Monday, September 30, 2013

Sharing my passion for writing!

I recently had the pleasure of being one of seven authors who spoke at the Putnam County Library in Ottawa, Ohio. We shared our writing experiences, talked about our books, offered tips to aspiring writers, and signed books.

Writing stories and creating characters is amazing! Meeting fans and discussing those stories and characters is out of this world!! 






Of all the men on the planet, why him?

Kiss Me!

 
 
Lacy pounded the steering wheel. "It doesn't matter." Salty tears burned her eyes but she swiped them away before they streamed down her cheeks.
 
As far as she was concerned, Jared Kelly could step in front of a bus. So could Angela. Maybe the two of them could hold hands while they stepped in front of a bus.
 
Slumping against the back of the car seat, the painful truth slinked in. You did this. You're to blame for everything. Not them. The admission didn't set well. And it was a good thing the windows were up because the half-groan, half-moan would've scared anyone walking by. But the old saying that the truth hurts was dead-on. It hurt more than Jared's rebuke of her. It was certainly more disturbing than Angela always trying to trip her up. She was the sole architect of her woes. Stupid things kept happening because she let them happen. And all she had to do to confirm it was to recall what happened the second she came home. She went whacky over the first guy she came in contact with -- a cop. Of course, he couldn't be any cop. This one wrote her a ticket...and dated her sister.
 
Her inner critic tried to sort it all out. Why him? Of all the men on the planet, why him?
 
** You can find Lacy and Jared's story at:
 
Amazon 
 
 
 

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

An interview with Lisa Hobman!

Scotland is rich in history with kings, castles, abbeys and famous authors like, Robert Louis Stevenson (Treasure Island, Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde), Arthur Conan Doyle (Sherlock Holmes), and now, a more current author , Lisa Hobman.

I've gotten to know Lisa via Facebook and Twitter. She's a fun personality and an amazing writer. I've recently read her debut novel, Bridge Over the Atlantic and thoroughly enjoyed it. Lisa now has a second book out, Through the Glass, and I'm excited to read it as well.

Lisa has agreed to be interviewed so you can get to know a little more about her and her books.



Q: With just a few words, describe your personality.
A: Hmm, I think my friends would say giddy, born worrier, creative.

Q: On a typical day, you can be found doing...
A: These days I'm usually found writing! If I'm not writing I'm thinking about writing or spending time with my family when they come home.

Q: Do you travel a lot? If so, what kinds of places attract you?
A: I'm TERRIFIED of flying and so we tend to stay around places that can be reached via Terra Firma but honestly my favourite place in the whole world is the place I now call home; Scotland.

Q: When you're not writing or tending to your family, what do you like to do?
A: My other passion is singing. I used to sing professionally and have had a few years away but recently, thanks to some wonderful musician friends I've gotten back into it again.

Q: Scotland is very dear to you. Can you share some of the things you love about it?
A: Gosh...how do I narrow it down? Apart from the people I would have to say the ever changing landscape. The fact that no matter the weather it truly is a stunning place.

Q: With Bridge Over the Atlantic and Through the Glass now published, do you have another book in the works?
A: Gulp! I have several! My third is just being considered at the moment and I'm praying that it's contracted. My fourth and fifth are works in progress. My sixth and seventh are started. I seriously have a bit of a writing obsession!

Q: Your new book has an interesting title - Through the Glass. Can you tell us a little bit about the book? Perhaps whet our appetites with a blurb and short excerpt?
A: I would love too!

Through the Glass starts where many books finish or journey through on their way to a happy ending! It starts at the end of a relationship. The two main characters are Jim - a Scottish man stuck living outside his comfort zone; in London with his wife. And Flick (Felicity) - an artist whose passion has given way to materialistic values and ideals. Her down to earth husband ceases to fit her lifestyle. At the end of their relationship Jim relocates back to Scotland to start over. But as you may have guessed his transition doesn't go according to plan.

Blurb:

A broken heart can never be a blank canvas...
 
You meet someone, fall in love, and live happily ever after...right?
 
 
     That's what Jim MacDuff thought, but after years of being blissfully happy, everything he holds dear comes crashing spectacularly down thanks to his interfering mother-in-law. Felicity "Flick" Johnston-Hart is passionate about painting what she sees through the glass. Just like the subjects of her paintings, she's viewed her life as an observer instead of really living. Although she adores her first love, Jim, more than life, her mother's expectations eventually chip away at her, making her believe that painting and Jim are simply not enough.
 
     After settling back into life as a single man in the stunning Scottish Highlands, Jim is graced with an unexpected and unwanted visitor bringing painful news that he would rather not hear. A letter from beyond the grave leads him to do something he never imagined and takes him on a journey to try to help Flick rekindle her passion for painting...and maybe win her love again in the process.
 
    Can Jim and Flick make things right before it's too late, or will events leave them heartbroken and alone forever?
 
Excerpt:
 
 
Chapter 1
 
February 2009 - The breakup
 
"So, that's it then, Flick?" Jim raised his arms in exasperation. "You're leaving? You've completely given up?" He was past trying to convince Flick that they could make a go of it; work things out, get through this and come out the other side stronger. The past few months had been one argument after another and Flick had spent less and less time at home.
 
"It's for the best, James. And please don't call me Flick." She sighed. "It's not my name. Not anymore. I grew up. It's good in the adult world you should visit sometime, you might like it," she snorted derisively. 
 
Jim shook his head; sadness oozing from every pore. "Aye, well you'll always be Flick to me. And I'll always be Jim. What's with this 'Felicity and James' bollocks anyway?" His accent always became stronger when he was angry. This was one of those occasions when the true Scotsman came out fighting. His chest heaved as he tried to calm the storm raging beneath his skin.
 
He almost didn't recognise the woman standing before him in their bedroom; her fitted designer clothes complete with pearls and a shoulder length smooth sleek hairstyle. Such a contrast to the girl he fell in love with. Back then it was all flowing blonde waves and long, floating skirts. She was softer then; in every way.
 
"Well, as I said James, Felicity is my name...Flick was left behind at university. She was doe-eyed, foolish and rash...look, there's no point us going over old ground." She pulled the handle up on her wheeled suitcase. "I'll be staying with Polly and Matt for awhile whilst I figure out my next move."
 
Matt had once been Jim's closest friend but that friendship had somehow fizzled as his relationship with Polly had intensified. That saddened Jim.
 
Felicity went on, "Nilsson-Perkins have offered to help find me a new place near the city centre so I can be closer to the main gallery." She wandered over to him and placed her hand on his arm. "It's for the best, James. I think you know that deep down."
 
He looked, pleadingly, into her eyes, his chest still rising and falling at a rapid rate. "For whom? For me? I don't think so." His voice cracked as he shook his head; he stared intently and for several moments she seemed caught in his eyes. He thought he saw her shield begin to melt but she shook her head and looked away.
 
Turning back to him she shrugged her shoulders. "It was inevitable when you think about it. We're from two different worlds...we want completely different things, James." Her voice softened as she squeezed his arm. Her blue eyes, however, that were once full of love, were ice cold.
 
She wheeled her case toward the bedroom door and turned back to face him one last time. Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears and Jim was relieved to see some, albeit small, expression of human emotion from the woman he had witnessed, slowly, becoming some kind of hard, Siberian robot.
 
"For what it's worth...James...I do love you. You were my first love and so I probably always will. I just feel like..." She paused, clenching her eyes closed as if to find the strength to carry on speaking, a tear escaped. "Like maybe we're not good for each other. We've grown apart. I'm ambitious and you...you want babies and the white picket fence thing...I'm just not ready...I'm not sure I ever will be. In a way I'm doing you a favor." A sob escaped her throat as she spoke. "This way at least you get to meet someone new and have children and do all the family things that I'm just not capable of." She sounded to Jim as though she was trying to convince herself.
 
Jim's lower lip began to tremble. "I don't want anyone else...it's you. It's always been you." He clenched his jaw. "What I don't get, Felicity, is that you wanted those things too. We were both on the same page. I don't understand how we changed."
 
"We didn't change. I did. Like I said, I grew up." She shook her head. "I know that you haven't changed," she snorted. "Sorry, Jim but it's true. In all these years you've kept the same hairstyle, the same clothing and the same laid back attitude. You still work in the same secondhand book store, you still drive that ancient Land Rover and you still take that bloody dog everywhere you go! You're not a student anymore, James. Maybe I want more, huh? Maybe I want someone who makes an effort!" Her voice gained an octave as her emotions began to get the better of her.
 
Jim widened his eyes in horror. "Whoa! Now just hang on there, lassie!" He held up his hands and his stomach knotted at her stabbing words as they sliced at his heart.
 
He stepped toward her. "You can't say that I don't make an effort. Just because I'm in no way materialistic doesn't mean I don't care. I love you. I always have. You are my world! I don't need things, Felicity, I need you!" His heart ached as it bombarded the inside of his chest. "I've done everything in my power to make you happy. I don't know what else I could have done. And for the record, I'm not the one who's given up here!" He raised his voice too, finally giving in to the pent up frustration he'd been harbouring.
 
"James, we want different things, accept it. Move on...please!" She opened the door and he made a grab for her. She swung around and crashed into his arms. Without thinking he took her face in his hands and kissed her with all the passion he could muster. To his amazement she didn't slap him; she kissed him back. Dropping her suitcase she seemed overwhelmed by desire, anger, passion, lust, whatever the hell it was; she grabbed at his dark, shaggy hair as he ran his hands through hers, desperate to express his love for her, desperate to make her change her mind.
 
He moved from her mouth to her neck, his kisses urgent. Her head rolled backward and she moaned, grabbing at his T-shirt and pulling it over his head in one swift aggressive move. Before either could realize what they were doing or how they got there, they staggered backward and tumbled, wrapped around each other, onto the bed; their lips locked as their tongues danced and probed each other's mouths.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 


Thursday, September 5, 2013

Denise Moncrief's new book, THE END, plus a giveaway

Happy to help Denise Moncrief celebrate her new release, THE END, where sometimes the end is only the beginning! She's giving away a $20.00 Amazon gift card (via Rafflecopter) to one lucky person - please leave a comment to be entered in the drawing. 

 
 


Welcome, Denise! It certainly is a pleasure to have you here with the blurb, excerpt and cover art for your new romantic suspense!

 
 
 
Blurb:
 
     Almost a year after her husband dies, Ellie Marston opens the file for Tab's last manuscript, a thriller so compelling it reads like a true story. His manuscript needs editing, so Ellie writes the obvious conclusion. The same morning she types, The End, her career as an assistant district attorney falls apart. Accused of throwing the high profile Patterson case, she resigns in disgrace. The only friend she has left in the criminal justice system is Det. Paul Santiago, a man she has worked closely with on numerous cases. While she was married to Tab, she squashed her growing feelings for Paul, determined to make her deteriorating marriage work, but circumstances after Tab's death bring Ellie and Paul together.
 
     Ellie's paranoia increases as she becomes convinced Patterson is harassing her, certain that someone is searching her belongings for any hidden evidence she might have that would reopen his case. It becomes clear there was a conspiracy to release Patterson. She seeks help from her former co-worker, Presley Sinclair, but soon discovers Presley is deeply involved in the subsequent cover up. Worse yet, Tab's affair with Presley drew him into the twisted conspiracy as well.
 
     Together Paul and Ellie attempt to uncover the conspiracy in the District Attorney's office, the set up that forced her to resign. The key to the mystery is hidden in the pages of Tab's manuscript. Once Paul and Ellie come to the correct conclusion -- Tab's manuscript is a true story and Ellie's added ending is the only logical outcome -- Ellie attempts to reveal Patterson's hidden partner in the District Attorney's office, but the co-conspirator she uncovers is not whom she suspects. Danger swirls around her as she steps further and further into the conspirator's trap.
 
 
Excerpt of THE END:
 
     Tab's Mac wobbled on the edge of the coffee table in front of me as my fingers tapped out the letters of the final sentence of the final scene as if they had a mind of their own. The idea for the ending had come to me in the middle of the night, and I was determined to finish the project before I forgot what I wanted to write. I hit return and then spaced down and typed The End with a flourish. I didn't know if writer's wrote that at the end of a manuscript, but I did it anyway.
 
     I leaned back on the sofa. A smile should have formed, but it didn't. I was pleased...but exhausted. The urge to finish Tab's final project had been satisfied. How did he do this? The process had mutilated every one of my emotions.
 
     He had put a lot of himself into his writing. I'd watched him, absorbed for hours on end, struggling to choose just the right word or just the right sentence structure. He'd tried for years to get an agent or a publisher to read one of his manuscripts. After numerous rejections, he'd sent them to the virtual trash bin with an angry jab to the delete button. It appeared like a lot of wasted effort to me.
 
     Thinking about Tab kicked me in the gut once again. He'd been dead for almost a year, but his memory could still hit me hard when I least expected it. It's true. You never get over losing someone you love the way I had loved him.
 
     I was awake late one night the previous week watching Castle on a Netflix disk, when I decided it was time to read Tab's unfinished manuscript -- well at least it would have been a masterpiece in his humble opinion -- if he had discussed it with me. He never mentioned the project. I didn't even know the manuscript existed until after the accident that took his life. If I hadn't been searching the hard drive of his Mac for something else, I would have never known about it.
 
     Odd. Tab wasn't a secretive sort of guy. Was he?
 
     So his unfinished manuscript had remained unread on the hard drive of his Mac for months. I'd put the idea of reading his final words aside, but then I couldn't stand it anymore. I had to read what he left behind.
 
     When I opened the file, I expected to read something sentimental and just a little cheesy, something with a made-for-television happy ending. I expected to cry like a baby when I read his final words. Tab was the most dramatic man I'd ever met.
 
     Instead, I became engrossed in a thriller that read so real I wondered if he had written a true story. All the plot needed was a realistic ending.
 
     And the end came to me in the middle of the night.
 
     It was done now. For better or for worse. I reached for my coffee mug and took a sip, then grimaced. The brew had gone stone cold. I rose from the sofa and slogged into the kitchen to refill my cup and stick it in the microwave. As I waited for the ready beep, the view outside my window captured my attention. A bare limb of an oak tree swayed, easily manipulated by the wind. The weather promised another gloomy, rainy day. I pulled my robe closer to me, but the chill of the morning pierced the terry cloth. I shuddered and headed for my bedroom.
 
     My linens lay on my bed, twisted and tangled from tossing and turning. I had no desire to go to work. Finishing Tab's masterpiece had drained my energy, and when I finally dragged my butt into the office, I would have to confront my boss. Executive Assistant District Attorney Michael Leads would not be happy with my lack of progress on the Baxter case. Into my second year as an assistant district attorney, I was well aware I had missed my calling. My confidence in the criminal justice system had disappeared. My passion for convicting the right offender put me in constant conflict with a process that had morphed over the years into a system designed for speed rather than accuracy.
 
     With no enthusiasm, I dressed for the day. I chose my best black suit because it matched my mood, but beneath it I wore a bright, cherry red blouse. My power outfit. I needed all the chutzpah I could manage to face Leads' wrath. It was coming at me, like a hurricane hovering off the coast trying to decide which shore was most vulnerable.
 
     After applying a few final touches to my makeup, I zipped a brush through my hair, made a pretense of brushing my teeth, and swished an ounce of mouthwash. I held my hand over my mouth. My breath still smelled of stale coffee. I looked into the mirror and groaned, then swiped at the toothpaste stain on my lapel with a damp rag before heading toward the living room. After a few minutes of panicked searching, I found my only pair of black heels under the sofa.
 
     I was ready for my confrontation with Leads as I was ever going to get. My briefcase leaned next to the front door where I'd dropped it the night before. I had planned to review some case files before I went to bed, but once I closed my apartment door behind me, nothing could have motivated me to open my briefcase last night.
 
     The ride to the office was probably the longest of my career. Lights flashed through my windows as the train passed through another station. I held tight to a strap above me because all the seats were full, always a marker of how my day would go. I was running late, and there was no hope for me.
 
     My mind drifted. Instead of mentally listing the things I needed to accomplish at work that day, I dwelt on how I should have chosen a different path for my life and what that path would have been. Had everything I suffered to work my way through college and then law school really been for nothing?
 
      Denise wrote her first story when she was in high school -- seventeen hand-written pages on school-ruled paper and an obvious rip-off of the last romance novel she read. She earned a degree in accounting, giving her some nice skills to earn a little money, but her passion has always been writing. She has written numerous short stories and more than a few full-length novels. Her favorite pastimes when she's not writing are spending time with her family, traveling, reading, and scrapbooking. She lives in Louisiana with her husband, two children, and one very chubby dog.

 
 




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