>With love and gratitude,</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl9Us7X7t0sgKa8H_Fkrf_KxvnAobrlrO5MdnwWnRSxcPylGf7GkzEdMjXYbOzAXOlA5ANCoqzAZf3G8B36w03MJ6M-9ci1vzleUqHPoCKAc_YFTovCpRR21cRY1ItNqFTqGT1Fk7_B82YSoJw5E08smiQPF6XAQNFO3TXdFAk2mEPfvTvT7AI9GFPtHI/s1050/1668054263401blob.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="1050" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl9Us7X7t0sgKa8H_Fkrf_KxvnAobrlrO5MdnwWnRSxcPylGf7GkzEdMjXYbOzAXOlA5ANCoqzAZf3G8B36w03MJ6M-9ci1vzleUqHPoCKAc_YFTovCpRR21cRY1ItNqFTqGT1Fk7_B82YSoJw5E08smiQPF6XAQNFO3TXdFAk2mEPfvTvT7AI9GFPtHI/s320/1668054263401blob.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Kristina Knighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13674920511835640874noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-133132309124375119.post-31074861649943468092023-10-14T23:23:00.000-04:002023-10-14T23:23:34.861-04:00SATURDAY DRIVES WITH MOM<p> by Margie Senechal</p><p>A few months ago, I started spending Saturday mornings with my mom where we take random drives, turning down roads we've never driven, and talking. Talking about the past, the present, and dreams for the future.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYF7E8GxbnbgFlSWMJDnZjZ18kZqioK9hnwSvuydmnbtQyAmT4e_j2RQo1l1vSpSwFWEiL0Vi1N24iHNYw5jRem0GkCghjLfcMDaUxbSkBBz9VlGVvrKwX5kwi0D3jXmCqUATYW6aJEoeWFFcI03pXsxq8PBx_8DgtIPQO0lg-shtJdy3OaK4LK5UQZ1Fs/s640/image000000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="608" data-original-width="640" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYF7E8GxbnbgFlSWMJDnZjZ18kZqioK9hnwSvuydmnbtQyAmT4e_j2RQo1l1vSpSwFWEiL0Vi1N24iHNYw5jRem0GkCghjLfcMDaUxbSkBBz9VlGVvrKwX5kwi0D3jXmCqUATYW6aJEoeWFFcI03pXsxq8PBx_8DgtIPQO0lg-shtJdy3OaK4LK5UQZ1Fs/s320/image000000.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>My mom turned 81 in August and she's healthier than me, but she's beginning to forget things--including telling the same story in quick succession. She's been diagnosed with early dementia but doesn't quite believe it. Or maybe it's more that she doesn't want to believe it. Which I more than understand, which has led me to begin a writing project called The Memory Bank. <p></p><p>The Memory Bank, at this time, is randomized stories of things I remember. Part of my mission with Mom is to fill in some of the blanks and capture her memories before they're gone. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. </p><p>I've come to realize when my dad was alive that I never asked him questions about his life and his choices. For example, why did he choose the Navy over all the other armed forces when he was deathly afraid of the water? How did he become a cook and baker in the Navy? Was he assigned that right off or did someone say, "I think Wilkinson would be a great cook."? </p><p>I'm not going to let my mom's stories disappear with her if I can help it. A lot of these are the stories of my youth and it's enlightening to get another view than my own or remind my mom of something she's forgotten.</p><p>Today we talked about the trip we took from New Jersey to the Pacific NW when I was nine (1971). My dad had retired from the Navy and we returned from Iceland via some sort of military air transport. I remember there was another family aboard and the boy threw up in a barf bag. Gross.</p><p> We landed in New Jersey, and stepped off the plane only to be assaulted by the sun. It was May and the temp was in the 70's and this girl hadn't felt that kind of heat in over two years. It's funny how your body forgets what it's not exposed to for a period of time. Before Iceland, we'd lived in Norfolk, Virginia where I was a little tanned nugget. Stepping off that plane in Jersey took my breath away and I had to squint my eyes tight. </p><p>We took a taxi somewhere, a motel probably. We passed a park, and everything was so green. Not just green but shimmery green. I have very fond memories of New Jersey. </p><p>I remember somewhere on our road trip we came across a vending machine that held toys--I've never seen one since, even though as a kid, I checked at every restaurant and gas station we stopped at on our long road trip home. My sister and I each got to pick one toy out of the vending machine. We chose an egg of Silly Putty and a pink rubber ball the size of a tennis ball.</p><p>The silly putty kept us amused in the motel rooms as Mom and Dad watched the news and an evening show. I remember them being amazed by the appearance of Charo. Remember, we'd been in Iceland for over two years where television was military approved and only for a number of hours a day. I think it began in the middle of the afternoon and went off at 10 or 11. </p><p>Mom remembers what a long trip it was. Which I'm sure--what with Debbie and I probably bickering when we got bored and having14-month-old Wendy, who had, you know, baby needs. And my dad who wasn't the most patient of drivers, "No, we're not stopping now. You can hold it for a little longer," seems like a familiar refrain.</p><p>We reminisced about other highlights of the trip, and out of the blue, I remembered finding my first Trixie Beldon book at either a garage sale or a flea market. I probably read it several times the remainder of the trip. <br /></p><p>And that's where I'm going to stop with this look back, but this won't be my last sojourn into the past because I'm loving the hours I get to spend with my mom, just the two of us hitting the road and getting lost in our memories. </p>Margiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03843006118151762550noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-133132309124375119.post-35779145237445674722023-10-02T02:00:00.021-04:002023-10-02T02:00:00.142-04:00About blogs... by Liz Flaherty<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDMytnj5ECaLDsSZghpqQgHjgwKdB8PBDl1Cl7rFLApuDMaXvTaI4KId1aBO9-UJ6NZka6y2sRIRaY-9o1-88zc-lUvd6uIWJjlK0PeQSj-hlJeZzZLOhXgi2BjeeBmZaPg8WpyRhN5_gykBjzcBYaeHJSOUEShqDYDP9vVkTme35daq48CNEyFnmw17I/s1350/WW%20(2).jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDMytnj5ECaLDsSZghpqQgHjgwKdB8PBDl1Cl7rFLApuDMaXvTaI4KId1aBO9-UJ6NZka6y2sRIRaY-9o1-88zc-lUvd6uIWJjlK0PeQSj-hlJeZzZLOhXgi2BjeeBmZaPg8WpyRhN5_gykBjzcBYaeHJSOUEShqDYDP9vVkTme35daq48CNEyFnmw17I/s320/WW%20(2).jpg" width="256" /></a></div>They've changed, haven't they? In reading blogs by and about writers...at least the ones I'm part of or read often...I find that the regular post is frequently replaced by the promotional spotlight. Even if valuable, helpful, or downright funny information is included in the post, it's often buried above the writer's bio but below the newest book cover and the "available at..." paragraph. It's good promotion for writers, a way to make their work more visible.<p></p><p>So, no, I'm not criticizing it. I've done a bunch of spotlights when I've been a guest on other blogs. I do them here and invite others to do them on my blog. But I miss the coffee at the kitchen table feeling that comes from reading others' blogs. I love reading about <a href="https://www.kristanhiggins.com/blog" target="_blank">Kristan Higgins'</a> kids and pets and her beloved McIrish. I enjoy sitting around the fire on <a href="https://www.dvstoneauthor.com/around_the_fire" target="_blank">D. V. Stone's</a> blog. Vicky Burkholder always offers food for thought on <a href="https://sparklingbookreviews.com/" target="_blank">Sparkling Book Reviews</a>. My own <a href="http://windowoverthesink.blogspot.com" target="_blank">Window Over the Sink</a> as well as many others are slice of life essays and I seek them out. <a href="https://seandietrich.com/" target="_blank">Sean of the South</a> is a daily read for me.</p><p>I probably have, I shouldn't admit, more readers of my blog than of my books. But that's changing these days. My blog has fewer visitors than it used to. Readers don't respond to giveaways, to questions asked with the hope of engagement, to thoughts that invite discussion.</p><p>This morning, as I read Sparkling Book Reviews, I saw a message I've come to dread:<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><b>Announcement: I will be discontinuing this site come the end of the year. More on this later.</b></p><p>Well, dang.</p><p>Vicky's not the first one to call it a day. I don't know her reasons and I can only hope things are okay with her, but I'll miss visiting. Her tips. Her reviews. </p><p>I read Wrangler Nan Reinhardt's <a href="https://nanreinhardt.com/" target="_blank">Sunday Snippet</a> before church every Sunday and I miss Janie DeVos's posts on Word Wranglers so much. The blog is how I keep up with Margie, Kristi, Nan, and Jana. As I count on Facebook to keep me up-to-date on my nieces' and nephews' lives and well-being, I count on blogging to retain closeness to friends. </p><p>Just as trends come and go in romantic fiction, blogging came and conquered on the internet and now seems to be well on its way...I don't know...out? Over? Or is it just changing? </p><p>So, anyway...maybe I'm just complaining about nothing. The <b>Window</b> is going to have its celebration of writers telling holiday stories between Thanksgiving and New Year's this year. I hope you visit us there. </p><p>For now, what are your favorite blogs, the ones you read every post from and you wish other people knew about? Thanks for sharing--and thanks for reading. Have a great week. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixKbfcI1paGKMuHR4ukHD3-Qo0WYQQ1EYzhQ2dg0DFw9ExuEiRO3NoxHuygRI9cgKaIp1d8b6R2dSdydV9e9yN6Z9eQSsEhgeii3F5zKmFj6JCiTv1lkDlTPiAhk8nDqI7ZLCAiaVJp6NosnlxjiCK1lOMvDWsoyAC1ih-Z0JIWlYepSFh6kQGdakbwuk/s346/Blog%20signature.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="86" data-original-width="346" height="80" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixKbfcI1paGKMuHR4ukHD3-Qo0WYQQ1EYzhQ2dg0DFw9ExuEiRO3NoxHuygRI9cgKaIp1d8b6R2dSdydV9e9yN6Z9eQSsEhgeii3F5zKmFj6JCiTv1lkDlTPiAhk8nDqI7ZLCAiaVJp6NosnlxjiCK1lOMvDWsoyAC1ih-Z0JIWlYepSFh6kQGdakbwuk/s320/Blog%20signature.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Liz Flahertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06794565644883272260noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-133132309124375119.post-17216380169228700252023-09-29T11:47:00.000-04:002023-09-29T11:47:00.712-04:00Enter My #Goodreads Giveaway!<p> </p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>I've got 50 Kindle copies of CHRISTMAS AT SOLACE LAKE to giveaway in my Goodreads Giveaway. Hurry! Contest ends October 14, 2023.</b></span></p><div id="goodreadsGiveawayWidget374742"><!--Show static html as a placeholder in case js is not enabled-->
<div class="goodreadsGiveawayWidget" style="border-radius: 10px; border: 2px solid rgb(235, 232, 213); margin: 10px auto; max-width: 350px; padding: 10px 15px;">
<style>
.goodreadsGiveawayWidget { color: #555; font-family: georgia, serif; font-weight: normal; text-align: left; font-size: 14px;
font-style: normal; background: white; }
.goodreadsGiveawayWidget p { margin: 0 0 .5em !important; padding: 0; }
.goodreadsGiveawayWidgetEnterLink {
display: inline-block;
color: #181818;
background-color: #F6F6EE;
border: 1px solid #9D8A78;
border-radius: 3px;
font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;
font-weight: bold;
text-decoration: none;
outline: none;
font-size: 13px;
padding: 8px 12px;
}
.goodreadsGiveawayWidgetEnterLink:hover {
color: #181818;
background-color: #F7F2ED;
border: 1px solid #AFAFAF;
text-decoration: none;
}
</style>
<h2 style="color: #555555; font-size: 20px; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal; line-height: 20px; margin: 0px 0px 10px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com" rel="nofollow noopener" target="_new">Goodreads</a> Book Giveaway
</h2>
<div style="float: left;">
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/198424344" rel="nofollow"><img alt="Christmas at Solace Lake by Jana Richards" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1694707371l/198424344._SY475_.jpg" title="Christmas at Solace Lake by Jana Richards" width="100" /></a>
</div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 110px; padding: 0px;">
<h3 style="font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/198424344" rel="nofollow">Christmas at Solace Lake</a>
</h3>
<h4 style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin: 0px 0px 10px; padding: 0px;">
by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2892274.Jana_Richards" rel="nofollow" style="text-decoration: none;">Jana Richards</a>
</h4>
<div class="giveaway_details">
<p>
Giveaway ends October 14, 2023.
</p>
<p>
See the <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/374742" rel="nofollow" style="text-decoration: none;">giveaway details</a>
at Goodreads.
</p>
</div>
</div>
<div style="clear: both;"></div>
<a class="goodreadsGiveawayWidgetEnterLink" href="https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/enter_kindle_giveaway/374742" rel="nofollow">Enter Giveaway</a>
</div>
</div><script charset="utf-8" src="https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/widget/374742" type="text/javascript"></script>Jana Richardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16624650840243322617noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-133132309124375119.post-45019982991795878482023-09-26T06:30:00.001-04:002023-09-26T06:30:00.131-04:00A Writer Looks at 70<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvSGH-730ek1-NLYB8-wQDxl8LCySFa7M9gHXxZXCfcLQDX9CKY048P17-h_JGb1FdDSNdvoXtv9S_IYJt_NwoxuGcc9L6gCt1QmMNpMuN-F-qp7bQDz3tRlfbQ4Vs1nXLkkbwVu1yVwomgcu7SS8bY7R9I525yjlzXM2MDR9JtebRKPymAvy-q7E0Qpc/s225/70%20I%20made%20it.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" height="370" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvSGH-730ek1-NLYB8-wQDxl8LCySFa7M9gHXxZXCfcLQDX9CKY048P17-h_JGb1FdDSNdvoXtv9S_IYJt_NwoxuGcc9L6gCt1QmMNpMuN-F-qp7bQDz3tRlfbQ4Vs1nXLkkbwVu1yVwomgcu7SS8bY7R9I525yjlzXM2MDR9JtebRKPymAvy-q7E0Qpc/w370-h370/70%20I%20made%20it.png" width="370" /></a></div><br />Remember that old Jimmy Buffet song, "A Pirate Looks at 40"? It's one of my favorites of his...right after "Come Monday." Well, this writer is looking at 70--like today. It's my birthday. I'm 70...today. Not too many years ago, that number felt very far in the future. Well, the future is here and I'm 70. <p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5GXXrK25fn8sj39pB3lGH1wsYRpu3gE3dRXKGu0SdlkvyAEuTC1Jhlz9PBg72NHIR8-K-MGgFGpkBSvq7oa9CTn_IcliBjXthNe6KD0SSEKMNDe-QwsZvFt3FHKMFrNm2aacICZUfQ9JSn7kYxd5OLWd4_V79X7gtrlEXXEYQMC4JTvZkZIuPTXgBi70/s960/26584%20(1).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5GXXrK25fn8sj39pB3lGH1wsYRpu3gE3dRXKGu0SdlkvyAEuTC1Jhlz9PBg72NHIR8-K-MGgFGpkBSvq7oa9CTn_IcliBjXthNe6KD0SSEKMNDe-QwsZvFt3FHKMFrNm2aacICZUfQ9JSn7kYxd5OLWd4_V79X7gtrlEXXEYQMC4JTvZkZIuPTXgBi70/s320/26584%20(1).jpeg" width="240" /></a></div>Can you get that I'm having a hard time with the reality of that number? I am--for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is that I never expected to see 70. Genetics and my heart did not play in my favor, but here I am...70 years old. And I feel great and I'm strong and mostly healthy, thanks to the miracle of modern medicine and my cardiologist. What a wondrous thing! And I've been married to Husband for 50 years! Another wondrous thing! <p></p><p>Best of all, I'm writing. The stories are still filling up my mind and my creativity still blossoms--sometimes a little slower than before, but all the people in my head continue to clamor for their stories to be told. And I shall tell them. One at a time... which, you know, really seems to be the way I tend to write, I can't write more than one story at a time, even though the noise in my head clangs now and then. The characters from future stories shove in while I'm trying to focus on the one I'm currently writing. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIo3ltD_SnPKoaOPHrrc-2lbVQ0sNcjWrpVi7i05YLoXIyCHVq8xov4ml96QqNhmbgUi81isqrsxqk6bcXA9MhxNk3cbQ5kvVMz718hPnZ_JPNEaxCgxoSadus4KY-2y94VW_u_XniO2UFHK6zWQd6kk2A_ZyVcWnsAGQ389pMxyjAKTCD2WKqKL8H6Ks/s940/It's%20just%20me%20and%20my%20books.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="788" data-original-width="940" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIo3ltD_SnPKoaOPHrrc-2lbVQ0sNcjWrpVi7i05YLoXIyCHVq8xov4ml96QqNhmbgUi81isqrsxqk6bcXA9MhxNk3cbQ5kvVMz718hPnZ_JPNEaxCgxoSadus4KY-2y94VW_u_XniO2UFHK6zWQd6kk2A_ZyVcWnsAGQ389pMxyjAKTCD2WKqKL8H6Ks/s320/It's%20just%20me%20and%20my%20books.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>It's always been that way... my brain gets deluged with people, ideas, story concepts, dialogue, beginnings, endings, middles. Those are the times--the overwhelm moments--when I have to stop, step away from the computer, the pencil and notebook and go somewhere else to breathe. An afternoon out on the deck or a swim in the lake or a walk around the 'hood and things get back in line. But, you know...and I think most other writers will back me up on this... the stories are always there. We are always writing, even if it's just running dialogue in our head while we load the dishwasher or wander through the grocery store or fold clothes. That creative spark is always there--burning bright like a bonfire sometimes, others, simply a little light. But it's ever-present. <p></p><p><b>I'm rambling--I do that. So, I'm going to stop here with a little birthday gift for y'all. Tell me your best birthday ever in the comments below, and I'll randomly choose one commenter to receive the e-book of their choice from my <a href="https://tulepublishing.com/authors/nan-reinhardt/">River's Edge collection</a>. </b></p><p>Thanks for spending my birthday with me! </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Eom6m7_S0tFSAI785_wbqvdJ1_E0065Day_dl4RRr7hMPXIUoOUsAs6HguHJYRBvtqBiNdYaL5AgultlnQokk6mpIx2z91WiTK-e9cFIPWLVz6Db90dIEuEJbBYqG8be3D9ZBTv3ttdB1MxmpUMj74TAHnTkts-d7KtU97uzeWuQD5nSj-XCzNtDwtc/s300/nan-sig10092020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="110" data-original-width="300" height="110" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Eom6m7_S0tFSAI785_wbqvdJ1_E0065Day_dl4RRr7hMPXIUoOUsAs6HguHJYRBvtqBiNdYaL5AgultlnQokk6mpIx2z91WiTK-e9cFIPWLVz6Db90dIEuEJbBYqG8be3D9ZBTv3ttdB1MxmpUMj74TAHnTkts-d7KtU97uzeWuQD5nSj-XCzNtDwtc/s1600/nan-sig10092020.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Nanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08809913527142033733noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-133132309124375119.post-43760396495164767942023-09-16T01:30:00.013-04:002023-09-16T01:30:00.146-04:00#NewRelease from Jana Richards: CHRISTMAS AT SOLACE LAKE - Pre-Order<p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I'm thrilled to announce that my Christmas story, CHRISTMAS AT SOLACE LAKE, is now available for pre-order! I couldn't be more excited, mainly because at one point I wasn't sure I would ever get here. Last summer, I hit a brick wall and for too long I couldn't write at all. Consequently, progress on this book came to a grinding halt. It took me a while to be able to write again. It may be a year late, but I'm so happy, and relieved, that CHRISTMAS AT SOLACE LAKE is available now! </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Here it is!</span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxDmAMceH4yBx6IGi5M1WoPn2O_tkINZeRhowV0f_gWPHXllScLT9ONDsKfzVsTf_4t1GOVrT865Sy8RZRTumwy6ZExSkiCeQfZ0HnnW36PrKylswBLnHzfDE3hkkFc9WwqEMhU6j9B2tiNYd4qWyN967Z9bsnCtCkAO1OCdPLASoz5M2nKgWB4bxfIpA/s2700/ChristmasAtSolaceLake_V1%20(1)%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2700" data-original-width="1800" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxDmAMceH4yBx6IGi5M1WoPn2O_tkINZeRhowV0f_gWPHXllScLT9ONDsKfzVsTf_4t1GOVrT865Sy8RZRTumwy6ZExSkiCeQfZ0HnnW36PrKylswBLnHzfDE3hkkFc9WwqEMhU6j9B2tiNYd4qWyN967Z9bsnCtCkAO1OCdPLASoz5M2nKgWB4bxfIpA/w266-h400/ChristmasAtSolaceLake_V1%20(1)%20(2).jpg" width="266" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p style="text-align: left;"></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a name="_Hlk144652877"><i><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">It’s Christmas time at Solace
Lake Lodge, but a series of thefts threatens everyone’s holiday spirit.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></a></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk144652877;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Blurb:<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk144652877;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">An </span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk144652877;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 107%;">emergency
brings Drew Barnes to Solace Lake Lodge, an inn deep in the Minnesota woods
owned by his aunt and uncle. He’s sure desperation is the only reason they’d
allow him to fill in as their bookkeeper. No one in his family has believed in
him since his mistake got him fired from his previous job. </span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk144652877;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">Soon after he arrives, Drew is
disheartened to discover a series of thefts and financial irregularities. The
last thing he wants is to be put in the middle of another crime.</span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk144652877;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk144652877;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Sous chef Celeste Bishop has made a good life for
herself and her nine-year-old daughter in the three years she’s worked, and
lived, at Solace Lake Lodge. After being unfairly fired, this was the only job
she could get, and she’s grateful her gamble on the lodge paid off. The only
sticking point is the isolation since she never learned to drive. How can she
show her daughter independence when she’s always relying on others?<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk144652877;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Drew sees Celeste’s frustration and offers to teach
her to drive. A powerful attraction ignites between them, and soon deeper,
stronger emotions blossom. Drew is all in, but Celeste resists her feelings.
She’s nine years older than Drew. An interracial relationship didn’t work for
her parents. And loving Drew feels like a betrayal of her deceased husband.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk144652877;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 107%;">As Christmas approaches, the thefts escalate. Can Drew
stop the thief and redeem himself in his family’s eyes—and his own? </span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk144652877;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">And can he convince Celeste they deserve
the gift of a happily ever after this Christmas?</span></span><span style="line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><b><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Excerpt:</span></b><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">He put his hand on her
arm. “Celeste, whatever happened, it’s going to be all right. I promise you.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">She looked at him then,
her eyes filling with tears. “I finished the exam before anyone else. I could
see all the answers in my head like I was reading them from a screen. The
person who gave the exam told me I got all the answers right, one hundred
percent.” Tears streamed down her face as she pulled a crumpled piece of paper
from her pocket. “I got my permit.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">The wonder in her eyes,
the relief and joy, made him smile. Though he’d promised himself not to touch
her today, he simply couldn’t resist. He pulled off his glove and, leaning
across the console, laid his hand on her soft cheek. Drew stared into her beautiful
dark eyes. The intoxicating combination of her warm, welcoming scent and the
silky feel of her skin made his heart soar and his body catch fire. The need to
kiss her nearly overpowered him, but he held back, knowing it wasn’t what she
wanted. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">She signaled her
withdrawal with a soft sigh as she turned her head and leaned back against her
seat, out of his reach. Drew let his hand drop and sat back in his seat as
well. He stifled his own sigh as he pulled his glove back on.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Would she always be out
of his reach?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Pre-Order your ecopy <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CH5DTYNS " target="_blank">here</a>!</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">If you prefer print, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Christmas-Solace-Lake-Love-Romance/dp/B0CH2P1616/" target="_blank">you can buy it now</a>!</span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p>Jana Richardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16624650840243322617noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-133132309124375119.post-71144790975694957612023-09-13T17:32:00.001-04:002023-09-13T17:32:27.263-04:00Existing in the Query Trenches<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDhT1iAMSUzXVxxnBURZexNfzFzMNlABn9I5rQNUk-uKuIFc83mN-bWXF6mcqTOzt9JKUdyuH2nLNufVfWKAKMtCjnoY5KvBRzTsocz6eRhIbvhhQUdrvmNjnbEgkO4yA_hAv60R6vFEqWwgvqAdMlTKQ0d38EL7gbg9KWv2JLEX4NoUVCbnyrv3gpZPyW/s1066/IMG_7895.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="686" data-original-width="1066" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDhT1iAMSUzXVxxnBURZexNfzFzMNlABn9I5rQNUk-uKuIFc83mN-bWXF6mcqTOzt9JKUdyuH2nLNufVfWKAKMtCjnoY5KvBRzTsocz6eRhIbvhhQUdrvmNjnbEgkO4yA_hAv60R6vFEqWwgvqAdMlTKQ0d38EL7gbg9KWv2JLEX4NoUVCbnyrv3gpZPyW/s320/IMG_7895.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> by Margie Senechal<p></p><p>I loved the submission process of Bix. I guess because it was somewhat successful in that I had a query letter that kicked butt. I was able to encapsulate the character and his voice within three short paragraphs and my sample pages begged the reader to ask for more. It was the more part that failed me. After about fifty pages or so, I consistently wrote Bix right off the cliff--at least where the agents (AKA gatekeepers) were concerned. Oh, but they loved those first 50 pages. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhupdxeL68KmS3J6GN3E2dWE48H-mUvjYluZ8_IuhQqkkXCVNuytS4O-a5Zve-fYy3CyckBtTZfOSJuOivwKjsNus4sQxXhVomzRHdVXdrmCh34PH6UfYPfnA78NGjRn585NF90cNTI6iVo83Mnz2P3A-GPPg-QXGlppArGLj3l5LYGU50DIBuKbFpsGBV1/s640/IMG_7023.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="355" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhupdxeL68KmS3J6GN3E2dWE48H-mUvjYluZ8_IuhQqkkXCVNuytS4O-a5Zve-fYy3CyckBtTZfOSJuOivwKjsNus4sQxXhVomzRHdVXdrmCh34PH6UfYPfnA78NGjRn585NF90cNTI6iVo83Mnz2P3A-GPPg-QXGlppArGLj3l5LYGU50DIBuKbFpsGBV1/s320/IMG_7023.jpg" width="178" /></a></div>While Suitcases is a better book than Bix, I feel like my query letter is a bit lackluster. It also seems like response time is dragging compared to 2014. And--always an and--the agents who said, "Hey, query me with your next effort" are no longer agenting. Maybe I shouldn't have taken 8+ years to finish my next submittable book. <p></p><p>I do not like the querying process anymore, Sam-I-Am. I want people to read my book and throw money at me. Is that too much to ask?</p><p>Wednesdays are my 'me' days. I get to choose what I want to do with this particular day off. (My family would say that I decide what I want to do on all my days off) </p><p>I especially love it when I haven't made plans ahead of time and just kick back and take things as they come. Right now, I'm kicking back after spending three or four hours (seriously) querying five agents. Only five. </p><p>I had to do a little research on every single one so I could add a tidbit of personalization--oh, you'll love this because there's this Soul Retriever who is playing Cupid to match up the amputee with PTSD and the girl who collects suitcases compulsively. Who doesn't want to read that??</p><p>I had a note on one of the prescreened agents that she wanted books set in the Pacific NW, which is my book. Did I remember to mention that? Uhm--no. Although, my bio says I live in the PNW, so maybe she'll get the gist. Geez.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy5fWI5UlwmFHsz1vbgYUKAn5qmLWjoxOiQExKiPMonIeVo4Nq9iFGMuzNPRZ-wmoQhfk0DUCKV9bgJF7yFRLtcKgVyXsS19iHA7K5qBcyDp10CucX-rBZx2Cfsj5WJwaFfPItv8w82J7mqPuQa8MZxuk4KFIVxVQOsQSdZTZeFtdVyh5N-KMZ5rzA_QHu/s640/Screenshot%202023-09-13%20at%201.44.13%20PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="436" data-original-width="640" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy5fWI5UlwmFHsz1vbgYUKAn5qmLWjoxOiQExKiPMonIeVo4Nq9iFGMuzNPRZ-wmoQhfk0DUCKV9bgJF7yFRLtcKgVyXsS19iHA7K5qBcyDp10CucX-rBZx2Cfsj5WJwaFfPItv8w82J7mqPuQa8MZxuk4KFIVxVQOsQSdZTZeFtdVyh5N-KMZ5rzA_QHu/s320/Screenshot%202023-09-13%20at%201.44.13%20PM.png" width="320" /></a></div>Throwing out these queries is my version of a lottery ticket. My soul thrives on the "what-if" of life, and queries (for a writer) are one of the biggest what-ifs we have. What if an agent loves my book? What if they decide to represent me? What if they sell my book for millions (hey, I said it was my lottery ticket, stay with me now)? What if Reese wants to feature it and then film it? What if I meet Reese???<br /><br />Right now, I have about twelve lottery tickets (queries) that I'm waiting to hear back on. Well, I guess actually eleven because I inadvertently queried the same agent twice. Which ranks right up there with I spelled her name wrong.<p></p><p>And the truth is, I hate eating up hours with queries instead of putting words on a page. I'd rather write than do almost anything--sometimes one just has to clear the voices in one's head. Although, in my current WIP, I've gotten to the "big bad" and I want to gloss over it and get to the reconciliation. I hate having someone mad at me--even characters. </p><p>If anyone wants to read a doc file of Suitcases, let me know. I'll send it to you. At this point, I just want someone to read it. Otherwise, why write?</p><p>Stay safe and cool as we ride out September. Have a great weekend!</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Margiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03843006118151762550noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-133132309124375119.post-4608558599734721212023-09-10T03:00:00.008-04:002023-09-10T03:00:00.144-04:00#NewRelease: What a Texas Girl Dreams by Kristina Knight<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4BZJs_M9YYBqWE3knR0I01Mxbm91TJneHCkfIl_c1I9hEoqgBsgxAll-uoctmRq2zynlilC9PTs19s-aC2yvLKN_JPcEiO6GkaBCBqbLYPbS5zJ7DI9o94oz3tzh0Fj03btmHdZnJoob8ERtuNA2NU2CvMvEVBnLRo8PAKmZdrFTH6iwi1nHFlWbXAb4/s2250/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2250" data-original-width="1410" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4BZJs_M9YYBqWE3knR0I01Mxbm91TJneHCkfIl_c1I9hEoqgBsgxAll-uoctmRq2zynlilC9PTs19s-aC2yvLKN_JPcEiO6GkaBCBqbLYPbS5zJ7DI9o94oz3tzh0Fj03btmHdZnJoob8ERtuNA2NU2CvMvEVBnLRo8PAKmZdrFTH6iwi1nHFlWbXAb4/s320/3.jpg" width="201" /></a></div><br />Hey, there, WordWrangler readers! It's Sunday and we all deserve a little break...so why not take a break with my Texas Girls - all three books in the series are out in the wild and ready to take you away! <p></p><p>Here's a peek into Monica and Trick's story, What a Texas Girl Dreams!</p><p><b>What a Texas Girl Dreams excerpt: </b></p><p>Kissing the town veterinarian should have been a one-off but ever since the man just wouldn't be put into that comfortable box where they flirted with one another and then went their separate ways. The single kiss should have been forgotten in the six weeks since. Instead, here she was, showing up on his doorstep.</p><p> It was unsettling, that was all.</p><p> Monica needed to get away from his house. Showing up here would give Trickett Samuels the entirely wrong impression. Before she could think twice, Monica shoved the gearshift into reverse and backed slowly down the lane.</p><p> Directly into Trick’s big, blue truck.</p><p> Sweet God, she had to be batting about three thousand by now. First, her inability to control her attraction to him. Then, that kiss that she should have seen coming and cut off at the bull sale. Now, backing in to his truck in the dwindling light. She caught Trick’s incredulous expression in her rearview mirror: surprise first, and then as realization dawned, that hungry look that hadn’t left his eyes for a moment since that kiss on the makeshift dance floor.</p><p></p><p> Through two thousand pounds of metal and the dwindling daylight, the power of his lust and her own rekindled the fire in her belly. </p><div><p><b>About the Books</b></p><p>What a Texas Girl Wants: The last thing Jackson Taylor wants in his life is a down-to-earth girl like Kathleen Witte, so why did he just wake up next to her on a Mexican beach with a ring on his finger? Once they’re back in Texas though, this all-business marriage might just turn into an all-consuming love. <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CFYT4K4W" target="_blank">Purchase on Amazon</a></p><p>What a Texas Girl Needs: Matias Barnes knows all about society women like Vanessa Witte. It’s part of the reason he left his wealthy family behind and took a job on a ranch. But while Mat knows she’s so not right for him, can he resist her charms long enough to really let her go? <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CFYSP3BZ" target="_blank">Purchase on Amazon</a></p><p>What a Texas Girl Dreams: They are opposites in so many ways, but the more veterinarian Trickett Samuels gets to know footloose and fancy free Monica Witte, the more he wonders if he can convince this Texas girl that having roots will only help her soar higher. <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CFYXH3FV" target="_blank">Purchase on Amazon</a></p></div>Kristina Knighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13674920511835640874noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-133132309124375119.post-3510954758504099972023-09-07T02:00:00.007-04:002023-09-07T09:44:46.663-04:00Every Day by Liz Flaherty<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwlrKz3YlQ2K12USYeyGJq-7zYT8s4IXJHrwGVz2BYNbeSMwiv_HuUdJAW3xmYrSNB7JqGTGtxZVu_L96jYueNvzhYKh_qzzHxLgPEtakCihiSk9dDsmIKScPrBkPcu9YvOHWHNDddy4pvDiRYe0jQ2jARbuQjh3FeUEcB9pdIchaAUqGNmfZRICasSF0/s1080/Untitled%20design%20(26).jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwlrKz3YlQ2K12USYeyGJq-7zYT8s4IXJHrwGVz2BYNbeSMwiv_HuUdJAW3xmYrSNB7JqGTGtxZVu_L96jYueNvzhYKh_qzzHxLgPEtakCihiSk9dDsmIKScPrBkPcu9YvOHWHNDddy4pvDiRYe0jQ2jARbuQjh3FeUEcB9pdIchaAUqGNmfZRICasSF0/w200-h200/Untitled%20design%20(26).jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Good morning. My day to post was actually September 2. However, since I was posting somewhere else and it was Saturday and I am on a diet, I thought I'd wait. I do actually realize that "on a diet" is a <i>non sequitur</i>, but I always have kind of a soft spot for them. Thank you for your patience with my soft spots. <div><p></p><p>Frankly, I've been on a diet most of my adult life. I am a classic yoyo-er. I truly thought by this point, I'd just say <i>the heck with this noise </i>and eat what I want. Which is cheese, ham salad made with bologna (on white bread), medium rare steak, and any salty treat that comes out of a bag.</p><p>But, you know, the truth is that I feel better--physically--while dieting than I do at any other time. </p><p>It sort of reminds me--of course, it does; this is a blog post, after all--of when I write every day. It's not that all the words I write are good ones, and it's definitely not that all days are prolific ones. It's that I do it every day.</p><p>I admit to liking routine, to being a creature of habit, to admiring impulsiveness from <i>so </i>afar I'll probably never reach it, but sometimes it's a good thing. </p><p>While counting my points religiously on my eating plan will give me neither a flat stomach or nice arms, it will enhance my sagging-with-age energy level. </p><p>While writing every day won't make me a true bestselling author, it makes for satisfying days and it finishes books--something I'm afraid won't happen every time I type <i>Chapter 1. </i></p><p>The nicest part of this is that the same rules don't apply to everyone. Thinner isn't automatically more attractive, nor is it automatically healthier. As I've said before, if your friends like you better thin, you have crummy friends and bigger problems than extra pounds. </p><p>And...writing every day doesn't necessarily make you a better writer. The words you put on the page, the heart and composition skill you put into those words--<i>those </i>make you a better writer. </p><p>I hope all your diets and days are good ones. And that they're healthy and happy.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_1l_F7x4yBMhngjrt1yCg8PfHvHah3Ssj0bfra8dju-A468ZCTlryCS-xiqgnzGVSj2KH2i5pkzQ1CJZuYGplCpOgdhceu3Il8QRb_B0KomXs3WBMGwrBYRvHtGlwNOKdaqHP9-jEi6OzLGboI5e4CWxePJRAnx-jNtOSrcFvF3l1yActM2oldcJ_Hxg/s900/divider.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="125" data-original-width="900" height="44" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_1l_F7x4yBMhngjrt1yCg8PfHvHah3Ssj0bfra8dju-A468ZCTlryCS-xiqgnzGVSj2KH2i5pkzQ1CJZuYGplCpOgdhceu3Il8QRb_B0KomXs3WBMGwrBYRvHtGlwNOKdaqHP9-jEi6OzLGboI5e4CWxePJRAnx-jNtOSrcFvF3l1yActM2oldcJ_Hxg/s320/divider.png" width="320" /></a></div><p>My <i>Window </i>books are on sale for 99 cents through Friday. If you haven't read my column or blog over the years, there a bunch of favorites compiled here. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik83tnfmTkXWjzAyPdL5AJC3bzvgHC88HF1ej1TFiNWB9SigD5XqYyq0Lmda2IVDpwZje1V9oAHxmXEqyIEqWEDlpMWQi_itpHnpA9klR2CNNbkIYIKuZ4WvjMkk0jV-EPsqFJ7IPfa3rvahbsfkfLd88NjahISOuG0veI-rhdx9c8C4i5gNuLUFwiA4o/s1600/WOTD%20(1).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik83tnfmTkXWjzAyPdL5AJC3bzvgHC88HF1ej1TFiNWB9SigD5XqYyq0Lmda2IVDpwZje1V9oAHxmXEqyIEqWEDlpMWQi_itpHnpA9klR2CNNbkIYIKuZ4WvjMkk0jV-EPsqFJ7IPfa3rvahbsfkfLd88NjahISOuG0veI-rhdx9c8C4i5gNuLUFwiA4o/w400-h225/WOTD%20(1).jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><i style="font-weight: bold;">Window Over the Sink <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Window-Over-Sink-Liz-Flaherty/dp/0997163712" target="_blank">Amazon</a> <a href="https://books2read.com/u/bw7NM0" target="_blank">D2D</a></i><a href="https://books2read.com/u/bw7NM0" target="_blank"> </a></p><p><b><i>Window Over the Desk <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Window-Over-Desk-Liz-Flaherty-ebook/dp/B09JCMK7LX" target="_blank">Amazon</a> <a href="https://books2read.com/u/m2lDzo" target="_blank">D2D</a></i></b></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ4Oe5et6jfcJxN_MokUA71nP7Vjkif06yqLXxZFOmkPDPzZAMU-4juX-n4kCNQpSiSwxabm_lp-cx3NmyZc4oYrrJOtD3qlLij-Wx7nXxvQG68jabi5bwjv3unDB4SUlzGXR5BWXu-f8qr7yfP-te_y8SRXyTIxVA0wwOUolFVrQt-wrQEG8yORNci2U/s900/Liz%20(1).png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="125" data-original-width="900" height="88" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ4Oe5et6jfcJxN_MokUA71nP7Vjkif06yqLXxZFOmkPDPzZAMU-4juX-n4kCNQpSiSwxabm_lp-cx3NmyZc4oYrrJOtD3qlLij-Wx7nXxvQG68jabi5bwjv3unDB4SUlzGXR5BWXu-f8qr7yfP-te_y8SRXyTIxVA0wwOUolFVrQt-wrQEG8yORNci2U/w640-h88/Liz%20(1).png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><b><br /></b><p></p></div>Liz Flahertyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06794565644883272260noreply@blogger.com10