Breathing In by K.K. Weil

Even though I wish the weather could be 80 degrees and sunny every single day, there are certain things about fall that make me warm and fuzzy like no other time of year. For me, this season is all about the scents. Sure, I love the mandatory autumn events, like apple and pumpkin picking, hayrides and corn mazes. But after you pick that fruit, what do you do? Come home and bake, of course. And that’s where the smells begin.

So there's the basic, delicious apple pie aroma wafting through the house, and even the roasting of pumpkin seeds. As soon as my kids get wind of those seeds they circle my kitchen like mini-vultures. But that’s just the start of it.

In the fall, I bust out two items that have been put away for the summer. The first things I dust off are my candles. I absolutely love to have candles burning in the house, but for whatever reason, I never think to light them in the warm weather. As soon as the temperature begins to drop, though, out they come. Earthy vanillas and cinnamons are my favorites. When the windows are open and a breeze drifts through, I’m in my happy place.

The second is my slow-cooker. I never owned a slow-cooker until a few years ago, but as soon as I did, it quickly claimed its spot on my counter for the better part of the fall and winter. It’s not even that I love the food prepared in it so much. Some of the meals are very tasty, but it’s more the fact that I throw everything in it in the morning, and then for the rest of the day, the flavors dance around the house. The cooker I have gets plugged in, so I can leave with it on. There’s nothing like coming home from being out for a few hours and smelling that when I walk through the door.

Even the air is different in the fall. It’s evening right now, and I’m sitting by my open sliding doors. (It doesn’t hurt that we’ve also had the most beautiful fall weather in years.) A breeze just came in and I commented about how good it smelled. My husband immediately knew what I meant. No one was barbecuing outside. No one’s fireplace was on. It was just the clean, crisp autumn air.

I think for me, scent is the sense that evokes the most memories. Sometimes, when I’m walking down the street, I’ll stop mid-step because I get a hint of someone’s perfume or shampoo, and I have to take a second to reflect. I might forget someone’s voice over time, and maybe I’ll even lose some of her more subtle facial features. But if I pick up a person’s distinctive scent, it doesn’t matter how much time has passed since I’ve seen her, I’ll think of her. Even smells that wouldn’t necessarily be considered pleasant, like roads being paved or paint drying, bring me back to fond memories.


Interestingly, it’s also the sense that I most readily overlook when I’m writing. Sight and sounds are easy. They come naturally. But I find I really have to concentrate on adding in scents when I’m revising my work. I’m not sure why, because they’re so powerful in my everyday life. And as a reader, I’m easily drawn into a setting where smells are described. So from now on, every so often as I write, I’m going to remind myself to close my eyes, breathe in and just imagine.

K.K. Weil
http://www.kkweil.com

Witches vs Fairies by Linda Tillis

     I am not a big Halloween fan, but I do have a few good memories from my childhood that I bring out and relish occasionally. Since this is October, the designated month for ghosts, and goblins, and such, I thought I would share a few with you.

     My mother died when I was ten years old, therefore, my childhood per se was cut a little short. We lived in Cleveland, Ohio, at the time, so you could expect cold weather, and sometimes snow, for Halloween festivities.

     I remember she would drop a few of us girls at the corner, drive to the next block, then wait for us to make our giggling way down to the car. Afterwards, when our hands were frozen, our noses running, and our feet numb, she would take us for hot chocolate.

     Those memories are a little vague; just generalities with no specific details. But there was this one fantasy that she and I shared that will always stay with me.

     She worked at night, in a tool and die factory. We lived in an apartment, on the second floor of an old Victorian house. The head of my bed was against a small door, that probably led to the attic. One night, I got it into my young head that I heard something behind the door. Needless to say, I was not happy.

     My mother was from Appalachia, had been raised in the mountains of West Virginia, and could spin a good yarn. So, she sat me down and told me that what I heard was the tiny little footsteps of the fairies that lived in the attic. She explained that she had asked them to watch over me at night, while I slept. She said that as long as I put out a snack for them, they would be very happy to do this.

     There was a young black woman, who was studying to be a nurse, but came to stay with me at night. She would ride the bus to our place, then Mother would drive each of us to our school in the morning.
Each night she watched me pour a half glass of milk, place a cookie on a saucer, and put both on the dining table. And each morning the milk and cookie were gone. This was a ritual that continued for what seemed like years to my young mind, but was probably only a few months.

     I don’t know what happened. I don’t remember what incredible circumstance could have caused me to forget my part of the ritual, but it came to a messy end one morning. My mother woke me by asking what in the world had happened in the kitchen. I jumped from bed and ran, only to find chaos. The dining table, and most of the floor, were covered in flour. There were shards scattered in the flour, from the broken glass and saucer. And what appeared to be little tiny foot prints.

     I was horrified! I had forgotten to put out the offering for the fairies. I wept in heartbroken guilt. My mother pulled me onto her lap and soothed my tears with hugs. Then she told me that I would not hear the fairies anymore. That they had decided I was grown up enough that they no longer needed to watch over me at night. They had moved on to another little girl that needed them more.

     This is one of the sweetest memories of my childhood. That my mother loved me enough to cater to my need to feel secure (not to mention her inner child). Only now, as an adult, do I understand the bond she was cementing with a little fantasy.

     I went searching for a picture that depicted how I imagined my fairies to look; both adorable and mischievous. This one caught my fancy. Enjoy.

 

Linda Tillis

A Heart Made for Love coming soon to The Wild Rose Press

Pamela S Thibodeaux ~ Inspirational With An Edge!: #TuesdayTreasure with Alicia Dean & Leah StJames

Pamela S Thibodeaux ~ Inspirational With An Edge!: #TuesdayTreasure with Alicia Dean & Leah StJames: Good Morning Friends, I'm pleased to bring you special guests Leah St. James & Alicia Dean. Both have stories in  Mysteries of the...

Shatterproof Character Interview with Griffin Stone

Please welcome Griffin Stone of Shatterproof...

So, Griffin, tell us a little about yourself.
Coming from the home I did, I needed to find something to keep me grounded. Otherwise, my anger at my parents was going to lead me towards a lot of destruction. When I was introduced to sculpture, everything else just faded away. I was able to transfer all that was brewing inside of me into the clay. It brought me to a world that was my own, away from my mother’s abuse and my inability to help her. It was my salvation. That is, until I met Frankie.

What is it about Frankie that made you decide to take the risk of being with her?
Frankie is vibrant and unpredictable. She sees things for what they can be, not just what they are. She thinks her impulsive ways are a flaw, but I think they’re part of what makes her unforgettable. She reminds me very much of how my mother used to be.

Holly’s House is obviously very important to you. Could you tell us a little about that?
That women’s shelter is the only thing in my life that ever gave me purpose. Sculpting the women at Holly’s, giving them back pieces of themselves, and reminding them that they are beautiful both inside and outside, allows me to help in some small way. Even if my mother never listens to me or finds a way out, at least I can be there for someone else’s mother, aunt, or friend.

Your former teacher, Mr. Rothman, plays an important part in your life. Care to discuss him?
There are no words to describe how grateful I am to Roth. He showed me an alternative, showed me how to breathe for the first time. Not only did he set my life in motion in a positive way, but he continues to guide me when I’m falling back into the darkness. Without him, I would have turned out to be an entirely different man.

What is your opinion of Frankie’s photography?
The first time I met Frankie, at Holly’s House, I had no idea what she was taking pictures of. It just looked like garbage to me. But when she showed me what some old crumpled up tissue paper could turn into, I was amazed. She finds beauty in the ordinary. It is an incredible gift. I find myself wanting to see things through her eyes, to get a different perspective and be exposed to some of the beauty that she discovers naturally.

What would you need in order to be truly happy?
I would need my mother to get the hell away from my father, I’d need to know, unequivocally, that I am nothing like him, and I’d need Frankie by my side through it all.

If you could give one pieces of advice to our readers, what would it be?
Believe in yourself. Your past doesn’t have to dictate your future. The quicker you learn that, the quicker you can start to be exactly who you want to be.

KK Weil
http://www.kkweil.com

MY WRITING DEN by Roberta C.M. DeCaprio

I've lived in my home for 37 years. The back bedroom within that time has served many different situations.

It first became a toy room for my two children when they were small, shelves stocked with all sorts of games, dolls, and stuffed animals. I enjoyed hearing laughter and cheer coming from that room as my children entertained themselves and friends who came for play dates.

For a brief time it served as a sewing room, and I remember well the fond memories of my grandmother and I cutting out patterns. Under her guidance I learned how rewarding a homemade garment could come to mean. We created many wonderful projects together.

When our Rottweiler joined the family, this room became her den. She'd sprawl out on an old couch placed there for her bed, and guard the rest of us as we slept in the surrounding bedrooms. During this time period I'd become a single parent, and having such a formidable canine close by made me feel safe and secure at night.

When I took in a foster child, the room became her bedroom, a private sanctuary she'd never had before. It made her feel safe, wanted, and truly an important part of the family.

For a time it was a dear friend's bedroom when she came to stay with me for three months . . . until she could again get on her feet after a divorce, as well as a spare bedroom for grandchildren who spent the weekend now and then.

And now this back bedroom is my writing den. In it I have a desk inherited from a loving uncle's estate. I remember the times I spent at his house, playing with my cousins, as he sat at his desk making out his bills, writing in his ledgers, or reading the newspaper. The electric hurricane/type lamp sitting beside my computer once sat on my grandmother's vanity. She'd turn it on while she combed her hair, or applied her cherry-colored lipstick. In one corner of the room sits a book hutch given to me by a cousin who recently passed away from complications due to ALS. The old file cabinet in another corner houses upon its surface my father's old Remington typewriter . . . the very one he used while composing poems, song lyrics, and short stories. An artificial fireplace stands against the back wall. When turned on it warms the room to a cozy glow on those winter nights I sit tapping away at the keyboard, creating another novel to share with readers.

Upon the walls I have pictures of loved ones and cherished pets who are no longer with me, as well as artwork painted in oils by my talented artist husband. As a doll collector, I have a few wall shelves displaying my classic Barbie collection, as well as a few vintage music boxes, and porcelain figurines.

My writing den is a room with a lot of history. Within its walls many eras have come and gone. Many lives have claimed this small, back bedroom for a sanctuary. I know it certainly is mine.

READ ROBERTA'S BOOKS;
A RIVER OF ORANGE, THE GOLDEN LADY, ONE PERFECT FLOWER, A ROSE IN AMBER, BORN OF PROUD BLOOD, & RETURN TO WILLOW CREEK (www.thewildrosepress.com)
TO READ EXCERPTS & ORDER BOOKS - www.robertacmdecaprio.com and Roberta's blog at: www.thewordmerchantssociety.blogspot.com

ATHENA’S SECRETS My Personal Research into ESP

It started with my cousin. She was a full-time, practicing psychic. People came from all over California for her “readings”, at which she claimed an approximately 85% accuracy. One day, while in my 40’s, I decided to get a reading from her. Extremely skeptical—although I’d known her all my life and knew she wasn’t a con artist—I arrived, fully expecting a lot of lucky guesses on her part. An hour later, I left dazed and confused. How did she know that my husband and I were deliberating over which of two investment opportunities to take. We hadn’t mentioned this to anyone, not even anyone in my family or my husband’s. The one my cousin advised against—and which we didn’t take, fortunately—ended up in bankruptcy a year later. There were other revelations that day that proved true in the months to come.

 And so, I became intrigued by this strange phenomena known as ESP, or sometimes psi. Whatever you called it, it was known as “extrasensory perception”. My cousin claimed to be a “clairvoyant”, or able to “see” what most humans cannot see. Her insights into people, their health, and other personal facts were amazing to me. People in my family both welcomed and dreaded her phone calls. It was often: “You’ve got diabetes,” “You have a cancerous tumor in your bladder. See a doctor immediately”, “Your appendix is infected. Get yourself to a hospital now!” One close friend of the family received one of her calls. She told her that her brother was dying of cancer and that this friend should call him as soon as possible. The friend insisted that her thirty-five year-old brother was perfectly healthy and they’d just spoken days before. However, my cousin persisted and prevailed, even over objections of the friend’s brother. Two weeks later, the friend’s brother called back. He’d seen a doctor, had gotten a series of tests, and his prognosis was grim. He died a year later after a valiant battle against cancer.

When I probed my cousin, she explained the genesis of her visions and revelations. As a child of eight, she began having dreams. Some occurred at night while she slept, while others happened as daytime visions. A recurring vision puzzled her but one day it suddenly made sense. Her parents—my aunt and uncle—had announced that they were moving to Hollister, California and had just bought a house with property attached. My cousin “knew” what it looked like and proceeded to describe it to her parents, who hadn’t shown pictures of it to anyone. What she described, from the house to the trees, driveway and outbuildings, matched the place her parents had just put a down payment on.

After that, the family believed my cousin to have a gift from God. That experience prompted me to open my mind and begin a thirty-year exploration into ESP. What I’ve learned has convinced me that clairvoyance does exist, and that perhaps to some extent, precognition. Many people have incredible, intuitive abilities and many share this gift with others, at no intent of monetary gain but simply a desire to help others. A poll cited in the Journal of Parapsychology showed that at least sixty percent of Americans believe that they have had at least one psychic experience in their lives.
The difference between a true psychic and a charlatan, or someone who uses trickery and seeks profit or notoriety? Only one does it for monetary gain. True psychics, as do the psychic women in ATHENA’S SECRETS (Book One, THE DELPHI BLOODLINE Series) share their gifts quietly and gratuitously.
Like my cousin.

Best wishes,
Donna Del Oro

Interview with Hero of Two Hearts in Time

May I introduce myself? Raymona Marie Anderson here, my new time-travel historical, Two Hearts in Time just out from The Wild Rose Press. The spicy romantic adventure set in Mexico’s Yucatán involves an archaeologist from the U.S. and a tomb looter of mixed Spanish and Maya heritage. That gentleman, Don Juan Miguel Zamora y Balam is a character of many facets. Meet him below in a scenario that serves as an interview. The exchange doesn’t appear in the book, nor does the inquisitive fellow named Delgado.

D: Señor Zamora, may I introduce myself? I am Raoul Delgado. My store is here on the city plaza.

Z: It is a pleasure to meet you, sir, but it is very late.

D: Yes. And it is so good of you to give me a moment. I saw you ride into town and have been told you sometimes offer for sale certain items the ancient Mayans left among their ruined pyramids. Visitors to Mexico come often into my shop to ask for vases and other antiquities.

Z: Of course, amigo, people from the north believe it is their right to own such things, more than it is my birthright to collect as a son of Yucatán. If I did engage in commerce we would talk further. In truth, I collect for my own pleasure. Good evening, sir, I have journeyed far and am very tired. If you will excuse me now.

D: A moment more, friend. I am told the Zamoras are among the keenest business men in Mérida. It interests me that such a person as yourself would abandon that city for the wilds of Yucatán’s jungle, and for no financial return. I saw what heavy burdens your mules bore. To sell a few lesser items, perhaps?

Z: Your persistence amuses me, sir. You are without doubt an excellent salesman. I enjoyed dealing with such men when I worked in the family trade. If you must know, sir, I have lost my taste for comforts gained through mistreated souls who labor in my father’s haciendas. Now, as I said, I am very tired.

D: True. True, I am sure. But the woman who accompanied your party––I saw that you delivered her to the cura’s residence. I am very circumspect and would not think of spreading tales. But is she in trouble?

Z: Señora Lyons has suffered a trying experience. She became lost from her associates, a party visiting the ruins from the United States. A very willful woman, I must say, one I should not have taken into my care, but it is 1898 after all. How could a modern gentleman disregard such a woman in distress? She will remain safe with the cura and his housekeeper until train service to Mérida is restored. In that city she can find help at the U.S. Consulate.

D: She would travel unaccompanied?

Z: This female shows little concern for appearances. Besides, I dare not return to Mérida with such murderous thoughts against my father’s puppeteer, Luis Carranza. Good night, sir.

D: Señor? Wait, Señor Zamora. About this Carranza––?

To Purchase on Amazon
To Purchase on The Wild Rose Press or Nook

Dee's first attempt: Sweet Sunset

Sweet Sunset is my first novel, but I don't have a release date yet. I did get my book cover which I like a lot.

Sweet Sunset is mainstream WF. I refer to it as my dysfunctional family book. As in real life, there's humor, there's sadness and then as we like to say, this too shall pass and we move on. Here's a note from my main heroine, Myrtle Sue Henderson.

My name is Myrtle Sue Henderson. My husband Sam passed away a year ago. I discovered his insurance didn’t cover all his medical bills, so I found a job working as a cook at a middle school. Having been a housewife for many years, that’s about all I knew how to do, cook, clean, and take care of the family.

A few months after Sam passed away, his mother, whom I refer to as the mother-in-law from hell, was kicked out of her senior apartment. Why? Because she burned food on the stove, blew up her micr

Several times a week she tells me to cook food for her dead father and his long ago dead sisters who she insists are coming to visit.

Luckily, I have someone to stay with Hazel for most of the time I’m at work. She thinks he’s her dead son and adores him. He is good to her.
Two months after Hazel arrived at my house my oldest daughter, Presley, and her two children asked if they could stay with me, too. Her husband is abusive. She should’ve left him long ago. He and his father are taxidermist, so what did he give to his eight-year-old daughter for her birthday? He stuffed her dead dog, put wheels on its feet and told her that she could take the dog for walks. Emma was horrified and screamed when she saw the dead dog sitting in her room. But if you listened to Emma’s idiot dad you’d thought he just gave her the Hope diamond.

After moving into my home, Presley found a job and enrolled in college. A few days later, her drunken husband showed up at my house and beat the crap out of Presley, and then attacked me when I tried to get him away from my daughter.

Then there’s my daughter, Michelle, who we all refer to as Florence Nightingale. She’s a nurse and always looks for love in all the wrong faces. She announced that she’s pregnant and isn’t married. Her boyfriend left her for Michelle’s friend.

My son Sammy doesn’t want to grow up, but I’m making him pay back all the money his dad loaned him to buy a truck. Maybe he’ll find a woman who I hope won’t run from him.

When I decided it was time to return to church, I took Hazel with me. Two men sat beside us. Hazel hit the elder man with her cane and the two of them got into a loud argument during the pastor’s sermon. And that’s how I met Mike, a psychologist, who could spend his life practicing on my family. I’m happy to say he actually likes all of us. And me? I’m becoming very fond of him.

I just wish my dead husband would quit talking to me. It scares the hell out of me when he suddenly pops into my head. He did approve of me running up to Presley’s husband who pushed his way into the house in a drunken rage and I kicked him where it hurt. My son yelled “touchdown.”

I do hope you’ll enjoy reading about the journey of my dysfunctional family. I'm sure most of you have a few loose cannons in your family, too.

Dee Gatrell
owave repeatedly, and the other apartment dwellers feared she’d catch the place on fire and kill them. We couldn’t get her into an assisted living home, so she moved in with me. Hazel is a difficult person to live with. I swear if I can’t find her a home soon, I’ll have to take a vacation to the loony farm.

Finding Rose Rocks

Wood rotates against stone as the grinding wheel of writing is slowly set to motion. Low rumbles and a high-pitched squeal register its complaints. Five solid years of studying craft, writing, revising, and searching for representation has finally gained me some notice. The cog completes a full revolution. The Wild Rose Press has accepted my story. Let the edits begin!

"Never give up on something that you can't go a day without thinking about." Winston Chruchill

Hi all. FINDING ROSE ROCKS by me, Karen Ginther Graham, is in the Last Rose of Summer category. I'm so excited about becoming a published writer and am anxiously awating my first edit by Ally Robertson. I look forward to lots of interaction with other authors here at TWRP.

Changing Genres by Fran McNabb

SAVING THE CHILDREN was published here in the Crimson Line in April. Lori Graham is my editor, and I’m excited to say I’m waiting for the release date for my second book with the Crimson Line. I call this new one KEEPING HOPE ALIVE, and the story follows one of the teammates of the hero from the first book.

Signing this second TWRP contract started me thinking about writing romantic suspense. Before SAVING THE CHILDREN, I had six other books published, none of which are romantic suspense. They are either historical or contemporary romances, so I have to ask myself why I switched genres.

That’s a good question, and I think the answer is very simple. I didn’t intentionally write something that was different, just something that fell into guidelines that fit a different genre. In reality I write what I feel at the moment and, well, I guess I felt like upping the angst a little bit with this book.

I love reading books with military heroes, and yes, SAVING THE CHILDREN, has a hero in the Special Ops—Major John Dawson. I always fall in love with my heroes, and it wasn’t any different with John. John is captured after he is wounded on a compromised mission. To keep him alive so the rebel leader can kill him himself, the rebels also capture Victoria Lafferty, a nurse working with orphans in the jungles of South America. When Victoria and John are thrown together in his jungle hut, they begin a journey to rescue six orphans in the midst of a hostile jungle with dangerous rebels. At the same time they save themselves from deep seated emotional baggage.

When I think about this story, I know it does fit into the romantic suspense guidelines, but still I have to say, writing romance and writing romantic suspense are not too different. All the elements of the novel are there. Plotting is heavier in RS, but it can’t stand alone. Without well-developed characters and a strong setting, no genre would be worth reading.

I’m proud to be part of the Crimson Line, and I hope if you read SAVING THE CHILDREN and like it, you’ll want to know what happens to John’s teammate, Max, in KEEPING HOPE ALIVE.

To find SAVING THE CHILDREN by Fran McNabb
twrp
http://www.wildrosepublishing.com/maincatalog_v151/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=195&products_id=6186
Amazon
http://amzn.com/B00V7CSRV

Fran McNabb
http://www.FranMcNabb.com

Book launch of RETURN TO ME

The book launch of RETURN TO ME, by debut author Carolyn Menke, drew a crowd! The event was hosted by the Penguin Bookshop, located in Sewickley, PA. Check out that stunning cover art by Kim Mendoza in poster size. Congratulations on a successful event.

A Microphone? -- Oh My!!

Last Thursday, I gave a presentation to the Women’s Discussion Group at my subdivision on my five books, mainly promoting Love For Sale and Gambler’s Choice, coming soon from TWRP. I prepared a PowerPoint presentation including a slide with the cover introducing the book and giving its genre and heat rating. The next slide contained the book video.

The ladies loved the book videos and watched intently! I created the video for Love For Sale, and an author friend did the one for Gambler’s Choice.
Now, standing in front of a group with a microphone in hand, is not my favorite activity, but it was fun, and I sold some books. Most of the ladies are over 55, and I was surprised the books that sold best were the ones I had advised were “racy”.

I think the experience was worthwhile, both in name recognition and promotion, and would like to find other venues.

What has been your experience with such presentations?

Linda Nightingale
http://www.lindanightingale.com

New Release, New Contest

A sadistic serial killer is staking fairies with iron and taking their wings. Ande Ryan is on the case as part of the Paranormal Investigation Unit. Being forced to work alongside her werewolf former lover, Cal, has made the case even more problematic. Now, she must deal with her difficult Fae half sister—who she didn’t know existed—as well as the possibility that she might have to keep the dark forces from taking over the world.



It's preorder time for Dead Fairies. So its time for a contest. Anyone who preorders Dead Fairies in the next ten days will be entered in a contest. Two people will receive swag like bookmarks, post card and a notebook. One person will also receive a signed print copy of Dead Fairies. Please comment on this post and tell me when you order.
 Would love reviews on Amazon once you read it.
 I will announce the winners , on Facebook, by Sept. 29th and you can private message me your address at that time.
 Unfortunately, the contest is for the USA only at this time.

click here

Scaring Readers for Halloween

The fast approaching holiday of Halloween is imminent. With the typical scares of the day, I'm introducing the more unusual side of death, that which we know little of - The Other Side. Melinda James will tell you her story, but please be forewarned that death isn't the end of things. Scarier things than ghosts and goblins walk next to us and we don't even realize it. A parallel universe is home to spirits, both good and evil. But I hear that the other side hasn't been able to contain them to just 'over there.' They're here. Are you brave enough to find out what resides here, what they can do? Will Melinda live long enough to know if love is in her future? I dare you to find out just how much paranormal experiences you can handle.



Melinda's family is dead, killed for information that is hidden deep within her mind.  Her father tries to warn her from the 'Other Side' that she is in danger from the killers who want what only she can give them.  Committed to Skyview Haven, she must determine if the 'Other Side' truly exists or if it is a trick of her heart and mind.

With time running out Melinda must determine who she can trust. Is it the ghosts of her family, a boy who may not be who he appears to be, or the doctor who is determined to cure her?  Can she figure out the truth before it is too late?

Starr Gardinier
To Purchase

“Sealed with a Kiss” by Kevin V. Symmons

If that title has a vague ring of familiarity that’s no accident. It not so coincidentally bears the name of a song from the mists of my youth. And when doing this blog though it may be begging the season by a month (or more) the summer beckons in the distance as old memories flood back and come to mind and my not so hidden roots as a closet romantic beckon!

I have the good fortune to spend many summers on Massachusetts’s luxuriant Cape Cod coast. Each year the CC populace grows by ten-fold as between five and six million visitors cross one of the two aged bridges that span a man-made body of water known as the Cape Cod Canal. But in addition to being a spectacular spot of natural beauty it is also an area filled with beauty, romance, and the thrill of youth.

As a child on the south coast my experiences were physically and emotionally stimulating… things like sun and surf and often massive waves that crashed on the pristine sand. Massive at least to one who was only three feet tall. As I grew into my “formative” years my family and I continued to visit and experience the magic.

Slowly, I found my feelings transformed from something far less visual into something far more visceral. Shells and surf gave way to a magic that stimulated me in ways I found both new and strangely exciting. Like so many young people who grew up in summer locales I began to see the subtle changes in those I’d spent so many sun-drenched days with.

It’s difficult to pinpoint the exact day, week, and month when I suddenly came to the realization that one of my best summer pals had grown in ways that animated, excited, and terrified me. It began during the summer of our twelfth year. Maybe in some subtle ways the year before—but when Joey— short for Josephine—appeared that year on the first day of our summer long vacation I felt a lump in my throat and my heart quicken. Clichés yes, but none the less just as true. All I know is that when I saw her that June morning something changed.

I’d had all the stirrings and emotional turmoil inherent in any adolescent experiencing the conflicts and ecstasy that accompanies puberty but it wasn’t till I saw Joey, silhouetted as she stood awaiting me at our front door that the emotion truly took hold.

That summer was a roller coaster for me… and though we never discussed it I’m sure it was for her, too. Suddenly, simple things became complicated. I noticed an electricity when our hands would touch or our eyes would find and linger on each others.

The smell of the tide and fresh-cut grass were exchanged for the subtle fragrance of her sweet fragrance when she was close. Things which a year or two before had seemed commonplace became scripted so as not to touch or get too close to each other while wanting desperately to do so.

Summer friendships begin on the 4th of July and end on Labor Day or at least that had been the way of it for the years prior to our emergence as young men and women. Others populated our sun and surf-drenched summer world but from my first encounter with Joey that summer neither of us paid attention to the others.

On Labor Day weekend the families who populated our little Cape Cod side street traditionally held a farewell cookout. That year while neither of us spoke of it, as if scripted Joey and I drifted away from the others to take a walk on the soft sand, knowing it would be our last for an interminable winter.

Suddenly, I felt her hand in mine and as the moon rose into a clear star filled sky I turned toward her. Her hazel eyes dropped behind thick lashes and I put my arms around her clumsily.

We heard out parents calling but as I turned to head back up the beach she gently pulled me close and kissed me. It was soft, innocent, and clumsy. Someone once suggested that no one ever forgets their first kiss. After a summer of watching her and waiting it was the most tender and sweetest I can ever recall….

Later that year my parents told that Joey’s father had been transferred to Texas. She wrote me a brief note and signed it “Love.” Perhaps it was real, perhaps not…but it was the summer of a lifetime, filled with angst and doubt and wanting to grow and explore so much more. A summer sealed with a kiss


Click HERE to purchase Kevin's Books at The Wild Rose Press

Click HERE to purchase Kevin's Books at Amazon

Click HERE to purchase Kevin's Books at Nook

About Kevin V. Symmons

Kevin Symmons is a successful author, college faculty member, and president of one of the Northeast's most respected writing organizations. His paranormal novel, "Rite of Passage", was a 2013 RomCon Reader's Crown Award finalist and has been an Amazon Best Seller. His latest release, "Out of the Storm", a contemporary romantic thriller set on Cape Cod, is already gathering 5 star reviews and will keep you turning pages late into the night. His novel with a working title of "Solo", a sweeping women's fiction work that exposes the tragedy of domestic violence in America, will be released from his award-winning publisher, the Wild Rose Press, in 2014. Kevin has collaborated with award-winning Boston screenwriter and playwright Barry Brodsky in adapting one of his story ideas for the screen. He is a sought after public speaker who has appeared across New England. Visit Kevin and like his FB Author Page, @KevinSymmons on Twitter, at Goodreads, Amazon, and at his website, www.ksymmons.com

Beneath the Lake Book Trailer

  Reeling from her boyfriend’s indiscretions at a party, Lacey Montgomery escapes into the throes of a torrential storm. Her car spins out of control and hurtles into the depths of an icy, black lake. She awakens in the arms of a handsome stranger, in a place she’s never heard of—thirty-four years before she was born.

Bobby Reynolds is smitten the moment the storm-ravaged woman opens her eyes. Learning the truth about her origin does nothing to stop the passion taking root in his heart and leaves him torn between finding a way to return Lacey to her time and convincing her stay with him.

Will the couple be able to discover the key to a mysterious portal before time rips them apart? Or will their spirits wander forever through a ghost town buried beneath the lake?
Excerpt:

Slogging through underbrush, I scaled the embankment to get my bearings, but the night sky laden with rain made it impossible to navigate. The brush behind me crunched. I whirled around, slid on damp rocks, spinning stones down the bank. They toppled over the ledge and, after a few moments, splashed into water. A chill fisted in the pit of my stomach as I realized the knoll my car had hit was simply a peak in the ridge, the other side of which dropped off into the lake far below. Thank God my car hadn’t skidded over the cliff. As I eased back down the hill, a wave of vertigo swept over me, and I collapsed against my Lexus. Breathe Lacey. Closing my eyes, I mentally weighed my options.

My car was wedged into the embankment and would have to be towed. I definitely needed help, but no one could even see me down here. Hiking through the woods along the ridge would be perilous. The utter darkness and unrelenting rain was dangerous, but combined with dense brushwood and the lake below? No, I had to take the road. Was the spine-chilling figure that had lurked in the shadows still up there somewhere, or had he been far enough away when I crashed? I shook my head. It made little difference since I had no choice but to take my chances on the road.

I began the ascent, trudging back up the incline. Rain pelted my face like tiny needles. Darkness surrounded me. No moon, no stars, only the deep of night. Heart pounding from exertion and emotions still raw, I slogged upward through mud, brush, and Lord knows what else. Finally, a dim light flickered on the road above. Praying it was a house, a phone, an end to this nightmare, I strained my aching legs to push forward.

“Thank you, God,” I whispered, glancing over my shoulder at my wrecked car below.

That’s when my foot slipped. I slid backward, spiraled off the rocky ledge. Twisting to grab ahold of anything to keep me from plummeting downward, I lurched, my wet hands and battered body ripping against jagged rocks and brush.

Out of nowhere, a dark figure grabbed my arm. Frozen in fear, I screamed as loud as I could, but the shriek came out a hoarse, low whisper. I lunged against him, yanked to pull free, but I had no leverage, nothing to cling to. Fear choked the air from my lungs. A sharp pain slashed my ankle. Consumed with terror, I flung the entire weight of my body against his grasp. In answer to my prayers, he abruptly let go, but the sudden release hurled me backward, plunging…rolling endlessly…until I splashed into an icy, black abyss.

To Purchase

For the Love of Robots by Catherine E. McLean

Robots fascinate me, but AI's not very much. I like the mechanical, the simplicity of the "cute" little bots like Wall-e, Johnny Five (of Short Circuit), and Rosie (of The Jetsons).

Now, the first robot that actually captivated my imagination was Robby The Robot in Forbidden Planet.

Then there was R2D2 of Star War's fame. He's a favorite of mine, but not so much C3PO. Again, the small, cute mechanical versus the gold-plated humanoid of artificial, opinionated intelligent.

However, I'm also enthralled by RoboBots. My local school has a team of students that, this year, won the school district's RoboBot competition.

Then there's the battling bots, those wacky little box-style bots with destructive capabilities--flame throwers, saws, and whacking-spinning blades. Thankfully, they're confined to a bulletproof arena because the parts and sparks fly when they collide. That bulletproofing also protects the person operating the remote controls.

From time to time, I search the Internet for robots to see what's happening in the world of robotics. Most recently I was wowed to find Cheeta Bot. It can run on its own at 29 mph--and it can jump! http://www.bostondynamics.com/robot_cheetah.html

Then there's the littlest of robots, like RoboBee. Why anyone would want a bee-sized robot boggles my mind. Okay, so spies might love them, but I'd be more inclined to swat one out of existence because I don't like being stung by bees, real or mechanical.
http://www.theguardian.com/technology/2 ... st-robobee

But the most amazing modern-day robot has to be Asimo - http://asimo.honda.com/, a walking, talking, domestic robot that's a wonder of science and technology. It even has a cute voice.

I would love to own an Asimo, but I'll have to settle for owning Roomba, the vacuum cleaning robot http://store.irobot.com/home/index.jsp. (Big Sigh.)

Catherine E. McLean
HEARTS AKILTER - Love, vengeance, attempted murder, and a bomb...No reason to panic. It's about his heart, her heart, and a robot's nonexistent heart.
 http://www.CatherineEmclean.com

Love For Sale...

I’m very pleased to be returning to the Garden with my sci-fi romance, Love for Sale.

March Morgan always set her standards for men high. Divorced but still a dreamer, she reads an ad offering Love for Sale, sentient androids indistinguishable from human, programmed for love. She flies to London and meets the image of the man she has been searching for her entire life. Christian loves March at first sight, without programming, but internal and external forces soon threaten their happiness, indeed their lives.

I received my beautiful books with a fantastic cover and it made me think of the inspiration for this book. Has anyone ever read Tanith Lee’s The Silver Metal Lover? I read this many years ago, and the book stayed with me all this time. I recently re-read it and enjoyed it just as much the second time as the first time I read it when I was a teenager. It was a Book of the Month selection for some book club or the other. That was quite a feat because at the time the genre wasn’t as well known. The Silver Metal Lover is a different coming of age story. I love Ms. Lee’s lush writing and have read many of her books, but this one is my favorite.

Here is the Plot Summary from Wikipedia:
“Robots have replaced human labor on earth, causing massive unemployment in a world devastated by pollution and natural disasters. Then Electronic Metals releases a new line: performing artists and sexual companions designed to entertain human partners. Jane, a rich, lonely, and insecure 16-year-old, meets one, the minstrel Silver, and falls passionately in love, despite revulsion at the idea of preferring a mechanical man to a human. She gives up everything she has known for him, and discovers herself. Silver becomes more and more "human" in loving her—a clever illusion created by his programming. Or is it? This unstable society can't afford any evidence that some robots might be indistinguishable from humans. Tragedy is inevitable.”

In researching SML, I find that it is part of the S.I.L.V.E.R. series. Metallic Love was published in 2005—immediately added to my TBR. SML is currently out of print though in 1985, it was published as a graphic novel. There is a rumor that Ms. Lee will write a third in this series. I, for one, sincerely hope so.

Love for Sale isn’t a retelling of The Silver Metal Lover at all. I simply got the idea of a sentient robot from Ms. Lee and ran with it in my own direction. I hope it is as memorable as its inspiration!

Visit my website for a free vampire story.
Linda Nightingale
http://www.lindanightingale.com

Highland Harry Wallace, a former highland rogue

For years I've been waiting for the right characters and moment that would bring the story of my paternal grandfather's (many times removed) family in the early 19th century to fictional life. One day two years ago, the stars aligned and I began to write.
 
Two characters sprang full blown into my imaginative view. Highland Harry Wallace, a former highland rogue, and nineteen-year-old tavern girl Maggie Fowler were the perfect couple to become step-parents to a brood of seven children ranging in ages from seventeen to three. Then Precious the Pig came into my mind's eye. What better companion for the youngest child who hadn't spoken since the death of her mother and what an unusual pet to sleep each night in the cabin with step-parents and children.

Turning Harry into the respected and respectable family man would be no easy task...as difficult as it would be to have a former tavern girl accepted by the straight-laced women of their rural New Brunswick community. But, then, that's the delightful challenge of fictionalizing one's family.
In actual fact, my grandfather many times removed wasn't murdered for his mills but died at age 50 of pneumonia, leaving his wife with nine children to raise. This she did as well as running the family milling business. The eldest, James, who appears as a belligerent teenager in "Highland Harry" became a clergyman and respected botanist. In later years he became the first professor of natural science at prestigious Queen's University. His daughter was the first woman to receive a university degree in science in Canada.

I'm hoping to write a series of books on the children and have one currently in the works about Brodie, Highland Harry's best friend who joins their family. But his partner in love and life has not yet fully revealed herself. Perhaps I should work on a short biography of Precious the Pig?

Gail

Gail MacMillan
Highland Harry

A Writer's Private Place

Work Place Habits  

Gail MacMillan, Proud Wild Rose Press Author

Years ago, when we had our basement finished, I opted to have a modest office built behind the furnace, away from the other rooms, a recluse’s paradise to write and think.  Many, many book shelves were built, filing cabinets put in place, and a desk top computer installed.  I put up posters that I believed would inspire me as well as family photos and mementos of our travels.  

It didn’t work out.

Alone, in that small room with a single window I couldn’t get the creative juices flowing.  Enter a laptop.  Now I was portable and I found my way into my dining room.  Furnished with beloved antiques, it became “my spot”.  With a large window looking out onto the back lawn, it was bright and warm and cheery. 

Of course, my grandmother’s rocking chair remained the place where I dreamed up stories and imagines  of how it would have been.  My dogs have always waited patiently during these “lost in the moment“ times and I’m careful to reward my faithful companions with a nice, long walk. 

These days I write at all hours of the day and night, in all four seasons, and generally at least a few words seven days a week.  Addicted to writing, I can do no less. 

For Gail's Books Click Here

ONE MORE SECOND CHANCE on sale for .99 cents!

Until September 4, 2015, the ebook version of ONE MORE SECOND CHANCE, will be on sale for .99 cents! OMSC is part of the Lobster Cove series, a multi-author, multi-genre series set in the fictional small town of Lobster Cove, Maine. Here's the blurb:

Dr. Alex Campbell has an agenda—finish his contract to provide medical services in Maine, pay off his medical school debt, and head back to his real life in San Diego. But when he meets Julia, all his carefully laid plans are put in jeopardy.

Julia Stewart, Lobster Cove’s high school principal, swears she’ll never let another man drag her away from the home she loves. Her aging parents need her, and the Cove is where she wants to raise her daughter. When her mother’s illness brings her and the big city doctor closer together, panic sets in. Her marriage taught her men don’t stay.

Can she put aside the heartaches of the past and trust Alex enough to accept the love he’s offering? Or will her fear of abandonment mean she’ll send him away forever?

Here's an excerpt:

“You’re not leaving already, are you? It looks like the party’s just getting started.” 

She turned toward the familiar voice, her heart in her throat. Alex smiled down at her, his dark eyes warm and full of an emotion she was afraid to name. The last words he’d said to her came immediately to mind: I’m not going to give up on you, on us. She clasped her hands together, disconcerted to find they were shaking. 

“I’m not really much of a dancer,” she said. Her voice sounded husky, as if it came from someone else.

He tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing against her sensitive skin and making her shiver. 

 “I don’t believe that for a minute. Not someone who plays ball with the grace and athleticism you do.” 

“It’s true. I have two left feet when it comes to dancing.” 

“Prove it. Dance with me.” 

He extended his hand. Julia stared at it for a moment, warring with herself. If she danced with him, here in public, the whole town would know. They’d talk about her, about them. Once more she’d be the subject of gossip. 

But when she looked into Alex’s eyes, she discovered she didn’t care. She hoped she wouldn’t regret her decision tomorrow. 

She took Alex’s hand and let him lead her out onto the dance floor. The band was playing a slow waltz. He linked his fingers with hers and drew her hips against his. They moved slowly, swaying seductively to the music, their gazes locked. Julia simply couldn’t look away. She was lost in a turbulent sea of desire and longing. 

“Where’s Ava tonight?” 

“With the Stewarts. She’s staying the night.” 

The slow song ended, and the band played an upbeat tune that had everyone on their feet. They crowded onto the dance floor. Julia and Alex remained in the middle of the street, staring into each other’s eyes as people danced around them. Then he lowered his head and whispered in her ear. 

“Come home with me, Julia.”

He rested his forehead against hers, waiting. Alex was the first man, the only man, she’d wanted since the end of her marriage. Their one night together had been magical. She didn’t know what to make of his assertion that he loved her. Her feelings for him were too confused to make sense of them. All she knew was that in this moment, she wanted him, needed him. 

“Yes.”

ONE MORE SECOND CHANCE is available at The Wild Rose Press. Remember, the sale ends September 4th!

Diana Gabaldon at Denver HNS Conference

Diana Gabaldon and Me in Denver!


Diana G. wowed the Denver crowd as well as participants in the 6th annual Historical Novel Society Writer’s Conference June 26-28 at the Hyatt Regency. As her biggest Minnesota fan, I was once again in the presence of my inspiration. (Two years ago, we met at the 4th annual HNS in St. Petersburg, Florida. Every other year, the Historical Novel Society has a conference in England.)
The popular author participated in a panel session on Midwifery Saturday afternoon, then signed books continuously for two hours. As the keynote speaker at dinner that evening, she filled over 400 conferees in on how the Starz cable series of Outlander was born at another dinner with Producer Ronald Moore of StarTrek fame, his partner and their wives. The wives were gushing over the bestselling Outlander books they were reading—a perfect new project!

An option was already held by someone else for movie rights to Outlander, but condensing the book to a two-hour movie was not in the script. When the option was finally released to Moore, Outlander became the 16-episode series that has collected raves, awards, and an incredible following of international viewers who have flooded social media with proof of their dedication as old…and new fans. The charismatic actors have truly brought Diana’s book to life. Season one ended as summer began, and “Droughtlander” became the new word coined for the period between seasons (and books in the series).

Diana was also hostess for the late night “spicy” readings after the Saturday banquet. I had signed up to read—among 30 or 40 others—but lost my voice to laryngitis. Great timing for an opportunity that was probably steamrolled by a case of nerves, anyway. Diana graciously offered to read for me, and I gave her a copy of my own romantic time travel with pages marked. As it turned out, the evening was shortened when the hotel staff needed to clean the dining room. The dinner, awards, a hilarious costume skit and the readings had extended the day to 17 hours for intrepid HNS travelers.

Fans of the more celebrated attending authors signed up to meet their favorites in Sunday morning “Coffee Klatches.” Diana had three 45-minutes sessions scheduled in her suite, We learned she writes in a "gridwork design," scenes that eventually string together like a network of Christmas lights. Are Jamie & Claire in the Starz mini-series an item in real life? (Sadly, no; just good friends and charismatic actors.) Advice to fellow writers? Write somthing every day, even if you think it stinks!
“Ye Hielands and Ye Lawlands” for the last hour of the Conference was one of my favorite sessions, probably because free samples of Scottish whiskey from all regions of Scotland—became instant balm for a sore throat. With her rigorous schedule, I was amazed that Diana still had her voice, and gracious good humor. “If you want to sell books,” she chuckled, “get a TV series.” The best writing advice I ever got advocated a benchmark to follow: Emulate, Equal, then Surpass your favorite author! Dynamic Diana makes that reach nearly highland impossible!

 
Cj Fosdick
Cj's Books Click here

What Inspired New Release, Beneath The Lake

A town that time forgot––the eerie lore attached to a rural area that sleeps beneath Atlanta's famous man-made lake, Sidney Lanier, fascinated me. Homes, churches and businesses still linger beneath the surface. And Looper Speedway, a half-mile dirt track where bootleggers competed with their souped-up cars (in the picture below), bared its cement stands in a recent draught.

The moonshiners of the 1940's added built-in suspense. But there's a Lady of the Lake who haunts the ghost town too. And the lore is creepy. Swimmers get trapped among the deadfall of sheered-off trees and town remains until they join her in her watery grave. Even expert divers get tangled beneath the murky surface, hence the lake's unnerving label: Lanier never gives up its dead. The inspiration haunted me, begging for a story to be told.

What a perfect setting for my romantic time-slip suspense series. Why time-slip? Ever since my childhood imagination discovered Madeleine L'Engles, A Wrinkle In Time, the idea of time travel intrigued me. And Lake Lanier, a man-made lake with mesmerizing history presented a plausible theory: what if the explosions required to excavate the lake induced a seismic shift and, given enough energy, could open a portal to a different dimension or a rip in time. I loved the possibilities.

The birth of Lacey Montgomery evolved through my young adult love for Jude Deveraux's A Knight In Shining Armor, a time-slip novel of course, and her endearing Montgomery family, with the hope my writing honors her inspiration. The character Lacey's persona, inspired by my high school friend, Hilary Johnson, slipped perfectly into position. A lawyer, discouraged with defending criminals, yearned to help honest people in trouble, and some of her finer qualities naturally became part of Lacey––but the dysfunctional relationships came from my own personal experiences.

Once these elements entwined, Beneath The Lake blossomed the energy grew into a life of its own. Book two, Beyond The Mist, picks up where the first story ends incorporating two minor characters as the new hero and heroine. Any guesses as to who will pick up the ball? Hmmm... maybe a contest is in the works.

Casi McLean
To Read More on Beneath the Lake - Click Here

Peril, Passion, Peru - adventure, romance and danger

As dreams go, the apparition didn’t frighten her. She continued to stare at the lascivious face. When a bloodshot eye winked at her lewdly, she pulled the drawstring closed and let the bag drop.

Another sack rolled down from the pile, splashing as it hit the water, which had now risen to her ankles. She opened this one to see a female head with glassy brown eyes staring sightlessly at her. Long, yellow hair fanned out in a crown around the girl’s face and floated on the slowly rising water, the strands bunched into knotted strings like an Inca quipu. This one, she knew, counted scalps.

She closed the sack and let it slide from her fingers as a third came tumbling down. Shivering, she opened this one with great care.

Before she had widened the hole more than a few inches, a familiar lock of sun-bleached hair fell out. With a cry, she dropped the sack and backed up, shoes sloshing as the water reached her shins. She kept stepping backward until the side of her head hit the wall of the cave.

Here's the Inca quipu Jill found in the cave, giving her the image for a nightmare about her rival. From PERIL, PASSION, PERU by Eve Dew Crook.

Available Now
 http://amzn.com/B011H4SMFM

Ancient panpipes in Peril, Passion, Peru

panpipes*

Jill finds a shard from a large pot that shows a little man playing the panpipes. The broken clay didn’t make a good photo, but here’s the same motif on a silver jug. PERIL,PASSION, PERU. 

http://amzn.com/B011H4SMFM

Excerpt:

She turned it over and over in her hand. “Why, that raised part looks almost like a little figure. He’s playing—what do you call them—the panpipes?”

“Right, the panpipes are ancient. And see how the bottom of the piece is curved? It’s part of a lid, perhaps, broken off a pot. The little guy could be the handle.”

Jill rubbed her thumb over the shard, thrilled at her connection to the past. “How old is it?”

“Hard to tell just from a fragment. From the feel of the clay…maybe eight hundred years.”

“Wow!” She smiled radiantly at Dex, and he grinned back. “Better watch out, you’ll catch the pot-hunting fever.”

Oh no. Frank used this fascination to hook her. She couldn’t let herself be sucked in again. Her head throbbed. Manhattan…books…publishing…the bright lights of Broadway. That was her world, not this blistering sun. Scrunching her eyes tight behind the sunglasses, Jill tried to force the headache back into darkness. Her fingers still clung to the shard.

About Eve Dew Crook

I’ve bounced from East Coast to West Coast with many stops in between, now live in Arizona with my artist husband. Not into sports, though I used to play a mean game of pingpong. Love to travel, read, write, walk with a book on my I-phone while I gaze at the scenery, attend concerts and watch lots of movies. Like to pal around with friends, especially writers and readers, and look forward to hearing from readers of my books. You can find out more about me at http://evedewcrook or e-mail me at evedewcrook@gmail.com. 

Oh, yes, I also like to write poems. Here’s “The Song of the Lovesick Siren.” I love you, I love you, I love you so madly, If I tried to tell you I’d do it so badly. I love you for will be, for was and for is, If I were a soda, I’d give you my fizz. I love how you think, and I love how you feel, I love you for promise, I love you for real. I love you for touching, I find you enticing, If I were a cupcake, you’d lick off my icing. I love you for dreaming, for taking and giving, I love what you put into warm-blooded living. I love you completely, I’m out of control. If I were a doughnut, I’d give you my whole. ? --Eve Dew Crook Author: Taking the Tumble Peril, Passion, Peru

Pursuit and passion, bullets and blowguns...welcome to Peru

“One of the ancient reed boats glided into the cave.”

The reed boats appear several times in PERIL, PASSION, PERU. Don’t they look like an octopus’s waving arms when they’re drying out on the beach?  

Available Now

http://amzn.com/B011H4SMFM

Pursuit and passion, bullets and blowguns, arousing art and sublime satisfaction—welcome to Peru.

When her husband walks out leaving their final divorce papers unsigned, bilingual editor Jill Flanders hops on a plane to Peru to find him. She’s waited a long time to be rid of the lying coward and refuses to lose her chance at a fulfilling life.

In Peru, she meets Dex Conroy, a ceramics specialist hot on her ex-husband’s trail after precious artifacts go missing. Jill is disturbed by her instant attraction to Dex. Nevertheless, she joins him in search of the missing man and vanished treasure.

As the hunt heats up, the hesitant relationship between Jill and Dex blossoms. Can the newly awakened lovers find what their hearts seek while accidents accrue and poisoned blowgun darts start flying?

Spooky Cave with Eve Dew Crook

I love exploring caves (with a guide!) and the cave on the cover of PERIL, PASSION, PERU plays an important role in the story. But the first Paleolithic cave I visited gave me an experience I’ll never forget. Deep in the cave was a chamber covered with tiny drawings. I lingered there in fascination, not realizing my tour group was leaving. Suddenly, I was in total blackness—and the blackness deep in a cave is like no other blackness imaginable. My heart pounding madly, I cried out, “Hey, I’m still here!”  A German tourist in our group made his way back with a lantern. He lifted it to my face and must have been grinning as he said, “Ach, der Neandertaler…” ~ Eve Dew Crook

Peril, Passion, Peru - Available Today!

Peril, Passion, Peru - Get ready for adventure...

“I’d pick the

Amazon for romance…gliding silently in a canoe after dark, hunting for wildlife by flashlight.”

Of course, Machu Picchu is special, and as a ruin rat I love the desert, but there’s also the Amazon and the jungle, another exciting place to visit in this fantastic country. Here’s a local banana boat on the river. PERIL, PASSION, PERU. 

Pre-order Today - 

Releases Tomorrow!

 http://amzn.com/B011H4SMFM

What an Experience!

On my first visit to Peru, my family and I flew in an unpressurized plane from Lima at sea level to Cuzco at 11,000 ft., snaking between peaks of the Andes Mountains, sucking on oxygen tubes. My son (8 years old) sat beside me, my husband across the aisle. At one point hubby called out, “You’ve got to see this!”  I unbuckled my seat belt and took the tube from my mouth to walk across the aisle. I didn’t make it--started to pass out, but lurched back across and grabbed my tube to breathe again! ~ Eve Dew Crook

Peril, Passion and Peru - Coming Soon!