DARK CHEMISTRY #Excerpt by Kirsten Mortensen @KirstenWriter #AmReading #Romance #Suspense

This excerpt, from chapter 4 of Dark Chemistry, introduces Donavon Todde, the man who destined to fall in love with the novel’s protagonist, Haley Dubose. He actually encounters her in this scene, although he doesn’t know who she is—the woman who’s about to assume control over the company where he works; the woman who is now his boss. Instead, as you’ll see, Donavon is wrapped up in a personal struggle that consumes him with emotional pain and humiliation. When we meet him, here, he’s flying home from a fruitless trip to Las Vegas . . .

Donavon set his iPhone on the bar.

What kind of a loser—

Damn it, damn bartender walked by again without looking over. What was that, the third time? Because bartenders in airport bars don’t make eye contact. Of course they don’t. They don’t believe they’ll ever see you again. For them it’s just a shift, just get through the shift, they’ll never see anyone in here again, if they get good tips they get good tips, if they don’t, so what? It’s a job, hourly, benefits. It’s not about relationships, like in a real bar ...

Donavon waited, watching, for the guy to come back over to his end of the bar. Good, he’d turned, he was heading this way ...

What kind of a loser does it take to—

“Another Sam Adams, when you get a minute.”

The bartender nodded at Donavon, but without smiling. It was a “yeah, I heard you” nod.

Donavon checked his phone again.

No messages.

“Is this seat taken?”

“No.” Donavon smiled at the woman who had spoken to him, sizing her up. Shoulder-length hair, no discernable gray, but a little crinkling around her eyes as she smiled back at him. Forties, he’d say. Mid-forties.

The bartender returned with his beer. “Menu?” he said into the air between them, and the woman said yes and asked him what sort of white wine he had, and ordered a Pinot Grigio.

“Lucky you got him,” said Donavon. “He’s a busy guy.”

“Eh, he can take all the time he likes—my flight’s been delayed until at least 7:30, apparently.”

“Yeah? Where you headed?”

“Rochester, New York. You?”

“Syracuse.”
Of course. They were in Concourse G, the spot where the little planes land and take off, the planes headed to the little airports.

Too bad she wasn’t flying to Syracuse. He could use a distraction ...

The woman was checking her phone now, sending a text message, but then when she got her wine she put her phone away and turned slightly toward him. Good—she was a friendly one. “Syracuse, eh?” she said. “So what do you do?”

“Sales.”

“Oh yeah? What company?” Smiling at him.

“RMB.” He felt himself relax as he spoke. “We’re a small chemical manufacturing plant nobody’s ever heard of, that makes stuff that other companies—companies you have heard of—put into their products.”

“What kind of products?”

“Cosmetics mostly—shampoo, lip balm, that sort of thing.”

“So is RMB based here in Chicago?” She sipped her wine, and he noticed her left hand.

No wedding ring.

Maybe he should date someone older. Maybe an older woman would be easier, less drama ...

“Nope,” he said. “It’s south of Syracuse. But as you know, if you fly to Rochester a lot, there aren’t any direct flights. I spend half my life in O’Hare. Is Rochester home for you?”

“Yes. So where are you coming from, this trip?”

“Vegas,” he said without thinking, and then wished he’d lied.

“That’s a fun town. So did you win, or lose?”

“Broke even, more or less,” he said. “Or anyway,” he struck a jovial note, “that’s my story, and I’m stickin’ to it.”

She smiled again, then flagged the bartender and ordered a chopped salad with chicken, and Donavon asked for his check, then watched out of the corner of his eye as the woman fumbled through her purse, took out a little bottle of Purell, opened it, and rubbed it into her hands.

“How about you?” Donavon asked as she recapped the bottle and dropped it back into her purse. “What do you do?”

“I’m a writer.”

“No kidding. That’s interesting. What do you write? Books? Or ...”

“A little bit of everything. Stories, novels. But I pay the bills with corporate contract work. Marketing brochures, that kind of thing.”

A man’s voice came on over the terminal intercom and the woman paused, listening.

“Syracuse,” she said. “Is that you?”

Donavon nodded and pushed his stool back. “Yeah.”

“Well, have a nice flight.”

“I’m Don, by the way,” he said and held out his hand.

“Christine,” she said.

Her hand felt small and clean from the Purell.

He slung his duffel bag strap over his shoulder. “Good luck on your flight.”

“Bye.”

Old enough to be his mother, almost. But maybe that’s what he needed—someone older, someone who had dealt with all her baggage, who would be grateful for the attentions of a young stud. And she was well-preserved. Trim, probably worked out. Pilates, probably, or spinning ...

So that’s it, Donnyboy?

That’s how you’re going to cope? By hitting on anything that moves?

He shook his head, trying to shake off the thought.

You get dumped, so you hate yourself, and then you cope by becoming a person you’ll hate even more?

He reached his gate and stepped into the plume of people waiting to board.

He pulled his boarding pass out of his back pocket.

There was a blond just off to the side, a little ahead of him. Her back to him. She was wearing those tight blue jean jeggings that show off every curve, black leather boots up over her calves—he let his eyes move up and down, lingering.

Yeah, now that—that was a morsel. Had to be at least an 8 or 9 ...

He shifted forward to get a glimpse of her face, her profile. Fine, like a porcelain doll. Easily a 9. Stupid, no doubt, but that was all the better. Yeah, this was exactly what the doctor had ordered. He should move in, now ... it would be easy. Let her know he had a job, strike the right balance between suave and aloof, flirtatious and superior ...

An older couple stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the blond, interrupting his thoughts, and his mind flashed back again to Vegas.

How many times had he made that trip?

And why?

What kind of a loser does it take to keep flying back out there? You know you’re not going to just run into her. And even if you did—then what? It’s done. She chose.

They’re probably fucking married by now.

What kind of loser does it take to keep chasing after a woman who is long fucking gone?

Donavon handed his boarding pass to the agent and waited as he scanned it. No beep. The agent scanned it again, and again, and finally the scanner beeped and Donavon took the ticket back and started up the jetway.

Goddamn it, they’d better have beverage service on this flight.

A woman's worst nightmare

Drugged by something...that makes her think she's fallen in love.

All Haley Dubose has ever known is beaches and malls, clubs and cocktail dresses.

But now her father is dead.

And if she wants to inherit her father's fortune, she has to leave sunny Southern California
for a backwater little town near Syracuse, New York. She has to run RMB, the multimillion dollar
chemical company her father founded. And she has to run it well.

Keep RMB on track, and she'll be rich. Grow it, and she'll be even richer. But mess it up, and her inheritance will shrink away before she gets a chance to spend a dime.

Donavon Todde is her true love. But is it too late?

He's RMB's head of sales – and the more Donavon sees of Haley, the more he's smitten.
Sure, she comes across at first as naïve and superficial. But Donavon knew Haley's father. He can see the man's better qualities stirring to life in her eyes. And Donavon senses something else: Haley's father left her a legacy more important than money. He left her the chance to discover her true self.

Donavon has demons of his own.
 
He's reeling from a heartbreak that's taking far too long to heal. But he's captivated by this blond Californian, and not only because of her beauty. It's chemistry. They're right for each other. But has Donavon waited too long to woo this woman of his dreams? Because to his horror, his beautiful Haley falls under another spell. Gerad's spell.

A web of evil.

Gerad Picket was second-in-command at RMB when Haley's father was alive. And with Haley on the scene, he's in charge of her training. But there are things about RMB that Gerad doesn't want Haley to know.

And he must control her. Any way he can.

Romantic suspense for your Kindle

Will Haley realize that her feelings are not her TRUE feelings?
Does Donavon have the strength left to fight for the woman he loves?
Will the two of them uncover Gerad's plot to use RMB pheromones to enslave the world?
And even if they do – can they stop it?

Buy Now @ Amazon & Smashwords

Genre – Romantic suspense

Rating – PG-13

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Connect with Kirsten Mortensen through Facebook & Twitter

Website http://kirstenmortensen.com/

Madi Brown on Having a Writing Schedule & Social Media @Madithe1brown #AmWriting #WomensFic

Madi Brown is an ambitious relationship blogger (Madibrown.com) by night, and a pencil-skirted, poplin-shirted, admin assistant by day. And though this author finds her main character to be quite relatable, she knows that having it all is a stretch. Duh. Success is self-defined. This is her debut work of contemporary women's fiction.

If you could have a dinner party and invite anyone dead or alive, who would you ask? I’d ask my Grandmother Emily, who is now deceased to attend. My novel is dedicated to her love of reading, but I only know this because of what my mother shared with me. I’d love to know what types of books she did read. It very well could have been pornographic.

Do you have any tips on how writers can relax? Well, there is this one app; I downloaded it for free on my Ipad. It’s called Jumpstart Energize Me. It helps me to breathe. I totally decompress.

Do you have an organized process or tips for writing well? Get rid of distractions---television, music, your ringing cell phone.  

Do you have a writing schedule? Not really,Writing on a schedule feels so forced to me. I’m still trying to pin myself down to schedule my blog posts on Madibrown.com.

Sometimes it’s so hard to keep at it – What keeps you going? Knowing how much work I’ve put into it so far. It would be crazy for me to walk away and leave my book project unfinished at this point. Giving up without trying my best just isn’t a part of my genetic makeup. Madi Brown doesn’t want to be a Loser-girl.

What do you hope people will take away from your writing? How will your words make them feel? The take away will hopefully be that they’ve been entertained, followed by a need to read more of what I've written.

What’s your favorite meal? That would be shrimp and grits. It’s life-changing.

What color represents your personality the most? Orange. It has to be just the right shade though, not too bright. It makes me feel happy---no make that euphoric.

What movie do you love to watch? Casino. Sharon Stone’s wardrobe was so fab, and the film contained all of the other components that I like in a story, romance, action, and intrigue.

How do you feel about social media websites such as Facebook and Twitter? Are they a good thing? Yep. Facebook and Twitter allow me to expand my reach of potential readers, while I’m in my apartment scantily clad.

"If you LOVE New York, if you’re a name-dropping, fashion fiend careerist; fed up with serial dating, plagued with a thirst for sex, then you’ll totally stalk me for what I've penned.” - Author, Madi Brown

Description

29-year-old Emily Greene looks the part, but she’s still working on becoming a modern-day woman. Not that she’s one to back down from a challenge, but living as an eternal work-in-progress wasn't exactly the goal that she had in mind. It’s a harsh but true realization---the idea that that time isn't on her side, and the notion that wanting to have it all, doesn't mean getting it. The verdict is in; with zero prospects for a relationship and a stalled blogging career, Emily has every reason to believe that she’s been living a life too humdrum for her own good.

Making the change won’t be easy. She’ll have to do whatever it takes; start dating like a man, become more selective about which RSVP's she accepts, and work even harder at getting her dream job.The payoff’s huge; a modern twist on a storybook ending, but gains don’t often come without risks. In the here and now Emily just may be forced to choose...It’s got to be one or the other----the profession that she’s always wanted, or the love that she’s never had.

˃˃˃ Praise for Madi Brown & her debut novel, The Truth About Emily

"The added depth of character promises complexity but wraps everything in the saucy cloak of Emily's evolving personality and newfound beliefs about life, love, and the real nature of happiness. And this is where The Truth About Emily outshines many competitors, making it a recommended read for those seeking more than a standard romance novel." - D. Donovan, eBook Reviewer, Midwest Book Reviews

"This book has just about anything a girl would love to read about. If there's anything Emily Greene has is ISH and lots of it, oh the ending... This book is a total keeper, just anything about fashion to relationships to friends and family." - Y. Sanchez, Goodreads

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – Contemporary Women's Fiction

Rating – PG18

More details about the author

Connect with Madi Brown on Facebook & Twitter

WHAT FREEDOM SMELLS LIKE: A #Memoir by Amy Lewis @AmyLewisAuthor #AmReading #Women

Every single item that you buy in life, that outlives you, someone, some person, has to deal with. Has to pack, has to decide what to do with: to sell, to donate, to throw away? If you sell it you have to decide how much to sell it for, maybe even research what similar items go for; you have to advertise, you have to exchange money, maybe even make change. If you donate you have to pack up, decide what charity or friend to give it to, usually you have to bring it to them or arrange to be home when they come by. You have to make sure it works because you don’t want to donate something that is broken. If you throw it away you have to lug it, schlep it to a waste bin and if it’s a lot of things to a dumpsite. You don’t think about this when you have money in your pocket and want things.

Every item in our Vegas house had a memory connected to it. Now I had to decide what to do with them all. I rented a huge storage space close to my parent’s house. It was almost as big as our first tiny slum apartment. All of our stuff had been deposited there.

The week after he died, I had gone into our walk-in closet in Vegas and sniffed every item of his clothing, removing those pieces that still had his scent and packaging them into gallon size vacuum packed Ziploc bags. I imagined this was a new use for Ziploc bags they probably never advertised: preserving the scent of the dead. I would have taken his clothes in the dirty laundry basket, but my father had washed them. I cried when I found him in the laundry room trying to be helpful. I put the zip locked bags of clothes under my bed in my parent’s guest bedroom.

Diagnosed with Borderline Personality disorder, Amy struggled with depression and an addiction to sharp objects. Even hospitalization didn't help to heal her destructive tendencies. It took a tumultuous relationship with a man named Truth to bring her back from the depths of her own self-made hell.Amy's marriage to dark, intriguing Truth was both passionate and stormy. She was a fair-skinned southern girl from New Orleans. He was a charming black man with tribal tattoos, piercings, and a mysterious past. They made an unlikely pair, but something clicked. During their early marriage, they pulled themselves out of abject poverty into wealth and financial security practically overnight. Then things began to fall apart.

Passionate and protective, Truth also proved violent and abusive. Amy’s own self-destructive tendencies created a powerful symmetry. His sudden death left Amy with an intense and warring set of emotions: grief for the loss of the man she loved, relief she was no longer a target for his aggression.

Conflicted and grieving, Amy found herself at a spiritual and emotional crossroads, only to receive help from an unlikely source: Truth himself. Feeling his otherworldly presence in her dreams, Amy seeks help from a famous medium.

Her spiritual encounters change Amy forever. Through Truth, she learns her soul is eternal and indestructible, a knowledge that gives Amy the courage to pursue her own dreams and transform herself both physically and emotionally. Her supernatural encounters help Amy resolve the internal anger and self-destructive tendencies standing between her and happiness, culminating in a sense of spiritual fulfillment she never dreamed possible.

An amazing true story, What Freedom Smells Like is told with courage, honesty, and a devilishly dark sense of humor.

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – Memoir

Rating – PG-13

More details about the author

Connect with Amy Lewis through Twitter

Website www.WhatFreedomSmellsLike.com

Kimberly Shursen Shares an #Excerpt from HUSH by @KimberlyShursen #AmReading #Thriller

Minneapolis Court House

September 3, 9:00 a.m.

Ben ran a hand down the lapel of his suit jacket. “I call Paige Werner to the stand.”

Putting a child on the witness stand to testify was the worst part of Ben’s job. But if a child was over the age of ten, and sometimes even younger, they were usually called to the stand. For many of these children their lives would always be a living hell. They would go from foster home to foster home until they were eighteen.

Today, Ben was representing twenty-nine-year-old Jeremy Werner. The Werner’s oldest daughter Paige had just turned ten and the oldest of three siblings. Recently divorced, both Rachel and Jeremy Werner wanted sole custody.

When Ben had deposed Rachel Werner, he’d seen through her. She wanted child support—not her children. Oh, she’d put on the drama-queen act and cried like a baby when Ben asked her questions. She’d ranted and raved hysterically about how Jeremy Werner had never been there for her or his children. But Ben had done his homework and found it had been Jeremy who’d attended his children’s school conferences, had signed Paige up for a dance classes, and enrolled his two younger boys in T-ball. It was also Jeremy who’d attended dance recitals and baseball practices. Rachel Werner had not only been a silent partner in this marriage, but as a mother.

Dressed in gray sweat pants, her ample breasts bulged inside the blue-and-white striped tank top, Rachel sat at the defense table, her right leg bouncing up and down rapidly. The stringy, unkempt hair, the sallow complexion, Ben was well aware of the signs of withdrawal. Most junkies tried to stay off dope long enough to win a custody case, and then they’d be right back at it.

The door of the courtroom opened, and a diminutive Paige Werner appeared. Wearing a navy cardigan, sundress, and sandals, she was small for her age. Staring at her fingers weaving in and out of each other, her light brown ponytail was tied with a white ribbon. Ben recognized the DHS worker who walked beside her.

“It’s okay, Paige,” Ben soothed and opened the gate. A courtroom was overwhelming for an adult, let alone a child; the judge donned in a black robe perching God-like on the bench, the twelve empty jury seats and parents sitting at opposing tables.

Paige slowly walked to the witness stand, picking up each foot as if it was too heavy to lift. Robot-like she stopped when she reached the three steps that led up to the witness stand, turned around, and faced the bailiff.

“Please raise your right hand, miss,” the sober-faced bailiff said.

Paige’s dark, doe-like eyes looked so full of pain Ben didn’t know how much more of this she could take. She raised her hand, her petite fingers curled over slightly.

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?” he asked the sad-looking child.

Her blank gaze went to Ben, and he nodded.

“Yes,” she said faintly.

“Witness may take the stand.”

Ben unbuttoned the middle button of his jacket. “Paige,” he said and took a few steps toward her, “do you know who I am?”

“My daddy’s lawyer,” she said shyly.

“That’s right,” Ben said evenly. “And do you remember what I told you?” He turned his head and briefly glanced at the defense table. “That your mommy’s lawyer and I would be asking you some questions today?”

“Uh huh.”

“Please answer with a yes or a no,” a voice boomed.

Paige jerked her head toward the judge, her eyes like saucers.

“It’s okay, Paige, you didn’t do anything wrong.” The judge nodded at the court reporter. “We just have to have a yes or no, so we can write it down.”

“Okay,” the child said, barely audible.

“Let me ask this again.” Ben smiled warmly. “Do you remember I told you that both Mr. Lansky and I would be asking you some questions today?”

“Yes,” she said and looked down.

“Do you know why you’re here today?” Ben took a couple of steps to his right, blocking Paige’s view of her mother.

“Uh huh.” A panicked expression quickly came across her face. “I mean yes.”

Ben wanted to walk up the steps, wrap his arms around her, and tell her everything would be alright. But everything wasn’t going to be alright and hadn’t been since the day Paige was born.

“And as you know, Paige, we’re here today to ask which parent you feel you would like to live with.”

She wiggled anxiously in her seat. “I know.”

“Do you remember I told you that we’d be asking you one very important question?”

“’Bout whether I want to live with my mommy or daddy?” Her tone pleaded with Ben to say no.

Ben nodded. “That’s right.”

Her chin started to quiver. “But I don’t want anyone to get mad.” A crocodile tear rolled down a freckled cheek.

“I know.” Ben walked back to his table and picked up a carton of Kleenex. “This is tough, but it’s important everyone knows how you feel.” He put the box down on the ledge in front of her.

Paige pulled out a tissue and wiped her cheek. She sat up straight, her eyes focused and clear. “I want to live with my daddy.”

A high-pitched shriek of resounded through the courtroom.

Ben shot his head toward Rachel Werner, giving her an arresting look. He turned quickly back around and faced the child. “I want you to pretend it’s just you and me talking, okay?”

“I’ll try.” She gnawed on her lower lip.

“That’s good enough for me.” Ben took a few steps to the side, blocking Paige’s vision of her mother again. “Can you tell us why you would like to live with your daddy?”

“My mommy’s…” Paige paused. “She’s too tired.”

“Can you tell us why you think your mommy’s tired?”

“She…she…” Paige covered her face with her hands and shook her head.

Rachel Werner stood up so fast, her chair toppled backwards. “You’re a liar!” She pointed a shaky finger at her daughter, her face balled in anger.

Paige cowered in her seat as Rachel Werner’s state appointed attorney stood and put a hand on his client’s shoulder, but Rachel Werner shirked it off. “Leave me the hell alone, asshole.” Angry spittle sprayed out her mouth.

“Mrs. Werner.” The sound of the gavel came down hard on the bench, and the judge’s face turned an angry crimson. “Sit down.”

“Everyone knows children should be with their mother,” Rachel Werner said hysterically. “She’s a little liar and everybody,” she screamed and bent over from the waist, “everybody knows it.” Her eyes glared fiercely at Paige. “You hear me, you little liar!”

“Counselor.” The judge shook his meaty jowls angrily. “Get your client under control, or I’ll throw her in jail for contempt.”

The fresh-faced attorney leaned over and whispered something into his client’s ear. Reluctantly, the mother sat back down, her hands and legs trembling in sync.

“Mrs. Werner.” The judge looked over the top of his glasses at her. “In this day and age, the parent who will be awarded custody will be because of the best interest for the child. The rights of both parents are equal. A mother has no more rights than a father.”

Rachel Werner bowed her head, her shoulders flinching with each muffled sob.

Ben leaned over the witness stand and patted Paige’s hand. “It’s okay, honey. We’ll stop if you want.”

“I knew she was gonna get mad,” Paige sniveled. “My brothers and I want to live with my daddy.”

“And why is that?” Ben asked.

“He makes us bunny pancakes and stuff.” Paige managed a slight grin.

“So, you have breakfast before school when you stay with your daddy?”

“Weekends we get to choose what we want.” Paige changed positions and smiled at her father. “Like eggs or pancakes and I get to help.”

“And what about dinner when you’re staying with your dad?” Ben locked his hands behind his back. “What kinds of things do you eat?”

“Daddy says we need to eat good stuff.” She wrinkled up her nose. “Like broccoli and carrots.”

Ben smiled. “And when you’re with your mom what kinds of things do you have for dinner?”

“Well.” Paige looked up pensively. “Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.” Her eyes lit up. “Sometimes pizza”

“And your mom makes the pizza?” Ben probed.

Paige slapped a hand over her chest. “I’m big enough to make pizza.”

Ben swallowed a chuckle. “So, if there is one big reason why you would like to live with your daddy, what would it be?”

“He plays with us.” Paige put her hands out to the side. “Like we do dog piles and all jump on top of him. And…hide-‘n-seek.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Lots of stuff.”

Ben raised an eyebrow. “So, he plays with you?”

“Uh huh.” She stiffened. “I mean yes.”

Even though Ben wanted to ask her more questions, he knew when to stop. Attention spans were short, and sometimes children became confused and would answer the same question differently.

“No further questions.” Ben winked at Paige, walked back to his table, and sat down. He put his hand over the French knot in his tie and moved it back and forth a few times. Hopefully Paige would remember to focus on Ben and not Rachel Werner when she was being questioned by her mother’s attorney.

The judge nodded at Rachel Werner’s attorney. “Counselor?”

“Thank you, Your Honor.” The slightly built attorney with black-rimmed glasses perched on a pug nose stood and approached the witness stand.

This case was over. The lawyer would hound Paige until she cried, the judge would recess, and by the end of next week, the father would have sole custody. A mother who was a practicing addict as opposed to a father who was clean and sober with a job that would support his children was a no-brainer.

Nothing enraged Ben more than children being placed with a parent who hadn’t earned their title. Men’s rights had come a long way. Two decades ago children were almost always awarded to their mothers, no matter how bad of a parent they were.

After the judge announced he would render his decision by the end of next week, the courtroom was adjourned.

“Thanks.” Jeremy Werner’s face beamed as he shook Ben’s hand.

“Just take care of Paige.” Ben stared into the father’s tired, young eyes. “Or I will guarantee you I’ll see you on the otherside of the courtroom.”

“I will, Mr. Grable.” Jeremy grinned. “I promise.”

Ben picked up his briefcase and took a fleeting glance at Mrs. Werner. Head on the table sobbing, her right leg moving up and down rapidly, she was a mess.

He marched down the aisle and pushed the door open at the back of the courtroom. As usual, the hallways were jammed. Women in faded jeans and somber frowns sat on benches in hopes a judge would issue a restraining order against an abusive husband; young women held crying toddlers, trusting an absent father would be jailed for lack of child support; and anxious, supportive fathers sat beside teenage sons about to face their first DWI charge.

He rode the elevator to the skywalk level as it only took minutes for Ben to walk from one building to the next. From eight until four, the above ground, indoor walkways were always crowded with professionals carrying attaché cases, as well as the homeless who wandered aimlessly through the maze of heated, indoor paths. Meshed inside a faceless crowd seemed to calm Ben down, especially after an intense courtroom session. He caught the musky scent of leather when he passed Wilson’s, and next to it, the sweet, succulent aroma of Godiva chocolate. With all the boutiques along with a sundry of restaurants, the skyway was a city in itself.

Ben took an escalator up to the top floor. It was a little after eleven, but people had already started to filter into the food court. His stomach did a flip-flop when he spotted Ann at a table as she’d told him she’d try to get away and meet him for lunch. Ben was already crazy about her. It felt like they’d known each other a lot longer than two weeks.

“You made it.” He leaned over the table and gave Ann a quick hug. “You like Chinese?”

“Love it.”

“You sure? Because there’s everything from pizza to—”

“I really, really, really want Chinese.” She flashed Ben a dimpled smile.

He snatched the Star and Tribune off another table and handed it to Ann. “Hey, do me a favor and find the New York Stock Exchange. Search for the cymbal DBS and let me know what it’s at.”

“It’s at thirty-five,” Ann informed Ben when he set a tray on the table. She folded the paper and pushed it aside. “That smells wonderful.”

“Great. Up a point.” He took the cartons off the tray and set a paper plate and plastic silverware in front of Ann.

Ann opened one of the red-and-white checked boxes and leaned over the steaming carton. “Ginger chicken?”

Ben grinned. “Ginger chicken.”

“Iced tea, too? Can you read my mind or what?” She scooped out a portion of the chicken onto her paper plate and then served Ben an ample portion. “What’s DBS?”

“A research company I invested in a couple of years ago.” Ben pulled out a chair across from her and sat down. “The research center is trying to find a cure, or at least diminish some of the symptoms of Parkinson’s disease.”

Ann took a sip of her drink. “Do you know someone with Parkinson’s?”

Ben’s expression turned somber. “My grandmother. Watched her suffer for years before she passed. People shouldn’t have to live like that.”

“Oh, Ben,” she said sympathetically, “I’m sorry.”

They chit-chatted about their morning as they ate, Ben sharing with Ann that his heart broke every time a child had to testify in court, and Ann telling him about the newest arrivals in the nursery.

“How old are you?” Ann blurted. “Oh, sheesh”—she leaned back in her chair—“that came out of nowhere. Sorry.”

Although she had that wholesome girl-next-door look, she was beautiful, and Ben caught himself staring at her. “Older than you. I know that.” Ben scooped up the last of the chicken on his plate. “Twenty-eight.”

“When’s you’re birthday?”

Ben swiped over his mouth with a paper napkin. “Why? Wanna know what I want?”

“Maybe,” she said flirtatiously.

“You into signs and all that?”

Ann rolled her eyes. “Not at all. My father would not be proud if I were.”

“December twentieth,” Ben said. “Almost a Christmas baby. When’s yours?”

Ann’s mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Why would someone lie about their birthday?” Ben closed the empty carton and put it back on the tray.

She slapped a hand over her chest. “Mine’s December twenty-first.”

“Okay, sock it to me. What year?” Ben eyed her. “Please don’t tell me I’m a cradle robber.”

She cocked her head to the side. “Same year as yours, Mister.”

Soon after Ann Ferguson and Ben Grable marry, and Ben unseals his adoption papers, their perfect life together is torn apart, sending the couple to opposite sides of the courtroom.

Representing Ann, lawyer Michael J. McConaughey (Mac) feels this is the case that could have far-reaching, judicial effects -- the one he's been waiting for.

Opposing counsel knows this high profile case happens just once in a lifetime.

And when the silent protest known as HUSH sweeps the nation, making international news, the CEO of one of the top ten pharmaceutical companies in the world plots to derail the trial that could cost his company billions.

Critically acclaimed literary thriller HUSH not only questions one of the most controversial laws that has divided the nation for over four decades, but captures a story of the far-reaching ties of family that surpasses time and distance.

*** Hush does not have political or religious content. The story is built around the emotions and thoughts of two people who differ in their beliefs.

 EDITORIAL REVIEW: "Suspenseful and well-researched, this action-packed legal thriller will take readers on a journey through the trials and tribulations of one of the most controversial subjects in society today." - Katie French author of "The Breeders," "The Believer's," and "Eyes Ever To The Sky."

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Genre – Thriller

Rating – PG-13

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Website http://www.kimberlyshursen.com/

#Excerpt from Shadow Journey : A Mrs. Blackstone Story by S.D. O'Donnell @sdodonnell #GoodReads

The afternoon my husband, Ted, got the bad news, I asked our daughter to come over for dinner. Alice was 25, a single professional trying to make a name in the world of high finance. Whatever that meant. I taught botany at the local community college and Ted taught high school math, but according to her, we weren’t capable of grasping the ins and outs of investing money.

I’d long ago stopped trying to understand the child I brought into this world.

She usually demanded two weeks’ notice to schedule any kind of event, including dinner. I begged her to find time that night, and she finally agreed to stop by on her way home from a business engagement. She wouldn't guarantee a time.

Ted paced the house all night, wanting the telling over with. Alice and I had never grown out of the daughter-versus-mother conflict usually restricted to a child’s teenage years. Ted, though, always doted on her.

Eleven o'clock rolled around, and he was too exhausted to stay up. I eventually fell asleep on the couch, still waiting.

A loud knocking startled me from a dreamless, uneasy stupor. I was grateful to wake up because I thought the dark feelings would fade. Instead, a knot twisted in my stomach.

I caught a hint of dawn through the curtains. The clock showed 5:30 a.m. This was Alice on her way to work.

When I opened the door, she pushed through. "Where's Dad?"

"Still asleep. It's a bit early, don't you think?"

She shrugged, pushed her jacket sleeve up to look at her watch. "You insisted on seeing me."

“Would you like some tea? I've created a new mint blend with a hint of ginger that's guaranteed to perk you up."

“You know how I feel about your teas.”

"Coffee?”

“Mom, please. I have about five minutes to spare. Could you just spit it out?”

"Spit it out," I repeated slowly, then glanced at the closed door to our bedroom. Maybe it was best if Ted didn't have to deal with her initial reaction.

"At least sit down." I gestured at the sofa.

She sat and rested her hands on her lap, fingers interlocked as the thumbs danced a constant twirl around each other.

I settled across from her, working hard not to grind my teeth. "You got my message about taking your dad to the ER?"

"He was feeling faint or something, right?” she said, turning her head toward the digital clock sitting on the bookshelf across the room.

I waited until she took the trouble to look my way. "We got some news about why. They said ...”

I stumbled, unable to actually say the words out loud.

Alice's thumbs stopped mid-circle. She put her palms against the cushion and perched forward on her seat. "What? What is it?"

She looked like the little girl who fell asleep cuddled up with me at night on the sofa, afraid to go bed because she thought we’d disappear while she slept. I sat next to her, took her hand.

"It's a brain tumor, honey."

She knocked my hand away and jumped up, face pale.

"Are you sure?"

I nodded and stood, reached out, thinking I might hug her, but she was already running down the hall. She blasted the bedroom door open. I continued standing, waiting for her and Ted to come join me.

A minute later, someone closed the bedroom door. I could hear Ted's hushed tone, full of reassurances.

 

Love ... Loss ... Secrets

A Haunting Psychological Read

She starts alone.

"I SIT IN THE GAZEBO, alone. No cup of tea. No neighborly conversation to help fill the silence. Haunted by 85 years worth of musings, I watch the sun set and feel my age."

She ends alone.

And exposes a closely-guarded secret of 35 years in between.

˃˃˃ Meet Mrs. Vera Blackstone

First introduced in the thriller Deadly Memories, she quickly became a well-loved character -- even though she isn't the main one. But you don't have to read Deadly Memories before you enjoy this novella.

˃˃˃ Warning

This story will make you think and stays with you long after the last word is read.

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Genre – Short Fiction

Rating – PG-13

Connect with S.D. O'Donnell on Facebook & Twitter

Website www.sdodonnell.com

Craig Staufenberg on Not Setting Deadlines @YouMakeArtDumb #SelfPub #IndieAuthors #WriteTip

How to Meet Deadlines and Remain Sane

The simplest strategy is to not set deadlines. This is very easy when you’re writing the book for yourself and plan on self-publishing. It’s hard to let a deadline drive you crazy when it’s not there in the first place. Though then you may run into the creeping dread and anxiety that comes from not having a clear idea of when the project will be done. Or even if the project will be done. It’s easiest to not set deadlines when you’re sure that you’re going to finish the thing—which you can only be sure about if you have experience finishing projects in the past.

A better model— you can set a longer hard-limit deadline for the end of the project, and then avoid creating any little ones. For example, you can say you want to have your book done in a year. When one year passes after starting the project, you’re done, and you release the best version of what you have. Then you just let the year proceed without a lot of micromanaging of your schedule, or draft completion, or any other smaller deadlines and milestones. Once again, this relies on some understanding that you’re actually going to be able to finish the project, and that you’ll work on it throughout that year. Not a huge problem when you really love the project, the characters, the story, and you feel compelled to make the thing. And then, as long as you have a hard end to the project, you can float around inside that time and feel certain it’ll get done.

This is my preferred method. I don’t like rigid structures and tight deadlines. Other people do. Other people perform great by managing everything down to the week or day or hour. For me, over-managing the creative process and setting too many deadlines for myself makes me tone deaf to my natural working rhythms. I will trick myself with my set schedule, and I will complete every deadline the night before it’s due. Maybe if I didn’t have that schedule in place I would have completed that phase of the project three days earlier. But that deadline sticks in my head, so instead of following my drive to work on that phase before it’s due, I tell myself “I have until Sunday” and then I swallow my interest in working on the project then and there, and end up putting it off till right before midnight on Sunday.

All of this is a fancy way of saying I like to work on my projects when it feels right to work on them. As long as I keep the project top-of-mind and continue to daydream about it—and journal a little bit on it daily—then I’ll have an accurate feel when I’m ready to make a push and when I’m not. But if I set a firm schedule, I end up working when the schedule wants me to and not when I, and the project itself, want to put in a few hours.

This is a personal thing. A personality thing. If it sounds like mayhem to you, then you should have a more ordered way of producing your work. And if you’ve never finished a project before, then the external stressors of timelines and deadlines and milestones could be very useful for you. But if you, like me, don’t fit into that style of working, then know this—it isn’t necessary. It’s a shame that most people who write books and articles about how to “get things done” tend to be very organized, disciplined, hardline, schedule-the-process-to-the-minute sort of people. Not because they’re necessarily better at getting things done, but because they’re much more likely to write a book on the subject. This creates a bias where we think these people have all the answers for everyone.

They don’t. Plenty of people get lots of things done while putting only the lightest reins on themselves. And lots of us both prefer how that freedom feels, and work much better without external or internally imposed restraint. By accepting that about ourselves, we finish more projects, we produce better work, and we enjoy our lives more, than we would if we tried to fit a strict system. So I suppose the secret to not losing your mind over all these deadlines is simple—know yourself, know how you get things done, and honor that. More often than not that means being easier on yourself, rather than forcing yourself into a tighter cage.

And as a passing note—if you’re worried that you won’t finish your project if you don’t have a jailer on your back, then I’d suggest you might not like this project (or writing in general) as much as you think you do. The easiest way to stay sane while completing a project in a reasonable amount of time is only working on projects that you love, and working on them doesn’t feel like a burden.

When you die, your spirit wakes in the north, in the City of the Dead. There, you wander the cold until one of your living loved ones finds you, says "Goodbye," and Sends you to the next world. 

After her parents die, 12-year-old Sophie refuses to release their spirits. Instead, she resolves to travel to the City of the Dead to bring her mother and father’s spirits back home with her. 

Taking the long pilgrimage north with her gruff & distant grandmother—by train, by foot, by boat; over ruined mountains and plains and oceans—Sophie struggles to return what death stole from her. Yet the journey offers her many hard, unexpected lessons—what to hold on to, when to let go, and who she must truly bring back to life.

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Genre – Middle Grade

Rating – PG-13

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Website http://craigstaufenberg.com/

The Three Sisters by Bryan Taylor Share Their Favourite Movies #Humor #Politics #NowWatching

To celebrate the release of the book, The Three Sisters, I asked each of the three sisters to tell me what were their three favorite movies with nuns in them were, and then which movie they jointly chose as their favorite “nun” movie of all time.

Regina Grant: Since I like classic Hollywood films, I chose The Singing Nun (1966), Come to the Stable (1949), and Heaven Knows Mr. Allison (1957).  The Singing Nun is my favorite of the three.  It’s lots of fun in a mindless way, and Debbie Reynolds as engaging as ever.  You can’t help but like the movie, even if it is pure fiction. The nun it was based upon, Soeur Sourire, committed suicide 20 years after the film was made, after a life of financial difficulties. Come to the Stable was written by Clare Booth Luce who also wrote The Women.  It’s an engaging film in which some irreligious people help the sisters build a children’s hospital showing the spiritual and secular can work together. Heaven Knows Mr. Allison is set during World War II on an island in the Pacific, and is about a castaway marine who falls for a stranded nun. They work together to avoid the Japanese when they arrive on the island.  It is quite an engaging drama.

Theodora Suora: I prefer the more intellectually challenging films, so I chose Doubt (2008), Black Narcissus (1947) and Dead Man Walking (1995).  Doubt is my favorite of the three.  The first time you see it, you are inclined to view it from Sister Aloysius Beauvier’s point of view, but if you watch it from Father Brendan Flynn’s point of view, you’ll see his view makes just as much sense as hers, whence the doubt.  Black Narcissus is about a community of nuns who try to establish a civilized community in the Himalayas in the former bordello of a Rajah. It is wonderfully photographed and each of the characters is finely drawn. Dead Man Walking takes on the difficult subject of the death penalty and handles it with poignancy. Both Susan Sarandon and Sean Penn give wonderful performances.

Coito Gott: Since Theodora always tells me what a rebel I am, I didn’t want to disappoint her, and I chose Viridiana (1961), La Religieuse (1966) and Lilies of the Field (1963).  Viridiana is Bunuel’s take on what happens when an idealistic nuns meets the real world.  With some interesting twists and turns, she ends up helping the poor in ways she never would have if she had stayed in the convent. La Religieuse is based upon Diderot’s novel, perhaps a bit modernized, perhaps a bit slow, but nicely done. Anna Karina is wonderful as always.  Lilies of the Field is fun as you watch the sisters manipulate Sidney Poitier to get him to help them build a new chapel. After all, nuns are irresistible, aren’t they?

And which movie did we all choose as the best movie about nuns?  The Trouble With Angels, of course.  There is a certain charm to this movie that make it difficult to resist despite its silliness. It’s based upon the novel, Life with Mother Superior by Jane Trahey, and has enough rebellion and antics in it to keep you entertained. We’re sure anyone who went through Catholic School could identify with the two “angels” in the film.  The sequel, Where Angels Go, Trouble Follows is fun, but doesn’t work as well.  You can tell it was more of a creation of Hollywood to profit from the popularity of the first movie, but it is an interesting reflection of its time.

Of course, there are many others that didn’t make our list, but deserve an honorable mention. We decided not to include any nunsploitation films or movies that are only tangentially related to nuns.  The ones that didn’t quite make our list included Sister Act (more Whoopi Goldberg than nuns), The Bells of St. Mary’s (too saccharine), The Sound of Music (more about Nazis than nuns), Change of Habit (Elvis meets Mary Tyler Moore), The Nun’s Story (Audrey Hepburn is enjoyable, but the movie is slow), Agnes of God (good cast, too somber), Nasty Habits (Nuns meet Watergate, but lousy), The White Sister (entertaining but silent), The Devils (Ken Russell meets nuns), and of course, The Flying Nun TV Show (not a movie).

The one book which would make a really, really fabulous movie someday would be The Three Sisters, but if you can’t wait for the movie to come out, be sure and read the book.

Nuns just want to have fun! But when three former Catholic nuns have too much fun and get in trouble with the law, they become nuns on the run.

Driving back to Washington D.C. where they work at the Kennedy Center for the Performing Parts, the three sisters are arrested in Tennessee. After defeating the local deputy in strip poker, they escape from jail, and are pursued by the zealous Detective Schmuck Hole, who has personally offered a $10,000 reward for their capture on The 700 Club. Little do they know that when the three sisters visit the Washington Monument, their lives will change forever.

Set in 1979, The Three Sisters is a sacrilegious satire that skewers not only organized religion, but the government, the media, intellectuals, corporate greed and every other part of the establishment. Maybe not the greatest story ever told, but possibly the funniest.

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Genre – Humor, Satire, Catholicism, Politics

Rating – R

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Website www.threesistersnovel.com