Hi, readers! We have a real treat in store for you today, a poetry spotlight. In these poetry spotlights today and in the future, we will be showcasing poetry by some very talented poets. These poets have graced us with their presence.  

With us today is poet CJ Heck. Here is a little taste of her poetry and her views on gentle sensuality.

 

When It's Over, You Just Know 

You don't always know
how you know, 
it comes slowly, the awareness. 
With the certainty and final resignation 
of a child learning there's no Santa Claus, 
you just know.

The breakfast table, once a venue 
for long dreamy stares 
and coffee-flavored kisses, 
awkwardly becomes a silent stage 
for reading the news, 
eating breakfast, and 
you just know.

The smell of his shirt 
when you'd bury your face there, 
the feel of his hands on your body 
as if they had a life of their own, 
all silently slip to a place 
wherever memories go 
to gather dust, and 
you just know. 

You miss the nights, 
how his body and yours 
breathed and moved as one. 
Maybe it's those nights 
and how they were 
that give the knowing life, but 
you just know. 

Like ocean waves upon the sand, 
love recedes 
with all the other yesterdays 
and you would trade 
all your tomorrows 
to have it back, but 
you just know.

 

 

We Need to Get Away

 

Have I told you lately

how good you smell

when the shower

spits you out?

I can't recall

the last time, but

it wouldn't surprise me,

considering what time

we actually have to spend

alone together these days.

I do know, I remember

how intense it used to be.

We need to get away,

just the two of us,

before we grow any ruts

in this lovely road …

 

Let's go somewhere now,

before talking dirty

really means:

"You doing a light load?

Can you grab my pj's

from the hook

on the bathroom door?"

 

Before wanna catch a quickie?

really means:

"I'm pooped.  Wanna take a nap?"

 

Before Oh God, I'm coming!

actually means,

"Don't nag me, I'm almost ready!

Go ahead, start the car."

 

Let's go somewhere now

while Baby, that was fantastic!

still means more than

a Sunday Scrabble win.

 

It's not too late ...

I remember.

  

 

A Box for Goodwill

 

As a friend, I had come to help

yet one more time

and I watched as she set

the cardboard box on the floor.

It was labeled for Goodwill,

penned in large block letters.

From deep in the closet,

she brought out an old blue suit.

It had faded over the years,

but I saw in her eyes

the memories still had not.

Softly, she smoothed the sleeves

that dangled flat and empty.

Then she stroked the slack trousers

on the smooth wooden hanger.

Gently, she brushed

the dust from the collar and lapel,

and then I heard her sigh.

Her resolve had melted away.

Again we talked and remembered.

We spoke of long ago,

how the sleeves encircled her

in warm secure hugs,

and the trousers had covered

lean muscular legs,

legs slightly bowed,

legs that loved to dance,

and what she missed the most

--the heart that beat below

the lapel of the old blue suit,

the heart that beat with love for her.

For over forty years,

the suit had stood sentinel,

loyally guarding both her

and those memories,

and I watched as she carefully

replaced the suit and closed

the closet door.

Through quiet tears

she asked once more

how all of that could ever fit

in a box for Goodwill.

 

 

A Poet for a Lover

 

Oh Lord, give me a poet for a lover,

whose words stroke me like velvet hands.

Word-tender caresses more reaching

than the caress of a mere mortal man.

 

A poet's light touch is so gentle.

Word-fingers probe deep every time,

arousing me, haunting me, wetting me,

seducing me, body and mind.

 

Oh Lord, give me a poet for a lover!

Lust and fire burn deep in his heart.

A silver-tongued devil whose words make me ache

to be on my knees in the dark.

 

Word-foreplay making me want him,

only mind-loved, I want to be free

to feel just one time, my poet inside, where only mind-lust up to now has loved me. 

Poet Bio  

CJ Heck is a published poet, writer, blogger, and the author of three children's books, a collection of short stories, and her newest, a poetry book for adults. She is also a Vietnam War widow.

CJ has three daughters and eleven grandchildren. She lives and writes in Florida with her partner, Robert Cosmar, who is also an author.

For book excerpts, more information, interviews, or to invite CJ to your school, or organization, please call 352-299-5634 or visit her website, Barking Spiders Poetry.

Links:

LinkedIn: http://www.linkedin.com/pub/cj-heck/17/312/b76

Twitter: https://twitter.com/CJHeck60

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/cj.heck1

https://www.facebook.com/CJHeckAuthor

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/C.J.-Heck/e/B000APRMC4

Blogs: http://memoirsfromnam.blogspot.com/

http://cjswriterthoughts.blogspot.com/

http://knowingwhispers.blogspot.com/

Youtube: http://www.youtube.com/user/cjheck1949/videos

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5308345.C_J_Heck

Shelfari: http://www.shelfari.com/cj_heck

Books:

Barking Spiders (and Other Such Stuff)
Barking Spiders 2 (sequel)
Me Too!  Preschool Poetry 
Bits and Pieces (Short Story Collection)

Anatomy of a Poet

My Etsy Shop for Autographed Books:
http://www.etsy.com/shop/CJHeckBooks

Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age blog article here.

My guest today is Steve Christie. Hello, Steve! Welcome to Writing in the Modern Age! It’s such a pleasure to have you here.

Can you tell us a little bit about your latest book? When did it come out? Where can we get it?
  

It's a crime thriller titled Good Deed. It was published at the end of last year. It introduces DI Ronnie Buchanan, an intelligent and astute man with a wry sense of humour. The story starts with a normal girl who made a bad choice, a stranger doing a good deed which he will regret and two inept, opportunistic thieves who steal something which they are ill equipped to handle. Add an upset crime lord, his unscrupulous fixer Vince, then sit back as the mind games begin, the twists unfold and enjoy a breathless tour around Scotland as DI Buchanan tries to solve the case.

It's available as an eBook on Kindle and Kobo and on paperback from Amazon. It is also available at The Book Depository, Ringwood Publishing and from all good UK Bookshops.

Is there anything that prompted your latest book? Something that inspired you?

The old adage "no good deed goes unpunished". Every now and again you'll either pick up the newspaper or watch the news and see some story where some Good Samaritan helps someone out of a sticky situation only for it to come back and, pardon the phrase, bite them on the arse.

LOL.  So, when did you know you wanted to write? Or has it always been a pastime of yours?

I've always fancied giving it a go. I used to write short stories for my kids when they were younger.  They seemed to enjoy them and now that they've grown up a bit, I thought I'd get my teeth stuck into something a bit more substantial.  So I wrote Good Deed, my first novel.

Do you have any favorite authors? 

Loads. Lee Child, Patricia Cornwell, Ian Rankin. I've recently been getting into George R.R. Martin. I'm currently reading through his A Song of Ice and Fire series.

Do you write in a specific place? Time of day?

I work long hours, I seldom get home before eight p.m. each night, so I usually don't get around to my writing until about 10 p.m. Once my kids are settled down Ill put on some music, on my iPod of course, I don't want to waken any one up! Then I'll usually write for maybe about two or three hours. This, of course, means that I end up going to work the following morning looking like a crack addict! LOL.

*Laughs.* Oh, yes, I'm familiar with burning the midnight oil for a story.  

Are there any words you'd like to impart to fellow writers, Steve? Any advice?

Stick at the writing and learn to accept rejection and criticism. It comes with the territory.

Good advice.  So, inquiring minds want to know.  What are you currently working on?

I'm writing my second DI Buchanan novel Cold Shot. It's a dark tale of revenge set during a particularly nasty winter in Aberdeen.

Here is the blurb for Good Deed.

Good Deed is a fast paced crime novel that captures the reader from beginning to end.

Described by one reviewer as “Christopher Brookmyre on speed, with more thrills and less farce”, the gripping story of Good Deed rattles along relentlessly, leaving the reader breathless but enthralled. Good Deed introduces a new Scottish detective hero, DI Ronnie Buchanan, who is certain to quickly attract a legion of fans.

The events crammed into Good Deed take Buchanan from his base in Aberdeen on a frantic journey around all the major Scottish cities as his increasingly deadly pursuit of a mysterious criminal master mind known only as Vince comes to a breath-taking climax back in Aberdeen.

The pace of Good Deed is exceptional and unremitting. It is the kind of book that demands to be read in one sitting, but most readers will be so breathless as the saga unfolds without pause that they will need occasional rests before eagerly returning for more.

Here's an excerpt from Good Deed.

Lucy Kennedy pulled off the motorway following the road signs to the Road Chef restaurant just outside Dundee.

It was notoriously expensive but she had no choice, she was exhausted and in need of some caffeine.

She had made good time despite the earlier mishap with the flat tyre but thanks to a helpful stranger shed been back on the road in about ten minutes.

As she entered the restaurant, dazed from the long drive she failed to notice Mark and Liam sitting outside in their parked car but they noticed Lucy leaving hers and forgetting to lock up.

“Here we go,” said Liam. 

Mark and Liam were two habitual criminals who prowled the country seeking victims at roadside restaurants and other such places, they never failed to be amazed by the amount of road users who shattered from a long drive and in need of a coffee would stumble into these restaurants leaving their cars unlocked making their job so much more easier.

Once they had left their vehicle and entered the restaurant, Liam would pull alongside in his car giving Mark cover to rummage through the car to see what bounty awaited them.

On this particular day they struck gold.   

“Holy shit!” said Mark as he unzipped the tartan holdall lying in the back seat. What he'd found were two large packages of white powder well wrapped up in cling film, he knew they must contain a drug of some sort, smack, speed or coke it didn't really matter because judging by the quantity it would be worth a whole load of cash on the street. He took the packages out of the bag, zipped it back up and jumped into Liam's car “wait ' till you see what I've got here buddy” he showed Liam what he'd found.

“Check this, man, it's got to be worth a small fortune.”

“Jesus,” said Liam. “What’s a lassie like her doing carting all that shit about on her own?”

“No idea but it's our shit now, let's go.”

They pulled out of the car park, re-joined the motorway and drove off under the grey, cloud covered sky towards the centre of Dundee.

Lucy, totally unaware of what had just happened, carried her overpriced espresso to the nearest table, sat down and peeled open the small stick shaped packets of brown sugar, poured them into her cup and began to stir her coffee for an inordinate amount of time. She had things preying on her mind some bugging her more than others the main thing of course being how the hell she had gotten herself involved as a drug courier. It had started off small time, a block of weed here and there. Her flat mate Julie had convinced her it was easy money and right enough it did help supplement her meagre university grant, but then she'd got greedy, she took on bigger and bigger amounts, and now four kilos of coke.

She reminisced on how it had all started. It was a typical student's night out, a meal at the local curry house, followed by a pub crawl round Newington. They were a party of six, a strange mix of people, Lucy, her flatmate Julie, Deborah, a mature student big on size and personality, Joe and Eric two gay guys who shared a flat on the floor below and Eric, the cause of all Lucy's troubles.

Eric was a strange guy, the cool student that no one really knew much about, Jim Morrison reincarnated. He picked up the tab for everything, the meal, the drinks, even the taxi home.

She remembered thinking, Jesus this guy must have money coming out his ass, only later on that night back at her flat did she find out where this money came from.

“I deliver a few packages,” he told her as he skinned up a joint on one of Lucy's album covers, one of her favourites. “It’s easy money,” he said. "I could fix you up with the main man if you like".

And that was it, Lucy was in. No more shitty own brand label food from the local supermarket, no more eking out her meagre grant, life was looking up. Or so she thought.

Because of her straight looking plain appearance she was perfect for the task, .because she was so perfect she found herself getting all the bigger jobs. She was quite happy at first, let's face it bigger job bigger pay off. But then the paranoia set in, this couldn’t last; eventually she'd get caught. What would her family say? What if she ended up in jail? All that studying would have gone to waste.

Well, this would be the last, she wanted out and she'd tell them today as soon as she dropped off the package but she’d have to be careful how she went about it, it wasn't like packing in any normal job, a quick goodbye, a few drinks at the end of the last day and then you're off, these guys were scary so she would have to be tactful.

She bought another coffee to go, got her car keys out of her bag and returned to her car to complete the journey.

When she got to her car her heart skipped a beat, shit!, it's unlocked, panicking she looked in the back seat, the holdall was still there, she caught her breath, tried to calm down a bit and got in her car and headed on her way.

Universal Reader Link:  https://books2read.com/u/bMwN6A

 

Author Bio

A Real Ale Loving Scottish Crime Writer. Originally from Aberdeen, now residing in Edinburgh. This is my first novel, available October. Im currently working on my second novel featuring Ronnie Buchanan, working title Cold Shot.

Links:

Find out more...http://about.me/stevechristieauthor

Check out the video on Youtube!  http://youtu.be/nRjrh74zDXE

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/steve.christie.167?fref=ts
Twitter:  @schristieauthor
LinkedIn:  http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=143876790&locale=en_US&trk=tyah
Goodreads:  http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6458799.Steve_Christie

Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age blog article here.

Hi, readers!  We have a real treat in store for you today, a poetry spotlight. In these poetry spotlights today and in the future, we will be showcasing poetry by some very talented poets. These poets have graced us with their presence.  

With us today is poet Pam Handa. Here is a little taste of her poetry and her views on love.

 

 

Stupid Cupid

 

Mortals have believed in you right from the start,

Because tiny Cupid you're such a sweetheart.

Your golden wings are a wonder and delight;

Your solid arrows quite impossible to fight.

Who can resist your loving piercing darts

Which strike at random vulnerable hearts?

When you come down racing by to strike,

Men and women who each other could like,

There's no running away from your absolute power,

Or trying to evade your earthly love shower.

The ignorant may call you stupid Cupid

But the wise know you're love's child little Cupid

 

Love

Love, the most unique

Of all human emotions,

To a million folks,

Is a million notions.

 

Simply holding hands,

Or lying on the sands.

Whispering sweet nothings,

Or many other things:

 

A hot, fiery kiss;

Or someone you miss.

A big sacrifice;

An infatuation in disguise.

 

A fleeting smile,

Lasting quite a while

A life-time passion,

Or a strange obsession.

 

For some, it’s a dream

As bright as a sunbeam.

Or a reality stark,

Consuming one like a shark!

 

Whatever one thinks,

Whatever one feels,

It fills one’s very being,

And from what I’m seeing,

 

It brings a special feeling

That sends the head reeling.

Taking away the strife,

Of this earthly life.

 

Making one’s ordinary existence

Full of joy and excitement

An extraordinary resistance,

And mental enlightenment!

 

The Queen of the Heart

 

 The young lady was still in her early teens,

When love came by in a tinsel dream.

 “Would you like to be my queen,” he promptly asked.

 “Oh yes,” she replied, “If forever you will last.”

 “Let’s sign a bilateral pact never ever to part,

 But to stay alive in each other’s heart.”

 

“That’s fine by me,” replied the jubilant teen,

“What about the times when life is not so serene?”

“Why worry about what we may never see?

Let’s dwell on that which will surely be.”

“That’s fine by me, I’ll do my little bit.

What happens to us when old age does hit?”

“Think of all the good times we’ll have enshrined,

In our photo-albums on the side-board lined.”

“If you say so my dear, I’ll gladly believe,

But, promise me this, there’ll be no sigh to heave.”

“When we’ve seen the cliffs of Dover,

And it’s still not quite over,

I promise we’ll retire to where we belong.

In that corner of my heart,

Where I know we'll still be strong.”

 

 

Poet Bio 

 

My name is Pam Handa nee Kochhar. I was born in New Delhi but have spent most of my life in Ghana and the UK. I graduated from the Sacred Heart College Dalhousie, in India. I received my Masters degree from the Punjab University as well as a gold medal for coming first. I started my teaching career in the English Dept of the same university. I married Dr Prem Handa, a Paediatrician, in 1968 and in 1972 we emigrated to Ghana. Today, I am the author of two books recently published by Trafford in the USA. 

Of Kismet and Karma, my first novel, is a cross-cultural blend of fact and fiction, based on my personal experiences in India, Ghana and the UK. My anthology of poems is entitled Wings of the Heart. Both books are available on Amazon.com, as E-books and in all Barnes and Nobles shops. The EBOOKS are really cheap. Get hold of them and spend time on going back to all that stirs the very soul!

Links:

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/PAM-HANDA-NEE-KOCHHAR/121487404694554
Twitter:  @handapam

Book Links:  https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17246306-wings-of-the-heart

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17240630-of-kismet-and-karma

http://www.ebookmall.com/author/pam-handa-nee-kochhar

Miscellaneous:  http://thevirtualbookcase.wordpress.com/2013/06/02/of-kismet-and-karma-and-other-books-by-pam-handa-nee-kochhar/

Youtube Videos:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5VECPWY6qUI 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rjrt6Dm_mx8 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N6gjwPYwDws 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZOgfateng1A 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LsHEVRVo90w 

 

Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age blog article here.

Book Review Etiquette

 

 

Authors can’t sell books without reviews. Especially now that a lot of authors are going the self-published route, book reviews are crucial elements that authors seek and crave. Well, good reviews are craved.

Recently, there has been a trend for readers to post reviews before they have even read the book.

A fellow author recently received the following ONE star review: "I did not read it I just downloaded it," says Raebeth Buda, author of ‘Silenced’ and host of the Writing World web site. “Last year I also got a ONE star review that said, 'I haven't read it yet, I will leave a review when I do.'  They have yet to review it. That star has been sitting there hurting my rating ever since. And with only 10 ratings on that particular site, it hurts a LOT.”

It hurts the author because most book review sites give an average star rating, figuring all the reviews into one score. It’s like getting straight A’s all semester, and then getting one F that pulls your grade average down to a C.

“It seems like common sense, but I think more people need to be aware of how much needless one star reviews can hurt. It's great you bought the book, [and] it's great you intend to review it. But leaving a one star 'placeholder' hurts the author much more than leaving no review at all,” Buda says.

Stars on a book review are pretty much equal to the five point grading system used in schools. A five star rating is the same as an A on an essay. It means you thoroughly enjoyed the book. Four stars means the book was enjoyable, but had a few faults. A three star rating means the book barely passed. Anything below three stars warns other readers to pass the book by and buy something else. A one star rating means the author should not have published the book in the first place.

When writing a review for a book, the reader should give a summary of the story to let the next reader know what the subject of the book is about. It also lets the reader know that the reviewer did in fact read the book. It should then point out the book’s virtues and weaknesses. Is it well paced? Does the plot make sense? Are the clues foreshadowed, or does the answer appear out of nowhere? Are the characters believable and likeable? Is it well researched? 

The conclusion of the review then gives an overall reaction to the book: it was a pleasant read, it was a page turner, I couldn’t put it down, I highly recommend the book, I can’t wait for the next one. The conclusion of the review should not be what is called a 'spoiler': the butler did it. It’s acceptable to say that the ending was surprising, but not to say what the surprise actually was.

So, please, write your reviews, but follow the rules and format of a good review. Even if your opinion is bad, every review posted should be good in quality, helpful to other readers, and a true reflection of the reader’s opinions.

 

Guest Blogger Bio 

 

Paula Hrbacek is the author of five books, including Stars Shine After Dark, a sweet Christian romance, available in paperback, Kindle and Nook.

Day Camp in Hawaii, a complete program guide for summer camp or summer school, is available in paperback, Nook and Kindle. For more information see http://paulahrbacek.weebly.com or her author page at https://www.amazon.com/author/paulahrbacek.

She also writes two columns for The Examiner, a free online newspaper; Children’s Arts and Crafts, and Book Reviews.

Links:

LinkedIn: http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=104609576&locale=en_US&trk=tyah2

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/PaulaHrbacek?fref=ts

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Paula-Hrbacek/199054570166688?fref=ts

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/PHrbacek 

Universal Amazon link:  mybook.to/DayCampHawaii 

Also in paperback at B&N.

Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age blog article here.

My guest today is Rebecca Frencl. Hello, Rebecca! Welcome to Writing in the Modern Age! It’s such a pleasure to have you here again.

Can you tell us a little bit about your latest book? When did it come out? Where can we get it?

RIBBONS OF MOONLIGHT was released by Solstice on February 13, 2011. I thought it was pretty appropriate that a romance novel came out the day before Valentine's Day.  

Ribbons of Moonlight won the Best Romance 2012 contest after the first of the year! It's a time travel romance--Emma goes back in time to 1773 while on holiday in England for her friend's period wedding. Her coach is robbed by the highwayman who turns out to be much more than she ever expected. Connor drags her out of the coach and into his world turning her heart upside down. The red coats are on his tail and while he has a secret ally, there is also a traitor in their midst. This all seems so familiar to Emma. Can she figure it out and help save Connor while keeping her heart intact? 

RIBBONS OF MOONLIGHT is available in both ebook and print versions at the Solstice website, Amazon, Barnes and Noble and Smashwords.

Is there anything that prompted your latest book? Something that inspired you?

This book was actually inspired by one of my favorite narrative poems "The Highwayman" by Alfred Noyes. It was a challenge to write a book based on a tragic poem while keeping true to the heart of the poem, but not having the book have such a dismal ending! 

Great! So, when did you know you wanted to write? Or has it always been a pastime of yours?

I think I've always written. I remember my favorite toy as a kid was a typewriter my mom and dad gave me for Christmas. I used to write plays for my cousins. I think I wrote my first "book" in 7th grade and I haven't looked back since then. Though, I have expanded my horizons. While, fantasy is still my first love, I've also really learned to love romance, mystery and paranormal as well. 

Do you have any favorite authors? 

Wow. Too many. It also depends on the genre. In fantasy, I love David Eddings and Mercedes Lackey. Though in young adult, I am a sucker for Rick Riordan and Veronica Rossi. I adore Elizabeth Peters' Amelia Peabody mysteries and Lynn Kurland's time travel romances. Diana Gabaldon and Robin McKinley will always have a special place in my heart for their inspiration. 

Do you write in a specific place?  Time of day?

I write wherever and whenever I get the chance. On the couch, at my desk, on a park bench--between meetings, during a test the kids are taking, while my little girl is swinging from the monkey bars. My life is a little crazed so I snatch the time when I can. 

Are there any words you'd like to impart to fellow writers. Any advice?

Don't write what you know--write what you love and keep writing. Perseverance is the secret in this business. There's a quote I recently found that really speaks to me, "If it's important you'll find a way. If it's not--you'll find an excuse."

Don't find an excuse. Find a way.  

Here is the blurb for Ribbons of Moonlight.

Emma Sanders:

She’s a damsel in distress—a 20^th century miss dragged back to the 18^th with no way home and no idea how she got there in the first place.

Connor MacAllister Kane:

He’s the reason she’s in distress--a British highwayman, and a minor noble with not much more to his name than a title and a Robin Hood-like charm who robs the wrong coach.

Now, Captain Nelson Rawlins of His Majesty’s Royal Dragoons, a former childhood friend of Connor’s who sacrificed friendship for duty is on the hunt for the Highwayman and traitors to the crown. The longer Emma stays in Connor’s time, the more she’s drawn to him and drawn into his troubles. She and Connor find themselves struggling to stay one step ahead of the Captain and his corrupt Commander and keep Connor and his roguish cousins from the hangman’s noose. As the Commander’s grip on the countryside tightens, the people need Connor even more, but Rawlins is hot on his trail and there’s a traitor in their midst. Can Emma use her twentieth century wits to keep both Connor and her heart safe?

Here's an excerpt from Ribbons of Moonlight.

 

 

Chapter One

 

She looks so beautiful. 

That’s all Emma could think as she watched her oldest friend in the whole world dance in the arms of the man who loved her. 

With a sigh, Emma touched her champagne glass to her lips. The bubbles burst across her tongue and burned down her throat.  

“Well, Chelle,” she whispered, “we’ve come a long way since our days in the ‘burbs. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted and more.” She raised her glass to her friend then turned out of the terrace doors leaving William’s strains of the love theme from The Highwayman behind her.

            A cool breeze caressed her skin shifting the ruffles at her neckline and elbows. Emma took a deep breath. The perfume of the Old English roses and night-blooming jasmine smelled as sweet as the wine in her glass. She paced the weathered granite walk, heels catching a little on the weather roughened stones, and braced her arms on the balcony rail to look over the amazing Kircaldy Manor gardens. She leaned over the glass-smooth balustrade and brushed her fingers against the climbing red roses. Petals cascaded and their perfume rose. The guidebook in her guest room back at the inn told her that Kircaldy was one of oldest gardens in this area, dating back to the 1600’s. The tangled roses and curved white stone walks glimmered in the bright starlight. Emma leaned back and tipped her face to the sky. You couldn’t see this many stars in Chicago. The moon looked closer too; huge and swollen with only a thread of cloud across its face. 

Clematis vines crawled up the railings. Delicately closed candy-striped blooms brushed her knuckles. A gentle breeze ruffled the blossoming cherry tree to her right, stirring the stems of the strawflowers. 

            The music behind her changed, shifted from the love theme into a pulsing dance beat that made her rib cage thrum. Glancing over her shoulder back into the ballroom, she watched her friend reach out a hand to Tom Cruise, accepting his congratulations on her wedding. Emma shook her head in amazement with a smile. Yes, Michaela Evers, star of the sleepy summer hit The Highwayman, had definitely come a long way from the small Chicago suburb she’d shared with school librarian Emma Sanders. I don’t think I’ll ever really get used to rubbing elbows with the stars, Emma mused. 

            The bride’s dress whispered silk over silk as she stepped through the terrace doors. “Emma, dear, what in heaven’s name are you doing out here?”

             A seed pearl crown glinted amid the elaborate twists of Michaela’s long blond tresses. The filmy veil was pushed away from her face to pour in a shimmering wave to her hips. Moonlight danced on the diamonds around Michaela’s throat.

            Emma smiled and traced a finger over the tanzanite star hanging from a white gold chain around her throat. Michaela had given it to her as a bridesmaid’s gift just the day before. Emma had tried to tell Michaela that the suite of necklace and earrings had been far too expensive, but she should have learned long ago that when Michaela set her mind to something, she always won.

            “Good lord, Em, you’re missing all the dancing.” 

Michaela latched onto Emma’s arm and pulled her back into the twinkling lights of the Kircaldy Grand Ballroom. Michaela linked an arm through Emma’s and smiled at Megan Daly, star from TV’s Through the Sands of Time, as they passed. 

“Lovely lady,” Michaela muttered. “Too bad she’s stuck on that trashy soap.” 

            “If I recall, a certain star started on a trashy soap. Night Heart wasn’t exactly classic cinema,” Emma replied and set her empty champagne glass on a tray borne by a butler in gleaming black tie and tux.

            Michaela laughed, snagging two canapés from another tray. She handed one to Emma and nibbled on the other. “Oh, Em, you’re the one thing I really miss since I moved to California.”

Emma sniffed at the fancy swirl of pink and white cream on what she thought was a cracker. It smelled fishy. “Well, Chelle, I miss you too.” She stuffed the concoction in her mouth and rolled her eyes in bliss. Whatever it was, it was really good. She looked around for that tray-wielding waiter. 

“Then move to California, Emma.” Michaela’s hand tightened on Emma’s arm. “I worry about you all alone in Chicago.”

Emma swallowed and patted her friend’s hand. Her gaze followed Lester Brym and Alan Saddler as the two muscle men made their way to the bar. “I’m not moving to California, Chelle, and I’m hardly alone.” She pulled her gaze from the action stars to smile at her oldest friend. “I have Alfred.”

Michaela snorted. “That stupid parrot is older than you are.”

“Yes, but he keeps me company and besides, I like living in Chicago.” 

Kim Pierce, the fashion editor of Delirious swooped in to step between the two women. She looked over both Emma’s and Michaela’s period gowns.

“Lovely, just lovely,” Kim murmured. She smoothed her short ebony swing of hair back behind her ears. “A word with you, Miss Evers, or should I be calling you Mrs. Kalver now?” She chuckled and dug into her palm-sized bag pulling out a small notebook. “I’d like to have a word with you about scheduling an interview with you and the designer?” 

“Oh, Em, will you excuse me?” With an apologetic glance, Michaela walked away, smoothing down her embroidered silk gown. 

Emma watched her friend wander off, chattering excitedly to Pierce about the young designer who’d designed all her gowns. Emma brushed a hand over the pale blue silk skirt of the gown Michaela had especially designed for her as maid of honor. It was lovely. A pale blue bodice laced up the front, embroidery and touches of lace at elbow and neckline—just enough to give it a delicate feminine look. The skirt was full and heavy, the type she’d have loved at ten, perfect for spinning around and around.

Emma laughed at herself and leaned against one of the huge marble pillars that supported the carved vaulted ceiling of the great hall. With the cool marble at her back, she watched the revelers whirl by. Candlelight glowed from the wall sconces, bathing everything in a shimmering, shifting light. Shadows wove around the columns and the dancers in the uncertain illumination.

Many of the guests had loved Michaela’s idea of a period wedding and dressed for the occasion. Some wore silks and satins, others muslin, and tartan. 

Emma turned away from the dance floor. She didn’t belong here. She knew that. This glittering world wasn’t hers. It was Michaela’s and she’d never be comfortable there. 

The first time she’d visited Michaela in L.A., Michaela had dragged her to every Hollywood hotspot she could find. 

“I think she was hoping I’d snag a star,” Emma murmured to herself and then shook her head. No Hollywood heartthrob would look twice at a librarian from Chicago.

She pushed away from the column, making her way toward the main doors. Now free of Kim Pierce, Michaela was fully engaged in talking to Luke and Kyle Tredari. Michaela wouldn’t notice if Emma slipped away a little early.

As she approached the doors, the Kircaldy hostess slid out of the office near the doorway. The small woman wore a trim tailored suit in cherry red. Emma looked at it with a little bit of envy wishing she had the courage to buy something bold like that.

“May I help you, madam?” the hostess asked.

“I’d like a ride back to the inn, if you wouldn’t mind calling one of the carriages?” 

Emma rubbed her temples.  It was only ten or so and she was already exhausted. A bath and book in her charming and comfy room sounded so good right now. 

“Of course, Ms. Sanders.” The hostess ducked out the door and very shortly one of the carriages rumbled up to the marble steps. 

Emma felt like a queen, letting the coachman help her into the leather cab of the carriage. Another one of Michaela’s brainstorms was to have all the bridesmaids and guests taken from the church to the hall in coaches—the exact type the highwaymen would rob. 

Emma settled back in the seat. The carriage took off with a jolt, but soon settled into a rocking motion. The clip-clop of the horses’ hooves and the squeak of the carriage rigging were very soothing. The tight knots of tension at her temples began to unravel. She pushed aside the leather curtain and looked out the narrow window. 

The moon bathed the private country road in sliver moonlight. The road stretched like a white ribbon winding through the trees that, according to her guidebook, were over four hundred years old. The night was still and quiet, the only sounds the jingle and clop of the carriage rigging and the horses’ hooves. Not even a breeze whispered through the trees at the road side. 

Emma let the curtain fall back into place. It would be about a half hour or more before they reached the little period inn. She slipped off her shoes and snuggled on the seat, her head pillowed on her hands. The gentle swaying of the cab lulled her. Quiet, alone, safe, she felt her eyes drift shut. With a sleepy little sigh she gave in. 

The carriage jolted to a halt. Emma slid neatly from the leather seat and onto the hard floor of the carriage. Silk and leather obviously weren’t good bed fellows. Her skirt pooled around her. 

“What in heaven’s name?” she muttered. 

With less grace than a baby giraffe she scrambled from the floor and smoothed her skirts back into place Carefully, she dropped to the seat again. 

With a frown, she reached for the door handle intending to ask the driver what in God’s name was going on. It disappeared under her hand, whipped open from the outside. 

“Just lovely,” the man towering in the doorway muttered. He was a dark shadow highlighted only by slashes of moonlight. When he smiled, a beam of moonlight showed missing teeth. Emma’s eyes widened, her heart leaping painfully in her chest. With her hands fisted in her skirt, heart pounding she first heard the voices murmuring outside the cab.

Good lord, she thought a shiver skating up her spine, how many of them are there? 

 

Chapter Two

 

Emma pressed her back against the leather seat of the carriage and stared at the man, her mouth slightly ajar. She didn’t recognize him as a guest from the wedding. He was tall with dark messy hair and a toothless grin she didn’t like at all. 

She swallowed hard and pressed a hand to her throat. Should she scream? What if Michaela had organized the entire scenario and she spoiled the fun by trying to kill the poor actor in front of her? 

“Who are you?” Her voice trembled far more than she anticipated.

“Good idea, luv, why don’t we get to know each other a little better?” he asked levering himself into the carriage. His hair was matted and the stench of horse and sour sweat filled the cab. He licked his lips as he reached for her neckline. A beam of moonlight showed her his grime encrusted nails and hairy knuckles. “Pretty little bauble, that.” She could feel her skin crawl at the thought of that filthy hand touching her. She clutched the necklace he was admiring and shrank back further. 

Emma brought both feet up to chest level, startling the man with a look under her skirt, and kicked. Both feet punched him hard in the chest. Words Emma could barely understand pierced the night as he lurched backward from the carriage to land on the road, arms and legs sprawled.

Quickly, Emma repositioned herself on the seat, back pressed against the opposite door, ready for another attack. Whoever these people were, she wouldn’t let them take her easily. Ugly laughter, both sadistic and frightening, increased the tremble in her hands.

“She’s a lively ‘un. I’m gunna enjoy this.”

Male laughter poured through the door, followed by insults she would rather not hear. 

Good lord, there must be at least five of them. Emma scrambled for her shoes and slipped the two-inch heels on. If she’d had them on when she’d kicked, the man would be gone for good. She wedged herself in the corner of the carriage and drew up her feet, ready to kick out again. She gripped the seat leather with clammy hands, her gaze intent on the swinging door.

Where was the driver? Where the hell were the cops? 

The door at her back whipped open. Emma tumbled out of the carriage in a froth of pale blue skirts. Startled, she screamed and braced herself for her collision with the road. Hands hooked under her arms, stopping her from a painful crash. 

Well and truly over her fright, she kicked and punched, trying to remember every dirty trick she’d been taught about self-defense. The man stumbled. Triumphant, she leaned into him. If he fell he’d let her go. 

“Spirited little dabchick, eh?” 

I’ll show you spirited! Emma skinned her heel down her assailant’s shin.The arms around her tightened. 

“Bloody hell!” he yelled and lifted her right off her feet.

“Let me go!” Emma twisted against the arms that held hers pinned to her sides. “Just wait until the cops get here! I’m filing every charge in the book!”

“Just a bit bats, is she?” A voice off the side asked. “Need a hand there, boy?”

Emma looked over to see the dark-haired man she’d forcibly ejected from the carriage. The man started forward to take hold of Emma. A desperate plan formed in her mind and she settled within the powerful embrace. She watched the dark-haired man approach her as though she’d turned into a wild animal. Her heart thumped in her chest. She blew annoying twists of hair from her face.

When he got within kicking range, she used her captor’s strong hold to lever herself up and kick at the man again, with her shoes on this time. The man howled. His hand whipped up to cover a gash that ran from his forehead to his chin. Blood trickled from beneath his hand.

Emma’s eyes widened. She’d done it! Maybe they would leave her alone, now.

“That’ll be enough of that, Miss.” Her captor’s low, liquid voice slid down her spine. “Stop trying to take a piece of us. Your virtue is safe enough for the moment,” a brief pause, “and your life as well.”

Emma stilled, shaking with rage in the man’s arms. She’d seen enough episodes of The New Detectives to know that a kidnapper’s word was worth spit, but she needed to get him to let her go. If he let her go, she might be able to find a chance to escape. She took a deep breath that turned into a gasp when she realized that her captor’s hands were fully over her breasts. 

“Get your hands off of me,” she ordered, her voice low.

“Will you accept our word, miss?” The arms tightened one last time. “Or do we continue this invigorating and rather entertaining romp?” 

He pressed his groin into her lower back.  A gasp slipped past her lips. All the wrestling around had aroused him. She felt it clearly even through her layers of petticoats and skirts.

Her stomach jumped with nerves. “I’ll accept your word for exactly what it’s worth,” she whispered.

The arms stayed locked for a moment as her captor seemed to weigh her words. Then, he released her abruptly. Her stomach lurched. She let out an alarmed cry, but the man caught her by the elbow until she regained her balance. With a deep breath, she gathered her skirts in her hands, and turned to look at her captor. 

He was tall. She had to tip her head back to look at him. She saw dark hair, longer than she was used to, pulled back into a tail. A small breeze tugged at some loose strands. His eyes were shadowed, but one dark brow rose at her study. She dropped her eyes from his face. He was dressed in a long coat, brass buttons gleamed in the moonlight.  She couldn’t quite tell the color of the coat, the light was too uncertain, but the white shirt beneath shone in the moonlight.  

With a wary glance she looked around. The coach still sat in the road, the horses stamping in their traces. One man stood with the horses, the reins in his hands, another popped out of the carriage cab shaking his head. Two more secured the unconscious driver to a tree. Emma saw a trickle of blood slipping down his face from under the powered wig. 

They were all dressed like her captor in long coats and boots and they were all staring at her. She swallowed, a lump in her throat. She wondered if they could see the pulse jumping in her throat? She clasped her hands together and looked back at her captor.

“What do you want from me?” she asked making herself look up at him. 

He must be one of Michaela’s more eccentric movie friends. She also noticed for the first time that there were horses tethered to the nearby trees. This looked like something out of a movie set. In fact, it looked like a scene directly out of The Highwayman.

With a scowl, she tore her eyes away from his extraordinary face and looked around the clearing. She fisted her hands on her hips.

“This is absolutely ridiculous. Did Chelle put you up to this?” she demanded glaring up at him. “I can see it now.” She threw her hands up, “Chelle thought I’d need a little excitement in my life so she put you all up to waylaying me from the reception.” 

Emma looked around at the four actors loosely ringing her, their mouths hanging open. She looked back at her captor. 

“I must admit it’s awfully authentic. And she does have amazing taste in men, but I told her before that I’m not interested.” She brushed invisible dirt from her skirts and turned away from the man. “Well, it’s been exciting, but I’m exhausted. Tell Chelle you tried to get me to go along with it all, but that I just wasn’t in the mood.” She started back toward the carriage. “Someone nudge the driver and tell him the jig is up.”

“She’s not a little bats, Connor,” the man who’d originally grabbed for her said, “she’s absolutely stark staring.” 

“Something’s not quite right here, Adam,” Emma heard the man murmur as he reached out and grabbed her as she passed. Emma tried to shrug his hand off her arm. 

“I told you I’m not interested. I want to get back to the hotel.”

The fingers tightened around her arm. Her intended retort died on her lips. His eyes were not amused. He wasn’t laughing. Boy, he’s good. 

Her gaze darted around the clearing. He was correct, something wasn’t quite right here. The men were not dressed in quite the same style of clothes as she’d seen at the wedding. They were also dirtier than the average party-goer. The man who’d said she was bats was the worst—matted hair and missing teeth. One of the other had dirt smeared down the side of his face. The sleeves of the coats were raggedly and the boots mud encrusted. And if she wasn’t mistaken, that man over in the corner just pulled a musket out of a saddle holster. Weaponry had not been included in any of the costumes she’d seen and that one looked way too authentic to be a prop. 

She turned back to Connor’s unsmiling face. She felt her breath hitching and forced herself to take deep slow breath. She wiped sweaty palms on her skirt.   

“You’re not an actor, are you?” she asked quietly. 

He shook his head. 

She looked at the other men. They moved closer and the smell of horse and fire smoke wafted over. Moonlight gleamed on a pistol barrel in one hand.  “They’re not actors either, are they,” she whispered making him bend down to hear her.

He shook his head again.

They stood nearly nose to nose for a silent moment, her eyes intent on his. “If you’re not actors and you’re not here because Chelle sent you, who are you and what do you want?” Her breath hitched again, coming faster. Her heart hammered in her chest and her knees felt weak. Emma didn’t think she’d be able to run now if she wanted to. 

A satanic smile lifted the corners of his full lips. He leaned forward until Emma smelled campfire smoke on his jacket. She wanted to step back, but couldn’t. She needed to hear his words, to know why they’d stopped her carriage and fairly accosted her. Connor raised his eyebrows and beckoned her to come closer. Against her better judgment, she tipped her head and moved another inch.

 “We’re highwaymen, milady,” he whispered in her ear, “and what we want is…you.”

Universal Reader link:  https://books2read.com/u/4joPnY

 

Author Bio  

   

When I was a kid growing up in the near Chicago suburbs I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to teach and I wanted to write. I’d spend hours over the little typewriter Mom and Dad bought for me when I was little clattering away at stories and plays I’d wheedle my cousins and brother into performing. I think I wrote my first “book” in 6^th grade and had a friend illustrate it for me. I never really looked back from there.

Now, I can say that I’ve achieved both of my goals. I’ve been teaching 8^th graders for more than 15 years, sharing my love of words with hundreds. I always tell my kids that it’s not that they don’t like to read they just haven’t met the right book yet. I make it one of my missions in life to put those books into their hands.

My love of literature lead to my debut Solstice novel, Ribbons of Moonlight. I’ve always loved poetry and “The Highwayman” has always been a personal favorite. I always thought there was more to that story and now there is.

So, here am I living—still living in the Chicago suburbs, a little further out than where I first started, but I can still see the skyline on my drive in to work. I married my high school prom date and we share a beautiful little girl, two spoiled hound dogs and a love of reading and all things Disney. Overall, I’m happy where I am, but I’m also looking forward to seeing what the next several years bring. Hopefully, it will bring me several more books on this author page!

You can find me at:

http://rebeccalfrencl.blogspot.com/

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Rebecca-L-Frencl/115163871892050?ref=hl

https://twitter.com/rlfrencl

Amazon Author Page:  https://www.amazon.com/Rebecca-L-Frencl/e/B00EQDG5C4/

 

The Shattered Prism was just released in June 2013 through Solstice Publishing.

Universal Reader link:  https://books2read.com/u/3LwyAJ    

Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age blog article here.

Hi, readers! Today we have Robert Fanshaw with us and he is going to give us his reflections on his recently published romantic suspense book, Shameless Ambition.  

           Marie's post (May 3rd) - the relationship between reality and writing - made some new connections for me. I believe good writing has an underlying, but sometimes hidden, connection with reality, whatever the story or subject.

My work as a barrister means that I am dealing day to day with clumsy attempts to pin down reality. If something gets as far as going to court, the eventual outcome, the decision of the judge, becomes ‘the truth’. But anyone who has spent a lot of time in court will tell you that the outcome depends more on the balance of forces than the holy grail of what really happened. The little guy or gal doesn’t often win. If they do, it’s because their representatives have woven a convincing story. This is why I find there’s a synergy between my job in the legal system and my work as a writer.

            Like most writers, I do it for love. Psychologists would probably say that Shameless Ambition is a transparent attempt to get more of my wife Caroline’s attention. The legal work funds my real passion, and I am as grateful for that as any humble artist who relies on a sponsor to keep food on the table and a roof over their head. I love all kinds of writing. I’m not a poet, but I get great satisfaction when a poem materialises from somewhere.

            I love the freedom of the blog: no deadline but your own; no rules but your own; no financial transaction involved; not necessarily even any readers. But it is so wonderful when someone is intrigued by the story and asks a question like ‘Is your wife really called Caroline?’ Readers know that events are reordered or condensed, names are changed, and imagination fills in the gaps, but they are also looking for underlying truth in anything they read.

            By the way, the answer is ‘Yes’ because I cannot think of her by any other name, except Bluebell, the name she adopts when her exhibitionist tendencies come to the fore. We went for a walk in the woods near our home in Surrey the other day. There was more than a hint of blue under the greening trees, the bluebells having decided the freeze has passed and it is now safe to reach for the sky.

            A simple walk, but it encapsulated the pleasure and pain of our relationship because, although not a word was spoken about Erik, we both knew that her ‘stage name’ came from an affair she re-kindled not long before we were married. She met an old flame and they made love amongst the bluebells. I found out. She said it didn’t mean anything but I was jealous just the same and the mere mention of Erik’s name is enough to put me in a bad mood. Unfortunately he won a prestigious prize with a series of paintings based on the photo sketches he made of Caroline.

            But the tone of Shameless Ambition is not, I hope, jealous. Caroline and I have a modern marriage and work on our boundaries all the time. I try to put that across in the book. Things might hurt, we might be embarrassed by our own behaviour, but you have to learn and move on. There’s no point in throwing the Botticelli Venus out with the gilded frame. Yes, Caroline really does have long red hair like on the cover of the book.           

And without giving too much away, I do have my moments of triumph in the book. Caroline’s involvement with a plot to influence a key committee in the European Central Bank required some investigative work on my part. I was able to put my legal training to good use.

            Returning to the issue of underlying truth, it has been said to me that some of the events described in the book are far-fetched. I think those people cannot have been reading the newspapers because the reported behaviour of some bankers, politicians, and business leaders over the years leading up to the current economic turmoil in Europe makes one shake one’s head in disbelief. My account is moderate in comparison.

            Marie describes in her post (May 3^rd) the joy of writing. I recognise that joy, and for me, it’s also therapeutic. Is it an escape from reality or an escape into reality? No reason why it can’t be both, simultaneously. There are times waiting in airports or sleepless at night when it’s great to escape into another reality. My goal as a writer is to make that journey into another reality as easy as possible for the reader. I don’t want anything to jar. I want things to happen at the right speed. I try to give the minimum amount of descriptive detail consistent with teleporting the reader to another place. I want the characters to surprise, engage, and entertain the reader as much as they do me. But keep your hands off Caroline, please.

Robert is also treating us to a blurb and an extract from Shameless Ambition.

Blurb

High-flying executive Caroline and barrister Robert have been married for three years, and the demands of work have left little time for their relationship. Caroline is angling for a promotion, which will mean spending more time away in Germany. On a management development course in Spain, Caroline is tempted into indiscretions with some of her colleagues, a fact that is noticed by course leader and former chief executive Melody Bigger.

Melody sees in Caroline aspects of her younger self and a barely suppressed exhibitionism. She draws Caroline into a plot to put pressure on Von Wolfswinkle, the German delegate to the European Central Bank. His opposition to Eurobonds is causing hardship across southern Europe, and Caroline is inveigled into a peculiar relationship with Von Wolfswinkle based on his voyeurism and her exhibitionism. Melody wants Caroline to influence the banker’s recommendations to the forthcoming European economic summit.

As Caroline is drawn into a seedy world of private parties for bankers and politicians, she soon realises she has damaged her reputation and her marriage. How will she ever be able to face her colleagues and her husband again?

 

Extract

Caroline and work colleague Clive have been partnered in an orienteering exercise designed to develop leadership skills. Unfortunately, they get lost by a mountain stream…

 

Clive inspected his bleeding hand. “You may as well take them off. A few minutes on one of these rocks and they’ll be dry again. And in any case, if it’s not impolite of me to notice, the water has made them transparent.”

“I’m glad to see you’re living up to your reputation, Clive.” Nonetheless, she wriggled out of the wet underwear, and he did the same with his shorts.

“Well it’s not as if I haven’t had the pleasure of observing your features before.”

“What features?”

“Last night, in the pool. I sent you a message complimenting you on the performance. Don’t you check your emails?”

Caroline shut her eyes in the hope of shutting out this new piece of information. She decided denial was the best policy.

“Clive, you are an utter pervert. What have you been imagining?”

“I will show you exactly what I have been imagining.” He delved into the rucksack for his notepad and whizzed his fingers across the screen a few times. He passed her the pad and she was mortified to see a crystal clear video clip of a naked woman pointing her ring finger at the camera and then using the finger to good effect.

“The resolution on these new pads is amazing. And the camera even has a zoom.” He demonstrated the camera’s features with a close-up of Caroline’s face at the moment of abandon.

“You will delete this – this minute – or it’s going in the pool.” He tried to grab it off her but she held the pad out of reach.

“Caroline. What are you suggesting? I would never show this to anyone but you. It’s solely for my own private use.”

“You heard me – in the pool. Tell me how to delete it.”

He showed her how to get the toolbar up and how to send the film to the bin.

“And now tell me how to empty the bin.”

“Oh Caroline, don’t be such a spoilsport. You’re just denying an important, lovely part of yourself.”

“No, I’m not. I’m trying to protect my reputation from two billion creeps like you.”

“Okay, okay, collapse that screen – there’s the bin icon. Press delete again. Gone.”

Clive put the electronic pad back in the rucksack and leaned across Caroline, unnecessarily she thought, to sit the bag upright in the shade of rock. Did he deliberately brush against her breast?

“I really admire you, Caroline. Not just because you’re lying there naked. I love the way you deal with Ivan at the monthly meetings. You’re always so well prepared. He makes the rest of us look stupid but you seem to have anticipated the tricky questions he’s going to ask.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” Caroline smiled. She knew what Clive was like. But it was nice that someone noticed how much attention she paid to the monthly figures.

Clive turned towards her and propped himself up on his elbow. “You know, we would make a really good team. I’ve got this plan. In a couple of years’ time when the market for self-care has developed a bit, I’m going to set up my own company – our company if you like. Medical devices at home, aimed at the mass market of hypochondriacs who think they’re ill or are just about to be. I know I could make it work if I had someone like you to keep the cash flow tight and disciplined.”

Caroline continued to look up at the blue sky, feigning indifference. But she was enjoying the attention. It was so rare for anybody to be nice to her at work; usually it was moan, moan, moan.

Not discouraged, Clive placed a hand on her knee. “Just think about it for me, Caroline. These big companies just chew you up and spit you out. We would be free to do our own thing.” The hand moved up and stroked the inside of her thigh.

“Get off, Clive. I’m not that easy.”

“I know you’re not, Caroline. I’m just trying to give you what you want.”

“What I want? How do you know what I want?”

“Well – sex outdoors. You’re obviously an exhibitionist.”

“No I am not.”

“I bet you were Head Girl at school.”

“Yes, I was actually.”

“And you had the lead part in all the school plays?”

“No, not in every school play, once I was the director.”

  
Guest Blogger Bio 

ROBERT FANSHAW

Robert is a barrister who specialises in commercial law. He began writing articles for law magazines but then discovered more interesting material in the world of business inhabited by his wife, Caroline. What started as a blog when his wife was away on business trips became the ongoing story of the dilemma faced by many working couples today – how to balance the competing demands of work, marriage, and supporting a football team.

Now in his mid-thirties, Robert lives in Surrey, England.

Links:

Website: http://www.mywifecaroline.com/

Blog: http://fanshawrobert.blogspot.co.uk/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Robert-Fanshaw/221928037948848?ref=hl

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/RobertFanshaw

 

Purchase links for Shameless Ambition

Amazon:  http://www.amazon.com/Shameless-Ambition-ebook/dp/B00CL9G746/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1367447106&sr=8-1&keywords=shameless+ambition

Steam eReads

http://steamereads.com.au/

Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age blog article here.

My guest today is Jessica Tornese. Hello, Jessica! Welcome to Writing in the Modern Age! It’s such a pleasure to have you here.  

Can you tell us a little about your books? Where can we get them?

I have a series out about time travel. Linked Through Time and Lost Through Time are available now. As of right now, Destroyed In Time will be the next title. Linked Through Time and Lost Through Time are on Solstice, Amazon, Barnes&Noble, Smashwords and Kobo.

Is there anything that prompted your books? Anything that inspired you?

I grew up with a large family. My Dad was one of eleven children, so I have endless tales of cousins and extended family. My Dad’s stories always stuck with me because he grew up with nothing. Absolutely nothing! He did not have indoor plumbing until high school- in Northern Minnesota! I admire him and wanted to keep his stories alive. A lot of what happens to Kate in “Linked” are true events from my dad’s childhood. Lost Through Time mentions a disaster that actually occurred in my home town in 1910. I guess I just really like to keep the stories of our ancestors from dying out. They were true, hard core Americans fighting just to make a living.

So, when did you know you wanted to write? Or has it always been a pastime of yours?

I didn’t really start writing books until a few years ago, but I have always loved writing and reading. They go hand in hand, I think.

Do you have any favorite authors? 

Absolutely! I love Diana Gabaldon, Francine Rivers, Jodi Piccoult, Kristin Hannah and Phillippa Gregory.
 

Do you write in a specific place? Time of day?

I just plug away at my computer whenever I get a spare moment. Three kids under the age of 10 in all kinds of activities keeps me hopping. Which means I am usually writing at ten at night!

Are there any words you'd like to impart to fellow writers. Any advice?

I would definitely say to reread your story many times, and to put it away for a week or two before taking it out to read it once more before submission. It’s easy to get burnt out on something you’ve written and lose sight of what the goal is. I also try not to look at bad reviews, unless they offer a critique that is genuine instead of just an opinion. You can’t please everyone out there and sometimes people can be just plain mean. If it is your passion and something you believe in, then it’s golden. 

Here is the blurb for Linked Through Time.  

Fifteen year old Kate Christenson is pretty sure she’s about to experience the worst possible summer at her grandparent’s farm in rural Baudette, Minnesota. Without cable, cell phones, or computers, Kate is headed for total isolation and six tedious weeks of boredom. Until the storm.

A freak lightning accident has Kate waking up in 1960. But she is not herself. She is the aunt she never met, but has eerily resembled her entire life. Thrust into living a dirt poor, rural farm life, Kate struggles to make sense of her situation- a boyfriend with a dark side, a “townie” who steals her heart, and the knowledge that 1960 is the very summer her aunt drowns in the local river. 

Even with every precaution, Kate cannot stop fate, and an unexpected twist adds to her dilemma. To her horror, Kate finds out firsthand her aunt’s death was not an accident or a suicide, but something much, much worse.

Here's an excerpt from Linked Through Time. 

Steering carefully into the gravel drive of the Rapid River parking lot, I swore under my breath as the bike’s rear wheel slid on loose gravel. Trying to right the bike too quickly, I ended up swerving sharply to the left and crashing into the brush at the side of the gravel lot. Flying over the handlebars, I landed in a patch of overgrown weeds, my knee striking a rock hidden in the ground. Pain radiated from my knee, paralyzing me for a moment. I lay sprawled face first in the grass, breathing in the smell of earth and dry grass, cursing myself and everything on the planet.

Emotions overwhelmed my frazzled, fragile mind and I let loose with a string of profanities that would have definitely earned me a whipping. Rubbing my throbbing knee, I groaned.

Lightning flashed and the breeze picked up as if on cue, sending the cattails above my head into an agitated dance. 

With great effort, I stood and flexed my leg. I could feel the slightest trickle of blood dripping a warm path down my shin. Perfect, I grimaced. Can anything else possibly go wrong tonight?

My vision had adjusted slightly to the moonless night, but I still had to partly feel my way to the place Travis and I spent the evening. Pushing through the brush, I couldn’t help but sense that uneasy, creepy feeling that comes from wandering in the dark, as though eyes watched you and monster hands waited to grab at your feet. My heart pounded loudly in my ears, the tingling creep of fear working its way from my head down through my limbs. I forced myself to keep my eyes forward, ignoring the nagging feeling that someone or something watched me from the shadows of the rocky shore. 

Limbs of the interlocking pines poked and prodded my bare arms as I threaded my way through the trees. The pounding of the rapids had increased with the coming of the storm; the wind tossed the water upon the rocks, sending spray high into the air. 

When I broke through the tree line, I stood mesmerized by the awesome power of the roaring water. It looked as if the rapids were fighting to break free of their rocky channel, its watery fingers washing over the rocks, reaching far down the wall, only to withdraw and try again. 

Above the churning waters, a simple two-lane bridge hung defiantly in the air, its thick concrete arches planted firmly around the dangerous rocks. Suddenly, a semi loaded with logs thundered across the bridge overhead; its headlights lighting up the darkness for a matter of seconds. I used the momentary help to break my gaze from the water and search the outer banks for my sweater. 

A flicker of movement amidst the trees caught my line of sight, and I focused in on a ring of pines to my right; the very place Travis and I had been a few hours earlier. 

“Travis?” I called out hopefully, thinking he had remembered to retrieve my sweater.

Universal Purchase link:  https://books2read.com/u/bMww6X

 

Here is the blurb for Lost Through Time. 

“There never was a body, you know.”

Such is the bizarre statement from Gran only weeks after Kate has returned from an accidental time traveling incident, surviving certain death…twice. Capturing Sarah’s killer seemed to be the reason for Kate’s disappearance, but Gran believes otherwise.

Learning of Kate’s power to time travel loosens memories and desires Gran has long since buried. Gran is set on finding Sarah, who she believes never died the night Dave Slater threw her in the river, but instead, went back in time through the Rapid River portal. With rudimentary research and analysis, Gran thinks she has unlocked the secrets to controlling the time traveling link that she and Kate share with their ancestors and she plans to use Kate to bring Sarah back.

When Kate agrees, she is shocked to find out that in the more aggressive form of time travel, she doesn’t become Sarah, but trades places with her, sending Kate to Baudette, Minnesota in the year of 1910, and Sarah ahead to the year 2000.

Baudette’s catastrophic 1910 fire and typhoid epidemic are the least of Kate’s worries once she discovers what has happened. Her chances of a return trip are thwarted with the struggle just to survive, and Sarah, reliving her lost childhood in the ease of current day life, decides to never return to the past, leaving Kate to suffer the life she has left behind. 

Gran is torn- get rid of the daughter she has dreamed of finding for four decades, or rescue the precious granddaughter who risked everything for her selfish dream? And to what lengths will Sarah go to destroy any chances of Kate coming back? Will Sarah succeed in severing the link?

And an excerpt from Lost Through Time.

I felt the exact moment my heart stopped beating in my chest.

“Where’s Mary?” I said, trying to keep the alarm from rising in my voice. The group looked around, stunned.

Vivie handed Gracie to James. “She was just here. I swear it.”

Frantic, we strained to see across the wagon bridge into Spooner. The brilliant blond tresses of Mary’s head were nowhere to be seen.

Ruth spoke up. “That man took her to the depot.”

I stared hard at Ruth, trying to process the words, but not understanding. “What man?” I said, confused. There were dozens of people crossing the bridge rushing in all directions. Like ants on a collapsing anthill, the twin towns were alive with chaos, the people coming and going with what looked like little purpose. “What man?” I said again, the panic seizing my voice and pushing it another octave higher. I grasped Ruth’s arms in a painful, panicked grip.

Ruth shrank away, afraid I might lash out. “I don’t know. I was watching John. Aunt Vivie told me to watch John.” Her eyes welled with tears. “I had John,” she insisted again, afraid of taking the blame.

“What did the man look like? What was he doing?” I demanded.

“He was that man from the backyard. The big man who touched Mary’s hair. I heard him say he could help her run faster. For her to take his hand.”

Sickness heaved inside and I clenched my jaw.

“You were getting sick over the bridge,” Ruth accused. “You weren’t helping at all! Mary couldn’t keep up and she was crying!”

Vivie reached out and gripped my shoulders. Without saying a word, we stared hard into each other’s eyes, the truth of the situation passing between us as though we were speaking aloud. McGraw had bided his time, watched us from afar and waited for a weak moment. He couldn’t possibly know the danger he faced. Was it a ploy? Would he really take Mary? Or was he just trying to get me alone to give chase and play his twisted game of revenge?

“I’ll go,” Vivie said, the sacrifice evident in the firm line of her mouth. “You can’t fall for his trap, Kate. He won’t do anything to me.”

“No,” I argued. “Too dangerous. If something happens to you, then Gran will never be born, and then, neither will I.”

Universal Reader link:  https://books2read.com/u/mq11y1

 

Author Bio

Jessica was recently voted Solstice Publishing’s 2012 Author of the Year!

Jessica Tornese’s debut novel, Linked Through Time, was inspired by her home town Baudette, MN. She graduated from high school there and continued her education at Minnesota State University – Moorhead where she earned a degree in education. She spent several years coaching in the Junior Olympic volleyball program in Minnesota as well as the junior varsity team for Lake of the Woods High School in 2010.

Her favorite hobbies include reading, scrapbooking, playing volleyball, and extreme outdoor sports like caving, ziplining and white water rafting. Jessica is also active in her church and has run several Vacation Bible School programs and Sunday school programs. She enjoys working with kids of all ages!

She hopes to finish her Linked trilogy soon, and continue writing. Recently, she self-published her first juvenile fiction book for kids online. (see M&M Twins cover below)

Jessica is married and has three children. Her family recently relocated to a small town in south Florida.

Links:

http://www.amazon.com/Lost-Through-Time-ebook/dp/B009ZUKKR4/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1365111338&sr=1-1&keywords=lost+through+time

http://www.amazon.com/Linked-Through-Time-Jessica-Tornese/dp/1477570799/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1365111662&sr=1-1&keywords=linked+through+time

Facebook- https://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Linked-Through-Time/392292227468460?fref=ts

Twitter- @jltornese

Blog/Website- http://www.jessicatornese.com

Amazon Author Page- https://www.amazon.com/Jessica-Tornese/e/B008LUYA66

Universal Reader Link-  https://books2read.com/u/bWGGV1

Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age blog article here.

BOOK REVIEW: Journaling with Jesus: How to Draw Closer to God

 

Reviewer:  Kathryn Elizabeth Jones

Author:  Carol Round 

For readers who know me and my personal journey with what I've always called "scripture" journaling, you'll want to read Journaling with Jesus, an insightful, honest and refreshingly motivating nonfiction book by Carol Round.

If you've ever wanted to get closer to God through prayer, scripture study and journaling, then this book is for you. Journaling with Jesus is beautifully penned from the first word to the last, and gives adult readers an opportunity to see the power of prayer while they are developing a more intimate communication with God. 

Round shares personal experiences that she has had with God through her journaling of the past 10 years. She also shares the experiences others have had with prayer journaling. She opens the way for readers of all faiths to experience prayer journaling for themselves. 

Consider these insights:

"(Prayer journaling) is a relationship with God. I talk, He listens. He talks, I listen."

"...we write to grow, not to stay the same."

"I wasn't aware of God's plan to use my gifts and talents for His glory. Through my daily habit of journaling, He has made me appreciate the importance of letting Him shape and mold me into the woman He created me to be."

Journaling with Jesus is for anyone desiring to improve his/her relationship with God. Although this reader could see the direction of the book for women, primarily, the truths spoken of in Round's book will assist anyone with the desire for a deeper connection with God. 

Discover the interest God has in you as His child. Feel the presence of God.

Carol Round's book can be purchased at Amazon. 

About the Author

CAROL ROUND, self-syndicated columnist, Christian author and inspirational speaker, began her journey with the Lord in October 2001 when she admitted her need for His guidance. Since that time, she has sought a deeper relationship with Him through reading scripture, Bible study and the personal discipline of keeping a daily prayer journal. After being encouraged by other Christian women, she has compiled her experiences with prayer journaling into "Journaling with Jesus: How to Draw Closer to God" and the companion workbook, "The 40-Day Challenge." Both are available through amazon.com.

Carol's first two books, A MATTER OF FAITH, and FAITH MATTERS, are collections of her weekly faith-based column which runs in 12 Oklahoma newspapers and at http://www.assistnews.net/. Both books can be purchased through Amazon.com.

Her third collection of columns, "Sola Fide: by FAITH alone," was released in October 2012 and is also available through Amazon.com.


Reviewer Bio


Kathryn has been a published writer since 1987.  She graduated from the University of Utah with a B.S. in Mass Communication and a minor in Creative Writing. Her studies included work in creative writing, public relations and journalism. In 2012, she opened the doors to Idea Creations Press, a publishing services company that caters to writers and their writing, publishing and marketing needs. Her newest book, Marketing Your Book on a Budget 2013, can be found at Amazon.

Links:

Websites: http://www.ideacreationspress.com

http://www.ariverofstones.com

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/KathrynElizabethJones.Author?ref=ts&fref=ts

LinkedIn:  http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=21281954&locale=en_US&trk=tyah2

 

Universal Reader link:  https://books2read.com/u/mdDDyZ

Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age blog article here.

My guest today is Sally Carpenter. Hello, Sally! Welcome to Writing in the Modern Age! It’s such a pleasure to have you here.  

Can you tell us a little about your latest book? When did it come out? Where can we get it?

The Baffled Beatlemaniac Caper is a humorous mystery released in 2011 by Oak Tree Press. The book was a Eureka! Award finalist for best first mystery novel in 2012 at Left Coast Crime.  Print and ebook versions can be ordered from Amazon.com or BN.com.

“Baffled” is the first book in the Sandy Fairfax Teen Idol mystery series. Sandy is a 38-year-old former ‘70s teen idol who starred in the hit TV show Buddy Brave, Boy Sleuth but his career stalled after cancellation. Now he’s a recovering alcoholic seeking a comeback and solving mysteries along the way.

Is there anything that prompted your latest book? Something that inspired you?

I’m a huge Monkees fan and that got me interested in teen idols in general, their lives and careers and how one copes with fame and fortune. Teen idols are interesting characters but writers were ignoring them.

I also love those 1970s TV detective shows that were short on police procedural but long on personality and charm. I thought it’d be interesting to write a character that started off playing a detective on TV and ended up as an amateur sleuth solving real cases.

Wow! So, when did you know you wanted to write? Or has it always been a pastime of yours?

I’ve always enjoyed reading. I spent most of my childhood summers at the public library. Growing up I often received books as presents. Some of my grade school teachers read books aloud to the class. As a child I made up stories about the characters on my favorite TV shows. That’s probably why my series protagonist is a former TV star.

I’ve written on and off over the years, sold some short pieces over the years, but became more serious about writing in the mid-1990s. I started writing mysteries in 2008 after I attended a panel of mystery authors hosted by Sisters in Crime.  

Do you have any favorite authors? 

Arthur Conan Doyle, of course. Richard Levinson and William Link, who created many of the great TV detective series. I have a number of friends who write. I hate to single out anyone but lately I’ve read Steve Hockinsmith, Stephen Brayton, William Doonan and Jim Callen.

Do you write in a specific place? Time of day?

I write at home. I can’t concentrate in coffee houses or other places that are noisy and busy. I work a full-time day job to pay the bills, so I write some evenings and mostly on weekends. I run errands during the week so on weekends I can focus solely on writing.

Are there any words you'd like to impart to fellow writers. Any advice?

Don’t start writing with the expectation of instant fame and fortune. A few authors hit the jackpot with big sales, but most don’t. If you’re writing only for the money, you’ll be disappointed. Your first book is the “calling card” that gets your name out there and will probably earn little money. Authors increase their sales by writing more books. As more product is available, sales and interest will increase, but promotion is a slow, on-going process.

Here is the blurb for The Baffled Beatlemaniac Caper.

In the 1970s teen idol Sandy Fairfax recorded six gold records and starred in the hit TV show Buddy Brave, Boy Sleuth. Now it's 1993 and he's a 38-year-old recovering alcoholic desperate for a comeback. An easy gig as the guest celebrity at a Beatles fan convention in the Midwest turns deadly when a member of the tribute band is shot. When the police suspect Sandy, the boy sleuth is back in action to find the killer.

Here's an excerpt from The Baffled Beatlemaniac Caper.

            I turned to face the formidable flatfoot. Braxton pounded questions at me as I rubbed my bloodshot eyes. I couldn’t concentrate.

            “Look, detective, I’m exhausted. I’ve had a long day that started before sunrise three time zones ago.” I glanced at my wristwatch: nearly 1 a.m. Pacific or Central time? I couldn’t remember if I reset my watch after my flight landed. “Can this wait until tomorrow? I mean, later today? The body can’t get any more dead than it is now.”

            Braxton glowered at me so hard that if looks could kill, he’d have a second stiff on the floor. “You claim the victim was still alive when you came in the room?”

            “Yes, sir.” I squeezed against the wall so the paramedics could carry out a stretcher with a black body bag strapped to it. As much as I wanted to look away, I couldn’t peel my eyes off the corpse.

            “Did the victim do or say anything that might identify the murderer?”

            “Yes, sir.”

            Braxton waited, his pen poised over his notebook page. “Well? What was it?”

            I licked my dry lips. I felt terribly thirsty. I knew Braxton would hate my answer. “He said, ‘Rocky Raccoon.’”

            Sure enough, he frowned at me. “Is that a joke?”

            “No, sir. That’s exactly what he said.”

            “Is that the name of the murderer? An animal? What’s a Rocky Raccoon?”

            “It’s a song.” Bunny stepped up beside us as she closed the zipper on the pouch that hung from her waist. “By John Lennon and Paul McCartney. Paul sings lead. It’s on disc one, side two, track five of The Beatles’ 1968 double record ‘White Album,’ which isn’t the name, but everyone calls it that because it was issued in a plain white cover with no artwork. I have a 1978 French import reissue with the records in white vinyl.”

            Braxton stared at her, too stunned to take notes, but I took it in stride. Fans possess encyclopedia knowledge of the minutest trivia.

Universal Purchase link:  https://books2read.com/u/b6vvAJ

  

Author Bio

  

Sally Carpenter is a native Hoosier now living in Moorpark, California.   

She has a master’s degree in theater from Indiana State University. While in school her plays “Star Collector” and “Common Ground” were finalists in the American College Theater Festival One-Act Playwrighting Competition. “Common Ground” also earned a college creative writing award. “Star Collector” was produced in New York City and also the inspiration for her book.  Carpenter also has a master’s degree in theology and a black belt in tae kwon do.    

She’s worked a variety of jobs including actress, freelance writer, college writing instructor, theater critic, jail chaplain, and tour guide/page for a major movie studio. She’s now employed at a community newspaper.

Her first book in the Sandy Fairfax Teen Idol mystery series, The Baffled Beatlemaniac Caper, was a 2012 Eureka! Award finalist for best first mystery novel. The second book, The Sinister Sitcom Caper, will be released in late 2013.   

Her short story, "Dark Nights at the Deluxe Drive-in," will be published in the 2013 SinC/LA anthology, Last Exit to Murder.  

She’s a member of Sisters in Crime/Los Angeles chapter and “mom” to two black cats.

Links:

Website:  http://sandyfairfaxauthor.com

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/sally.carpenter.54?fref=ts

Amazon Author Page:  https://www.amazon.com/Sally-Carpenter/e/B007TX0QW8

Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age blog article here.