Tag Archives: flights of fantasy

March 24, 2013 · 12:52 am

Peeking At My Killer My Love

My Killer My Love, a story of ultimate sacrifice

My Killer My Love, a story of ultimate sacrifice

For other great excerpts, check out Sneak Peek Sunday

***

Again that smile decorated his face, this time tinged with an exasperation she could see without her glasses. He shook his head, and the auburn curls fell around his shoulders with more grace than her own silvery-blond hair ever managed.

“It means much more than that, but you do not seem prepared to listen at this time.”

He fell silent, standing very still by the fireplace. It was as though he sought to become one with the ancient stone and wood. Telling herself she was definitely hallucinating, she faded into sleep.

Once the woman slept, he moved more freely. With the stealthy tread of a stalking wolf, he searched the darkening rooms, letting his senses hunt for a specific location. He settled in a corner window seat, bathed by the moonlight inching its way toward her bed. Many puzzles existed here, and he knew he was not yet prepared to face them. He breathed deeply, then more slowly, his body becoming motionless. The atmosphere around him thickened, a silent wind lifting his hair away from his face then dying abruptly. After a long moment of hushed tension, he emitted a sound of exasperation. The answers had never come to him easily before, why should now be any different?

He studied the woman. Even in her sleep, her thoughts spoke to him in unclear muttering, a not unpleasant sensation. He wondered about the part he had been sent to play and knew the ending would not be as originally planned. He could no longer think of her as he had been instructed.

This small, fearful female had given him something he had forgotten existed. She had given him back his laughter. For that alone he would protect her beyond life.

***

My Killer My Love is available at Amazon, Black Opal Books, Smashwords

Happy Reading

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December 24, 2012 · 11:08 am

So…Christmas. Let’s Get Through It Together

It’s coming up to the BIG DAY for kids and families and department stores, not to mention on line industries.  All around me friends, acquaintances and fellow writers fill their blogs and Facebook presences with greetings of the season.  I’m not really feeling the excitement this year and I bet there are a lot of people out there in the same boat.

While preparing a blog for LERA, my local RWA chapter, I reacquainted myself with a lovely piece of writing from my teen years, Desiderata.  I can never read it without hearing it in Leonard Nimoy’s voice…yep I was one of those geeky kids who had the album  Two Sides of Leonard Nimoy which includes the Balled of Bilbo Baggins.  Sigh, wish I had it now!

Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and ignorant; they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be critical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be careful. Strive to be happy.

© Max Ehrmann 1927

We have a right to be here, and a right to be happy.  Blessings of the season to one and all

039

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February 22, 2012 · 9:37 am

Wednesday Brunch with Jami Gray

I spent the day in Santa Fe yesterday, unfortunately most of it trying to find the right county government building.  Sigh.  So no cookies but we’re having Chile Relleno with eggs for brunch, and I’ve picked up some (virtual) Sopapilla for Jami.  Sopas are a light dough that puffs up into a pillow when fried.  Yummm.  Not for Mona, but amazingly the Relleno are since they are green chilies stuffed with a bit of cheese and dipped into a whipped egg batter.  What could be more carb friendly?

So, on to our guest today.  Jami is a fellow Black Opal Books author.  Her tag line  is:  “Urban Fantasy where even the monsters fear what hides in the shadows. Come find me if you dare.”  Dang, wish I’d come up with something that catchy!  Her first book is Shadow’s Edge–more on that later, right now we’re going to hear about Jami’s furry third child.  No, not what you were thinking!

The Canine Equation

by Jami Gray 

(Enter small tornado) Okay, Mona, fair warning, you know I don’t cook unless it involves pushing buttons on a microwave or a phone so no nifty recipe from me, however some hot chocolate spiced with jalapeño wouldn’t be out of place.

(Big sigh as takes seat) Before others can ask, yes, I’m from down where the sun dries everything out to jerky and anything over 115 degrees is just hot, dry heat or not!  No, not hell, people, Arizona! (shaking head)

So the other day I went out into that big black hole of chaos known as Twitter, and fell into a discussion on dog purchasing.  This particular individual was considering an Irish Wolfhound.  Her other half was aiming for a Lab.  I told her to stick to her guns and go for the Wolfhound, but if she lost, she’d love having a Lab.  I can say that because I am the proud owner of an aqua phobic, floor supporting, 110 pound ball of loving devotion known as the Hellhound that moonlights as a Lab.

Long, long ago before the knight in slightly muddy armor and I were blessed with the Prankster Duo, we discussed our canine options.  He was all for a Rottweiler and I was leaning more towards the Irish Wolfhound camp.   Since neither of us were giving in, we tabled the conversation.

When the younger half of the Duo was about five, and the older one six, we decided it was time to add a four legged, tail wagging component to our family equation.  The knight had a co-worker who was looking for new homes for her last litter of AKC labs.  He brought home a picture of the group—two boys, three girls—ranging from the sun touched yellow to this beautiful cinnamon color.

We gathered the Duo and headed over to check out the last two pups—one girl, one boy.  Up till that point, the Duo were understandably cautious around dogs.  Let’s be honest, anything that can stand taller than you and cover your face in one wet swipe was not something you want to mess with.

On the journey over, we had a discussion about our hopefully soon-to-be addition.  The boys already had a name picked out—Stitch.  Didn’t matter if we went boy or girl, the name was a chosen and there was no wiggle room.   Upon arrival, we found out the girl had already chosen her new family so we met the last boy of the group.

It took, maybe, twenty seconds and not only was I head over heels in love, so was my Duo.  So enamored of the furball, I failed to take in the size of small dinner plate paws attached to the sweet, dorky tail wagging, kiss monster that would be coming home with us.  Arrangements were made and we had our newest family member.  Of course the Duo had one complaint at the time, they couldn’t understand why Stitch wasn’t blue.  (Yep, Disney had plastered the Lilo & Stitch movies everywhere!)

It’s been 7 ½ years since the hellhound came home and I can’t imagine what our family would be like without him.  Beyond the body checks that may mean certain paralyzing falls, he is a champion floor holder (the floors never even consider moving when he’s got them covered) and he’s the best foot warmer ever!  Plus, even though he and our pool tend not to see eye to eye, he has no problems providing life guard services when the boys are out swimming.  Even though he doesn’t trip up the stairs like he used to, he still manages to come up every night, stuffed paté in mouth (it’s not a real duck, promise!) and lay guard while we sleep.  The Prankster Duo has grown along side the Hellhound until he’s become our third furry son.  Every morning I’m reminded of why I’m so grateful the knight and I agreed to the canine addition.  I’m a firm believer that pets make you laugh more, love deeper, and show you the true meaning of selfless love.  Even if they aren’t blue!

Shadow’s Edge: Book 1 of the Kyn Kronicles is out now and Shadow’s Soul: Book 2 of the Kyn Kronicles hits shelves Summer 2012.

Website: www.JamiGray.com

Buy Link: www.BlackOpalBooks.com

Blogs: www.JamiGray.wordpress.com or www.7EvilDwarves.wordpress.com

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/jamigray.author

Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/JamiGrayAuthor

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February 15, 2012 · 10:17 am

Wednesday Brunch with Liv Rancourt (Amy Caldwell)

I had hoped to have low carb meringues this morning, found a great recipe. Unfortunately when they say “put in a 350F oven, turn off, and leave overnight,” they don’t mean a counter top convection oven. I tossed out a gooey mess this morning. Sigh. It didn’t help that we had another snow, so the humidity was up.
We’re going to have hot cocoa today, made with heavy cream (low carb!), cocoa powder, with a dash of cinnamon and chili powder. Since the roads aren’t passable this morning I’ll splash some Lady Godiva into Amy’s mug, while she tells us about fitting life into her writing schedule. BTW the portrait and book cover artwork is by Amy’s sister, Liza Rancourt-Fennimore.

Juggling…
Once a friend asked me what was on my schedule for the weekend and I gave her the(rather long) list. When I was done, she said, “I see that you’ve got a typically Caldwellian weekend planned” (Caldwell being my married name). Turns out she coined a phrase, and ever since, when things are, well, normally busy, we refer to it as a Caldwellian day.
And since I’ve got two kids in middle school, things are often in a Caldwellian state. The kids go to different schools, ergo different schedules and vacation days. One plays soccer but the other changes sports with every season, which means navigating shifting practice schedules. They both study instruments and my daughter sings in a choir. Weekends are taken up with games and friends and you name it. Oh, and did I mention I work full time? And I’m a writer.
It’s that last thing that’s taking an increasingly large bite out of my schedule, especially with the release last month of my first book, A Vampire’s Deadly Delight. Now, when I’m not working or driving to lessons or practices, I’m at the laptop working on blog posts or one of the short stories I’ve got in the hopper or maybe the novel I’ve got cooking. My family is amazingly patient and supportive with all of this. Which is a good thing, because you’ll notice I haven’t yet mentioned housework. I’m not doing a whole lot of that kind of thing – too busy – and they’ve been very tolerant of our increasingly chaotic surroundings.
I haven’t mentioned cooking yet, either, except in terms of my novel. I’m more of a microwave goddess even when I do have a lot of time, but lately even that’s been a challenge. Fortunately, my husband does like to cook, and we’ve got the local pizza boys on speed-dial. There are times, though, that it falls to me, and when necessary, I go to http://www.allrecipes.com. I’ve had really good luck finding ideas for fast, easy, and yummy dinners. And easy. Did I say easy? Because that’s key if something’s going to survive the Caldwellian surge.
One recipe I came up with recently was for Salsa Chicken. You basically toss chicken breast in some taco seasoning, put them in a pan, dump salsa over top of them and bake. When they’re done, you put some sour cream and chopped avocado on them and you’re golden. Ready to go. Even I can do that. And it’s SO good. The kids have asked for it more than once. Here’s a link to the actual recipe, in case my description is too sketchy… http://allrecipes.com/recipe/salsa-chicken/detail.aspx
So the next time you’ve got a Caldwellian schedule going on, remember the Salsa Chicken recipe, and know too that your family may well be more flexible than you give them credit for. As long as the health inspector doesn’t show up, you’re probably fine.
Peace, Liv

Amy, thanks for stopping by
You can find A Vampire’s Deadly Delight at:

Black Opal Books

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

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February 7, 2012 · 9:12 pm

Getting Ready For The Tomorrow, and the Rest Of My Life

As in today is the first day of the rest of our lives. Slowly moving onward. The bed and other equipment left on Monday, and the living room furniture is rearranged to something different. I’m looking at paint swatches and deciding which walls will be my canvas. Maybe I’ll just paint squares of different colors instead of making a decision.
In the meantime, tomorrow is Wednesday, meet a new author day. Bev Irwin, a fellow Black Opal Books author, will be with us.
Bev tells me she prefers French Vanilla Cappuccino from Tim Horton’s as her beverage. Hmmm, new one on me, isn’t Horton’s in Canada? Since we’re in New Mexico, I wonder if she’ll like Mona’s Mocha with a dash of Cinnamon Schnapps? Cocoa has been paired with chilies for a long time, and this is my girlie drink of choice, when I’m not dieting.
Since I am dieting, I’ll be drinking decaf, or green tea, or water, and I’ll have made the muffin that makes low carb possible for me. It’s called Muffin in a Minute, net carbs balance out, and it’s great with eggs.

MIM = Muffin in a Minute.

1t butter, melted
1 egg, beaten
1/4c flaxmeal
1 packet Splenda
1/2t cinnamon
1/2t baking powder

Mix together in a mug, microwave for 1 minute, voila! If it’s not quite done in a minute, continue in 20-30 second increments. You can then slice and toast. I’ve never added the Splenda or cinnamon, but I do drop in a pinch of cheese or some seasoned salt.
I think I’ll surprise Bev with some virtual Scotch shortbread. Quick, easy, and yummy. I’ll post that recipe tomorrow with Bev’s blog. In the meantime it’s back to the computer to work on the next book. Not a paranormal this time, but that paranormal is starting to knock at the door.

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January 22, 2012 · 5:27 pm

Who comes up with this stuff?

With Tom bedridden, we watch a lot of television. It’s not like we can dash into town, so we bring the outside world to us. Television being what it is, we see a lot of commercials. So when a new commercial aired, with the slogan “It’s the (fast food breakfast sandwich) of [fill in the blank]” We looked at each other and said “HUH?” Do they mean it’s cheap and tasteless? Really bad for our health? Highly overrated?
What WERE they thinking?
Then you have the commercials for male enhancement products. And aren’t those fun to be watching? You get to the cautions, one of which is to let your doctor know if you have blurred vision. Wasn’t it a mantra when we were younger “you do that, you’ll go blind?” Or was that for an earlier time than most remember?
What WERE they thinking?
Car insurance commercials. We’re going to buy insurance because a weird little rodent, excuse me reptile with an accent says it’s a good idea? Because a Neanderthal gets offended, or a pig squeals? Really? A snide talking baby is going to get me to invest money I don’t have?
And we’re supposed to believe getting a cut rate cell phone service immediately turns normal people into rude morons who think they can afford anything they want because they’re saving a few bucks each month?
Who comes up with these ideas and more to the point, who approves them? Even more to the point than that, who pays any attention to them?
I will give kudos to the silly extreme snowboarding truck. And whoever came up with the disclaimer of “overly dramatic dramatization” no doubt creates at warp speed.
Maybe writing makes me a bit too critical. Or maybe it’s because I write for adults and the commercials are geared toward?????

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January 14, 2012 · 12:33 pm

They Call it Respite

I can’t believe how long it has been since the last post. Might have to do some extras to catch up since so much has happened. Let’s talk about respite, a term used in hospice care to identify a relief period for the caretaker, when the patient is moved to a facility.
In December, Tom was advanced enough to handle a short trip, and I needed to go to a meeting in Florida. Hospice care chose the best facility with an open bed, and he was moved there on Monday so I could fly out on Tuesday, spend time visiting with my father and youngest brother on Wednesday, then go to work on Thursday and Friday.
While he was at this facility, our expectation was he would be assisted in the actions that take two people, and since he was in the care of trained professionals instead of a harried writer, his care would be better than he had at home.
Well, yeah. Ahem. Let’s just say he now appreciates home care much more than he did before, and we’ll leave it at that.
Skilled Nursing Facilities, nursing homes, elderly care–whatever you want to call it–are necessary. But I wonder how many people realize what it’s like to spend the end of your days in the care of strangers, at the mercy of an overworked staff? It might behoove those who have never been to a SNF to check them out some times. I’m sure some are better than others, and as I said they are necessary when there is no family available to tend to the elderly. Communes have pretty much gone out of style and our lives have become too hectic to be burdened by elder care.
So Tom came home the next Saturday, slept like a stone the first few days, and was most grateful for his morning cup of cocoa. The time away hadn’t lost too much momentum in healing, but we’ll come up with something else next time I need to go away.
In the meantime, Lex Valentine did a fabulous trailer for My Killer My Love, introducing me to a new favorite band, Chickenfoot. Black Opal Books has picked up my short contemporary romance (working title Teach Me To Forget), and we’ve had our first snow of the year. So there’s a lot more to share.
Trailer for My Killer My Love

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November 17, 2011 · 9:37 pm

It’s the Little Things

Anyone who tries to say only the “big things” matter has never seen their loved one eating eagerly after months of turning down any food, and not digesting what was poured into their body. They also haven’t seen that person lift their own knee, then lift their leg without any support. Little things, you say? Perhaps, but these are the steps along that journey of a thousand miles we never thought we’d take.
Last Friday Tom developed a taste for Chinese, and we have a very good Chinese restaurant in town. First it was hot and sour soup, then after a few days of that, eaten in small doses, he asked for cashew chicken. That took two days to eat. Especially since he was also eating tapioca, some fruit and (ahem) ice cream.
Along the way he was also moving parts of his body. Foot flexes, pull ups on the overhead bar, twisting back and forth in the hips and shoulders. Lifting his middle off the bed and holding it up.
Doesn’t sound like much, does it? Except he’d been pretty much flat on his back since May 22. After every other surgery he was up and cruising the halls the next day. Somehow this time he hit the bed and stayed there. The nurses called him unmotivated and lazy. The doctors called it failure to thrive. I hate to say it but sometimes I wanted to agree with them.
Until I brought him home, and gave him basic simple food, the opportunity to look out the window, and set the option of survival squarely on his shoulders. He slept a lot at first, and there were days of extreme fright when nothing seemed to work right and I faced a learning curve of immense difficulty.
Then today, with the help of the visiting nurse, he sat up, and we swung his legs over so they could dangle off the side of the bed. Those in bed maneuvers had made him strong enough to hold himself straight with just a little help. So much for being told it would take multiple people assisting for him to ever sit up again.
The little things.
Then there’s my NaNo book, oops, that really is a little thing. Time to stop basking in the glow of the husband getting better and crack down on my word count. I challenged my very clever niece to a NaNo showdown and she’s leaving me in the dust!

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November 11, 2011 · 9:38 am

Life: the Good, the Bad, the Wonderful

Three weeks ago today, hospice care delivered a hospital bed to our living room, and life as we knew changed dramatically. The acute care hospital doctors had advised there just wasn’t anything else to do with Tom but “make him comfortable,” since he just didn’t have that much longer. He couldn’t swallow safely, they said. He couldn’t digest food, they said, so he couldn’t take in enough nourishment to heal beyond what he’d already accomplished. Even if he could digest, his appetite was non existent. Besides, they said, survival for a Whipple procedure is abysmally low.
So he came home, where he could look out at the high plains and eat “whatever he wanted” for as long as he had left. He immediately started to eat very small amounts of egg custard, fruit, and non gluten foods, and I accepted whatever time was blessed to us. Except the anticipated two weeks went by quickly, and he was eating more of those small meals. A few blackberries or strawberries. Half of a non gluten toaster waffle. We found out he couldn’t deal with dry food (such as a biscuit) and his digestion wasn’t processing much meat.
Because his digestion was processing. The canned liquid poured into his feeding tube had gone straight through him, do not pass go, do not collect those $200.00. My suspicions of an allergy were dismissed, since this was the most digestible food available.
Yeah, right.
This morning when I asked if he wanted blueberry pancakes (thanks Bisquick for the non gluten baking mix,) he didn’t just say “Yeah, okay.” Instead, after far too long with no appetite, he started to fantasize about pancakes with lots of butter and syrup. Which he got, though the syrup is an agave/maple blend. And he ate most of a small pancake with gusto.
The processing continues now at a regular rate. I know it seems odd to be excited by the end result of digestion, maybe you have to be a nurse or a dog breeder to get really excited about quantity, consistency and color. But anyone who has not processed a meal correctly knows the colon rules.
Today I’m putting a pen in his hand and giving him a pad of newsprint so he can start drawing exercises. If he’s going to heal, he’s going to draw again. In the meantime, in between meals and clean ups and shifting dogs around, it’s NaNo–National Novel Writing, where writers around the world put rear in chair and fingers on the keys to pound out at least 50,000 words of an original novel. I’m working on a book related to the one I just signed a contract for.

Tom's t-shirt design for 2003

Yep, in the midst of chaos, I managed to polish up a second manuscript, and Black Opal wants to publish it.
If you don’t hear much from me for the rest of November, I’m working on my book, or cooking something else that makes Tom happy. Or maybe putting in a few hours with my wonderfully patient employer. Life isn’t perfect, but it is wonderful.

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September 1, 2011 · 2:05 am

Why Do We Write What We Write?

Might as well ask why we read what we read since for many of us they are inextricably linked.  We write what we enjoy reading.  I was reminded of this recently during two discussions with non romance readers.  The first one asked me to define exactly what sort of books I write, and if “romance” is a long story with some hand-holding, a short story with hot sex?  She went on to explain her local librarian has been trying to convince her to write what she calls a romance novel – sort of relationship in the 1800s with a sex scene thrown in about every 40 pages.  I sent her to RWA’s website for an idea of the professionalism involved in our genre, and had to point out her librarian is a literary bigot.
The second discussion was less abrasive.  A non romance reading friend read My Killer My Love, and was surprised how much she enjoyed it.  Up until now her opinion of romance hasn’t been very positive, and the idea of a heroine with glasses and a limp intrigued her.  She asked me what I would write next and how I decided what to write.
These past few months I’ve devoured books of all sorts.  I’ve read Jim Butcher’s entire Furies series along with the latest Harry Dresden.  I’ve enjoyed Tara Lain’s Beautiful Boys and Rebecca Forster’s chilling “Before Her Eyes.”  From the moment I first sat in the Emergency Room with my husband I’ve had a book or Kindle in my hand, and I’ve used the words of other writers to help me get through the days.  During procedures I filled my time and my worried mind with flights of fantasy and allayed my fears with tales of love everlasting.  The often silly, sometimes implausible plot points distracted me at times when I wasn’t ready to face the reality of our days.
Why do I write?  I write so someone else can have those few hours of immersion in a story.  I write so they can temporarily forget the stresses of their lives and briefly become a part of the lives I created in the pages of my book.  Perhaps some of us write to be the next Nora, the next Jayne Ann, but for the most part we write to share what we are with anyone willing to share the worlds we lived in for the months or years it took to create the story.
I write—we write—to give someone a distraction while waiting for news of the tests, or as they sit in another uncomfortable chair during procedures, wanting to be there when their loved one goes past, to let them connect with the world waiting for their return.  Those scenes and dialogue and setting pour out of our hearts onto the page, sometimes easily, sometimes with great effort, to be sucked up into the minds of readers and allow them a few moments to enjoy something other than the unrelenting sounds of a hospital.
I write because too many stories clamor in my head for release onto the screen.  And I guess I write because I can’t not write.

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