Write From the Heart: Romance Author Lynn Hubbard

Dancing with Sean

2019-11-11T09:02:00.002-05:00

Dancing with Sean

This is apparently a great controversy in many people’s lives.

Sean Spicer is still on DWTS.

Dancing with the Stars is a competition. Producers invite so called “stars”, or people related to “stars”, or people who want to be stars, or people who once were stars and have fallen to a reality dance competition. In the spirit of the show, the PRODUCERS INVITE people on the show, who do not, dance to work with a PROFESSIONAL dancer and improve over time. Well, I know and love many Hollywood stars. And many have been in acting and dance classes while growing up. So, I would not consider them to be novices. But it is what it is.

Enter Sean Spicer.

Sean who? Sean is a well-known conservative that worked for the White House. Yes, for TRUMP. Sean was INVITED to be on the show and accepted the challenge. I am sure that Sean has watched DWTS and assumed that he would be competing against the other contestants.

He is not.

Sean is competing against his competitors, the judges, the announcers, and the whole dark Hollywood leftist collaboration. Dancing with the stars encourages the dancer’s fans to text and log in online to vote. So, we do.

Unexpectedly, Sean has more fans than DWTS every IMAGINED. And they are butthurt that he keeps winning. Sean may not be polished and sophisticated, but he has SPIRIT and HEART and BALLS OF STEEL.

So, EVERY MONDAY we tune in watch Sean

and yes, we ALWAYS VOTE.

You Can vote for Sean too! VOTE Between 8-9:00 est

Set a reminder on your clock! 😊

You can LEGALLY VOTE 10 times via text AND 10 times at ABC.com

Text Sean to 21523

A Tribute to Ron "Pappy" Papaleoni

2017-12-03T20:53:00.000-05:00

A Tribute to Ron "Pappy" Papaleoni

Everyone has been posting their memories of Pappy. It has taken me awhile to decide what to say. Words do not always come easily. I met Pappy when we were working on the Patriot Guard Rider (PGR) Video with Cindy Smith. He was a great organizer and motivator. We grew closer when we started the book PTSD No Apologies, a book that Pappy was a part of creating. We then worked together on George Woodruff's book, Just Before Taps. We spent hours hidden away in windowless rooms at the legion going through edits and discussing/arguing over comma’s. Of course the oxford comma is correct. Discussing Pappy’s death with George was one of the hardest things I have done. 

I was greatly saddened about three years ago when Pappy invited me over for dinner. Pasta of course. He told me that he had received news from his Dr. that his lungs were greatly damaged and they only gave him about 4 years to live. Again, words escaped me. I hugged him and cried. 

Pappy knew he was dying. And he was as productive as possible with what time he had. He accomplished much. He wrote a riveting story for the PTSD book, and I encouraged him to write his own book. But time had other plans. It slipped away, and so has he. I will miss his yearly phone calls to assure me that I made Santa’s list. Pappy explained that there was only one list, the nice one, not two which is a common misconception. 

Life is short and we are not always given advance notice of how much time we have left. Love people while they are here. I love you too Pappy, and your story will go on forever. 

Hugs, Lynn

This stuff only happens to the living (Excerpt from PTSD No Apologies)

Ron Papaleoni USN CPO Retired

Having grown up in an era where the term Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) never existed and those suffering with that yet to be named disorder were commonly referred to as having “shell shock” or “soldier’s heart”. Most folks (mostly military) were labeled as malingerers or cowards. Civilians having the same symptoms were “having an episode” or “nervous breakdown” or just plain crazy. It wasn’t until I retired from the military (1981), that the term PTSD became a part of our common language.

My early childhood was filled with getting beaten up at elementary school because I was fat and a “goody-two-shoes”. This is what led me to become the class clown. I didn’t get beaten as often and actually made some friends. The beatings weren’t exclusive to school. My dad was an alcoholic and sometimes would beat me with his belt due to, what he called a “smart ass remark”. He was a binge drinker and as such, these incidents were infrequent but memorable not the less. But it was enough for me to move out of the house at 16 and join the Navy at 17. 

As we have learned, this documented disorder has been around going back to Egyptian times and mostly involves the military and war. However, as in my case, it is very likely to occur following ANY type of serious emotion trauma. My time in a “war zone” was brief and uneventful and yet during the three years that bracketed that event was the worst the war had to offer. In the mid 1960’s, I was serving a non-medical assignment at one of the largest military hospitals in the Far East. 

I watched the daily patient count rise from just over a hundred, most of those being not combat related, to over 700 at the height of the Tet offensive. I witnessed wounds that were the worse man could inflict on another human being. Our doctors, nurses and corpsmen had to finish to work that began in the field of combat. Repairing severed limbs; doing plastic surgery; rearranging vital organs; performing physical therapy; dealing with both the physical and mental anguishes of war while some of those patients lay waiting in the passageways to be seen or waiting weeks for a bed. 

As non-medical personal, we were obliged to perform “duties” of a non-medical nature such as ambulance driver; baggage room and customs (this meant going through a patients personal effects when they finally got around to send them). This that all of their personal belongings were sent to after their arrival. We had boxes filled with weapons; drugs; unauthorized souvenirs (like gold trinkets) and just plain weird crap like human scalps.

We were called upon to perform other duties like human tissue removal from the Operating Rooms. Not pleasant but necessary. If after the every six hour bed count, someone was missing, we had to secure all the exits and search for the missing patient. 

Usually it was uneventful but sometime they were passed out in the head (bathroom) or sleeping in the wrong place or one time, under the hospital. Our hospital was elevated due to close proximity to the ocean. One evening while manning the “After Hours” desk, we had a report that one of our patients from the Psych ward was missing, we secured all the exits and began our search, and my team (per our SOP) had to search one of the four exterior quadrants. 

We spotted our patient underneath the hospital about twenty feet in. As the senior ranking team member, it was determined that I needed to go in first to evaluated the situation. With four able-bodied Hospital Corpsman five feet behind, I crawled in and as I got closer, I observed that he was kneeling and looked like he was playing with marbles in his hand. A few long seconds later, he slumped over to the side and we discovered a single edge razor blade in one hand and his testicles in the other. Despite the massive amount of blood loss he survived. If we hadn’t found him, he would have become another victim of this war. During the mid-60s through mid-70s, I lost a number of friends; classmates and shipmates in the Vietnam Conflict.

Throughout my life there has been trauma. Motorcycle accidents, numerous surgical procedures to correct motorcycle injuries, dealing with our mother’s Alzheimer’s, my parents’ death, my 5 year old nephew dying while in heart surgery, my best friend’s debilitating fall of 50 feet, a bull goring my leg, my daughter losing her leg below the knee, an ex-wife’s death, a divorce, and losing a son to suicide when he was 17.

After my son’s death in 1982, my therapy involved drinking massive qualities of alcohol. Not only to ease the pain, but to deal with “What could I have done different?” It didn’t help. I spent most of his insurance money on things I didn’t need; couldn’t afford; to impress people I didn’t even like. It did however, put me into a different kind a trauma. The trauma of being an alcoholic, just like my father.  I never beat anyone; only drank on occasion and never stopped at just one drink. Why? After a few years of sobriety and therapy, it seemed that the trigger for the “binge” was usually related to a significant event or trauma. My deceased son’s birthday, anniversaries of his death, any major event were I was expected to attend were some of the triggers. I would go out with a couple of buddies after work, have a few and when they went home to their families; I stayed and had a few more. This caused many encounters with law enforcement.

I’ve been sober from over 25 years. Still have MANY issues regarding family, anger, health, aging and visions of the past. After many years of packing those traumatic incidents in a box and hiding them in a closet, I’ve come to realize that is not the best thing for me to do. I know that in the past, counseling has helped, but I still resisted because……I still can’t find the answer to that. I try my best to stay busy, but lately health issues has interfered. I want to have patience, but struggle with anger.

I’m a work in progress, and as my mother would often say when there was a crisis, “This stuff only happens to the living.”

But What Are They Eating?: FOODFIC: Please Welcome Lynn Hubbard, Author of Re...

2017-10-26T09:21:00.001-04:00

But What Are They Eating?: FOODFIC: Please Welcome Lynn Hubbard, Author of Re...: Food is an essential part of books. Living breathing characters have to eat! And I want you to indulge with them. In Return to L...

Champion-The Movie

2017-06-18T22:49:00.000-04:00

Champion-The Movie

Champion is not like the normal movies I watch. If it were not for my friend inviting me to come see it, I probably would have overlooked this movie all together. No CGI, no special effects, no blood & gore. However, it had something more. Something from the heart.

Shot in Georgia, Champion follows a racetrack driver and how his life interconnects with others. The main focus of the movie is FORGIVENESS. Everyone makes mistakes. Life is about choices. But your life does not have to be tied to that one action. You can rise above it. You can forgive and BE forgiven.

Forgiveness comes in all sorts of ways. Time helps. However, sometimes it takes more. In Champion, we learn that forgiveness is not just for the person that harmed you. But to forgive someone, frees yourself.

Life is too short to hold grudges, to live with regret, and to keep bitterness in your heart.

I had a depressing morning and I cried through much of the film. Very few movies can touch one's soul, but Champion does. It was brilliantly written and had wonderful actors, such as my friend’s son Liam Peeples. .

Take a leap of faith, and go see this movie.

Well, it is that time of the month again!

2015-09-21T09:59:00.000-04:00

Well it is that time of the month again. The one most women avoid discussing. You guessed it! Dying your hair.

I loathe dying my hair and would prefer (and suggest!) to leave it to the professionals but my bank account disagrees. So while on a Bread mission for the American Legion post I did some side shopping.

Now I am pretty spontaneous. I play with color a couple times a year and since it is fall why not red? Now I have done red many times in the past so picked up a box of Feria POWER RED by L’Oréal.

Now you can’t just dye your hair. You have to prepare first. So I gathered up my dark towels and cell phone and new box of joy and headed to the bathroom, where I planned to camp out for about an hour.

Most women use an old t-shirt to wear. I am the messy sort so I color in the nude. I rip open the box and dump out all these tiny little bottles and tubes into the sink. I break open the instructions and am quite surprised to find BLACK GLOVES. I carefully read the instructions and pre-set my phone timer for 25 minutes.

I try to match the bottles and such up to the horrendous drawings in the instructions. There is writing but I can’t read it without my glasses and you can’t wear glasses when you are dying your hair.

Dear L’Oréal, LARGE PRINT PLEASE.

So I put on the gloves and start my mad scientist project. Now I am familiar with hair dye. Normally when you get done mixing all of the bottles and ripping tubes open with your teeth, you get a whitish purpley or brown color. But no. This was POWER RED and it had the same color and consistency of BLOOD. So I start immersing this goop into my hair. It runs down my face and I am having Carrie flash backs. Or the Shinning perhaps. I look into the mirror and am expecting to see “Redrum.”

I do notice a bloody hand print on my neck and try to wipe it off before it too becomes permanent. SO with my head and upper body covered with red smears and goo I hit the timer on my phone. 25 minutes.

Looking around I notice my bathroom resembles a crime scene. What is a gal to do?

Take pictures of course. Now I am NOT good with selfies. My arms are not long enough. In fact I just bought a selfie stick the day before. But I am not running through the house naked and bleeding down stairs to get it.

SO 15 bad pictures later and one I could salvage, I am happy. So I sit on the toilet and play Plants vs Zombies 2 until the timer goes off.

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

Hop in the shower (this is when the naked part comes in handy and you don’t have to strangle yourself trying get a t-shirt off over your goo saturated head.)

I am rinsing out my hair and glance down at the dark red bloody water around my feet. I forgot to open the drain. And I really wish I had my camera! But Alias you will have to use your imagination.

Hop out and dry off. And let me tell you when they say POWER RED, they mean POWER RED. It looks like my head is on fire.

‘Till next time…

PTSD- No Apologies Open Call for Submissions

2015-04-05T13:40:00.003-04:00

22 Soldiers commit suicide every day.

That needs to stop.

It is our wish to share your story with others, so they know that they are not alone. I believe that PTSD is far more rampant than is projected.

Many dwell in silence. Living one day to the next.

NO APOLOGIES

For me writing is a release. I think it could help others as well. To purge your soul, free your heart and mind.

To tell your story.

NO APOLOGIES

We accept stories, poems, songs, art, photos. Anything you would like to share.

Anonymous submissions are accepted.

Or if you need help writing, I have authors available to help.

NO APOLOGIES

Contact:

Lemon Press Publishing

PO Box 459 Emerson, GA 30137

lemonpresspublishing@gmail.com

www.lemonpresspublishing.com

Introduction- By Lynn Hubbard

Some memories stay with us forever. I used to live in New Jersey. There wasn’t much self-sacrifice at our school. In junior high we had a guest speaker. The entire school was herded into the auditorium to hear him speak. There was much chatter ad mayhem as we fumbled for seats next to our friends. Once more or less settled, the Principal introduced to us a man.

He was different from the typical stiff tied puppet that was usually announced. This guy was not perfect, he had scars. This fact in itself caught our attention.

Then he began to speak, and we listened to his story.

He had been injured in Vietnam. He was on a patrol boat on a river. The air was thick with smog and the river was even filthier. He stood on deck keeping watch, An enemy boat approached and fighting commenced. A phosphorus grenade exploded in his hand and ignited him. . He was thrown free from the vessel, and into the oil filled river. The river burned and so did he.

He ducked under the water to escape the flames, but the water was so polluted they would not extinguish. He started to sink, yet the fire still burned. He burned all the way down, and all the way back up as he swam for the surface.

Even then he had a zest for life. It would have been easy to just give in and be engulfed. But he wasn’t done yet.

Guided by the flames above, he broke through gasping for air. He was pulled back onto the boat and the flames were beat out.

I can’t imagine the agonizing pain he must have went through just to live. But live he did. He recuperated, slowly. And fate brought him to my school.

By now the room was silent. Each lost in their own thoughts. And then he started to yell. To yell about how we are wasting our lives. Lives that we have, due to the sacrifices of our soldiers.

It was at this point in time that the staff started to evacuate us from the room. They escorted us out and I could still hear him shouting out his message.

For us to Live.

That we have a purpose.

And then we were rushed down the hallways, and back to our safe little rooms.

Then it happened.

The teacher apologized to us.

FOR HIM.

I was pissed then, and I’m still pissed now.

So this book is being written for him. And for anyone who needs to be reminded that they have a purpose.

That they need to live.

Living is so much more than just surviving.

Surviving is the easy part.

Living is hard, but oh so worth the effort.

No Apologies.

www.lynnhubbard.com

Welcome Spring!

2015-03-14T08:50:00.001-04:00

Welcome Spring

As a romance writer, I contemplate love a lot. It’s my job.

In paper world it is easy to spot the hero. In real life not so much.

Everyone has a façade. Sometimes you have to dig down deep to find the real person inside. Sometimes they are even more beautiful, but sometimes they are blackened souls.

Every relationship is a risk. You risk losing a bit of yourself, or even your heart. Hearts are terrible sensitive things and are easily bruised or broken.

Too many people give up too much of themselves, and are left empty when it is over. Life is the eternal test with no right or wrong answer. It just is.

I am older and wiser than I used to be. I’m not as trusting, but I am trustworthy.

Relationships are not all about Love. They are about honesty, loyalty, companionship, passion, and fun. And should be a combination of such.

A good analogy is my dog. When I get home from work, my 50lb dog is ecstatic! She is so happy to see me. EVERY SINGLE DAY. That is the kind of relationship I want.

When a relationship is going south, you are not happy to see that person. They become an annoyance. And then dread. If you dread seeing your special someone it is time to move on. Seasons change and so do we.

People change. It is inevitable and not all relationships last.

And your heart breaks. And you feel dead inside.

Like winter.

And like winter, coldness creeps in, and you lose hope.

You doubt yourself. And everyone else.

But after winter comes spring. Spring is a time for change. To step out from the darkness and lift your face to the light. A warm breeze caresses your skin, and you realize that you are still alive.

Welcome Spring!!

Spring Sale find love for .99!

Dog Ears

2015-01-11T23:52:00.000-05:00

Dog Ears

No no no.

Not puppies. I’m talking about books.

It’s the things that make librarians and teachers cringe.

But I can’t help myself. I’m a flapper.

After every section I read I turn down a corner to mark my place.

Yes, yes, I know it is detrimental to the book. But it is MY book. And I like to use it as a guide, to mark my spot and see how far I have come. A milestone (or timeline of sorts) of my journey through the pages.

Each flip marks a section in which I had to return to real life. Some crisis or another like sleep, work, etc. Those pesky things that ruin our reading.

I like to read with no distractions. Very difficult these days. But, I read when I can. And when I need to stop.

I Flip.

Yes, yes of course I have bookmarks! I love bookmarks, I collect bookmarks. But bookmarks are fallible. A book cascading from a sleepy hand to the floor and bam! Your place is lost. And much fumbling and searching ensues.

With dog ears, you can simply find your last point and move forward. It cuts out the chance of peeking too far ahead and ruining everything!

Plus, bookmarks are glorious things! They come in all shapes and sizes and wondrous colors.

Why would you want to hide them in a book?

Lynn Hubbard is a Historical Fiction author. She has been writing for over ten years and has eight books. Most of which are westerns. Lynn is fascinated by the Old West and her books portray when life was simpler. When, people worked hard, and sweated to make an honest living. And when justice wasn't always blind.

www.lynnhubbard.com

Man Vs. Chocolate, Your Choice

2014-08-29T23:58:00.003-04:00

Men are like a box of chocolates

Chocolate is just confusing you're not quite sure what you are getting.

I've spent some time recently trying to contemplate the minds of man. I have decided that there is no sense to make of it. They say what they don’t mean, and do what they won’t say.

It is enough to drive one mad! After much conversation with friends I have decided that like life, men are also like chocolate.

You can’t judge them by their fancy wrapping, or flashy tag lines. Nope, the only way of is judge for yourself.

Sure you can start by finding an an attractive package. However the inside may be bitter. Some are a bit nutty, which is fine if you like nuts. But most women like a combination, nuts and caramel perhaps?

Chocolate comes in all sizes colors and flavors. And I love nuts, but pretty much anything covered in chocolate works for me. Some candies are wrapped up in a cup and you choose one thinking you will find your favorite. You take a bite, marshmallow cream. Not bad, but not what you were looking for.

So you move onto the next one, and soon all the good ones are taken. The ones left have no discernible lumps or markings. Do you take a chance? You have been burned before. Your mouth waters, your stomach rumbles. Yes, one more chance. You select one and take a bite.

Jelly filled.

Yuck.

Spit or swallow?

Being the lady you are, you swallow it down, and toss the rest.

Try another or give up?

Who am I kidding? It’s CHOCOLATE.

I’m sure there is a chocolate, nut, caramel, toffee, nougat, crispy, coconut filled one somewhere.

What is your favorite sweet?

Devoted, New book by Emery Skye. Don't miss it!

Cowboys, Sex, and Zombies

2014-08-07T02:50:00.002-04:00

*NO NAMES HAVE BEEN CHANGED TO PROTECT ANYONE.

Cowboys, Sex, and Zombies

I just returned from the 31^st Roy Rogers Festival in Portsmouth Ohio. I’m feeling a bit jet legged, even though we drove and it’s in the same time zone.

Traveling by car is rough especially when you’re stuck in the back seat next to a guitar and a B-Western look a like!

Cindy Smith, Poker Alice, Fuzzy Q Jones, Lynn Hubbard

However getting there is the half the fun! We stopped off for numerous photo and potty breaks. I picked up some souvenirs in Renfro Valley, KY. Fuzzy discovered what a corn cob was used for and I bought Frank some blue ~~balls~~ marbles.

I’ve been to many Western Festival’s but this was my first trip to visit Roy. The closer we got to Ohio the more, the real world slipped away behind us. Cindy even lost cell phone coverage the entire week.

Now some people don’t believe in Cowboy World. And I feel sorry for those that don’t. Cowboy World is a wondrous place where you can hang out with Tonto and the Lone Ranger. Get a hug from Gabby Hayes or Lash Larue.

Gabby Hayes

Now these names may not mean much to some, but to western fans, their hearts beat a little faster. I am still learning names and meeting new folks.

Dan Haggerty

You never know WHO you will meet in Cowboy World. For instance GRIZZLY ADAMS, Dan Haggerty has a heart of pure gold, and collected for the Angel Flight Charity. He was joined by Russ McCubbins, a Hollywood staple, and Darby Hinton rumored to be the President of Texas (Texas Rising 2015).

Fuzzy, Steve the Ice Cream Man, Scott Haggard, Dustin Lowery, Cindy Smith, Jim Damron

Even just hanging out in our hotel we ran into Scott Haggard, Merle Haggard’s son! Scott was performing at the Ohio Opry House and ~~was forced~~ willingly came up to Frank’s room and sang a few songs. Cindy grabbed anyone with a cowboy hat to join us.

Frank Palas, The Concrete Cowboy

We took a break and snuck off to the cemetery with Cowboy Jim. No better place to find history. Jim showed us the resting place for Roy’s relatives, a somber experience that touched even the coldest of hearts.

At dinner one evening I sat with Jim, Don, Poker Alice and Jeremy Ambler. Jeremy is also an actor, he has played several zombies including the Popular “The Walking Dead" series. He kept us entertained with his zombie poses and details of his latest film. Child of God.

Jeremy Ambler

Child of God was adapted from a book and contains death and necrophilia. Not everyone was as enthused as I was. Perhaps because we were eating at the time? Poor Poker Alice will remember that conversation for the rest of her life. Having worked in medical for many years, blood, guts and gore does not bother me. Real or fake.

To say the least, I was very intrigued. As I am, about anything involving sex. That is my job after all. To transport people back in time, to the Old West. Mix in some history with brave women and strong men. Of course my books aren’t all about sex. They have romance, humor, shootin', killin', and justice! Something for everyone! In fact I did have a lot of cowboys buying copies this trip!

Russ McCubbin, Jim Evans, Cindy Smith

The musical performances were wonderful. I really enjoyed how Cindy and Fuzzy stretched the truth abit about our trip to Texas. I mean, they did make it back alive right? And I’m sure with some therapy they will be able to move on.

Jon Patterson, Dodie Rogers, Jane Lilly

Dodie Rogers (Roy and Dale Rogers Daughter) and family were a pleasure as always. Her husband, Jon Patterson, kept us on track and entertained throughout the Festival. Jon and Jim Evans played well into the night, along with Cindy Smith and Greg Kish with his little guitar. It was a phenomenal night!

Jim Damron, Cindy Smith, Don Ellis (Photo By Eva Dodridge Robbins)

I also discovered my affinity for mudslides.

But alas, Cowboy World does not last forever. And as it slowly fades from my memory, I’m marking my calendar for next year!

Happy Trails!

Visit my FB page to see ALL of my photos from the trip!

Subscribe to my Blog!

Searching for Treasure

2014-07-26T23:44:00.000-04:00

Treasures

I had an hour to kill between meetings today so I decided to stop by our local flea market. It has been years since I have been to one!

This one is held every weekend and sells everything from tools to chickens. I was ambling down the rows of vendors, just fellow Americans selling their wares. I admit, I passed by most of the items without a glance.

I have no need for baby items, or hardware. Then I saw it!

A book vendor! And it hit me, everything was important to someone. The items I thought were useless to me, at one time had some meaning and purpose in life to someone else. And they would again, brighten someone’s day. They just sat waiting for the right person to stroll by and take them home.

But Books are my life! I have always had a fondness for books. Being very ill when I was young, I spent many, many days lying around reading. I didn’t have the breath to do much more.

But through books I met my best friend, Trixie Belden. And every time I enter a bookstore I look for her. Of course I have the entire series and doubles and triples of some. But I still look. I would hate for Trixie to be left on a dusty shelf with strangers.

So I was rummaging through stacks of old children’s books. That’s what you gotta do, you can’t just LOOK. You have to dig to find treasure! So I moved books here and there, Lassie, the Hardy Boys, but no Trixie.

Although I was disappointed, I did come away with one treasure, The Rifleman. I didn’t even know they HAD books on the old western! I am off to cowboy world next week so I’ll take him with me.

I have always loved going to yard sales, thrift stores, and flea markets. You never know what you will find, but you need to slow down and take a look. Maybe you’ll run across an old friend who has been waiting for you.

For me, books have been an escape. They still are. But now, instead of reading about adventures, I create my own. Life is what we make of it. And if you aren’t happy, pick up a good book and escape.

Rebel Writers

2014-07-23T08:10:00.000-04:00

Writing is an all-consuming thing. When an idea comes to you, you have to let it out least it drive you mad.

I have recently dabbled in song writing, I look at a song as a tiny book. My “songs” are simple little things that seem to express what I can’t say.

I started a song writing group and am quite surprised how many of my author friends write songs as well!

It is never too late to try something new, step outside your box and LIVE. J

I shared a couple below and would love to hear your thoughts, or share your own songs!

If you wanna join Rebel Writers, all are welcome!

https://www.facebook.com/groups/garebelwriters

Summer Heat

©Lynn Hubbard

Dark room at night

It’s as hot as hell

No relief in sight

It’s like I’m under a spell

Your burning touch

Sets me on fire

My emotions are too much

To curb my desire

Matching your thrust

Pound for pound

I know I shouldn’t trust

But my heart is bound

But I have needs

That need filling

And you have greed

Deep in your soul

It might be wrong

This summer heat

But I am strong

And you will burn

Ice On The Bridge

© Lynn Hubbard

Winter is Coming

I can feel the cold

Seeping into my chest

I’m feeling so old

Many Years have passed

Since I have felt warmth

Our hearts have parted

Now I’m trapped in a storm

Ice on the Bridge

Spinning out of control

Life is passing fast

Should I stay or go?

Memories of my past

Keep my feet planted here

But my soul yearns for more

It is the future that I fear

Life is a wild ride

Set yourself free

No one can choose for you

Open your eyes and see

Nine toes out that door

©Lynn Hubbard

I thought we had it all

Our souls just clicked

But I'm not gonna fall

For that same old trick

Now all I've got is time

You may not be rich

But I don't give a dime

And I'm not a witch

Slammed doors can reopen

Broken hearts can mend

You think you have broke me?

Well Honey, I will bend.

I know I should just go

I have nine toes out that door

I just need one more step

Then it's never more

You're running out of time

It's your loss not mine

I have nine toes out that door

And now I'm gone!!

My inspirational take on the Revolution.

2014-07-04T07:32:00.001-04:00

What Is Love?

2014-06-03T09:02:00.001-04:00

What Is Love?

Love should make you happy, stronger, better.

As a Romance Author, I ponder this frequently. As a woman I have doubts.

I mean Love is supposed to be eternal right? Everlasting, but it doesn’t always.

That is one reason I started writing, I was in a difficult relationship and I needed to control something. I wanted happiness. So I created it on paper. I wrote perfect relationships, one after another. I wanted a happy ending, at least for my characters, if not for myself.

I finally moved on and began structuring my life so that there was no room for anyone else. I spent my days with my own family, traveling, seeking the next adventure. And I was happy and I thought I was complete.

But I have realized that something is still missing.

As humans we all crave affection, that simple hug from a friend or even a handshake from a stranger. Something that tethers us to reality and lets us know that we are still alive.

There are different kinds of love, I love my kids unconditionally. They could never do anything to make me stop loving them. And they love me back, in their own grumpy ways.

Other types of love are more difficult. Mystical maybe. Like a Unicorn. You want to believe in it, but you aren’t sure if it really exists or not.

But I am a writer, writers dream, and writers believe in all sorts of silly things. Like unicorns, time travel, vampires, Santa Claus, so why not Love?

I think people use the term love too loosely. And that has weakened it. Perhaps that is what confuses me.

Love is more than a word. It is a feeling, it is pure emotion.

Love should not take away from who you are, but to build upon you, to enhance you.

When loving someone, you want the very best for them. You encourage them, and support them, no matter how crazy their dream is. It is their dream and not yours.

I am a big believer in fate. And that all of our trials and tribulations that we pass, build upon us and make us stronger.

To me, Love is a living breathing thing. Once found it has be nurtured and cared for; least it may die.

Love should make you happy, stronger, better.

And if you are looking for LOVE, try Virginia.

www.lynnhubbard.com

Smashwords: Smashwords Romance Authors Promoted at RT Booklove...

2014-05-11T22:52:00.001-04:00

Happy to share my, book "Run into the Wind" is featured on the Smashwords blog & Promotion

Smashwords: Smashwords Romance Authors Promoted at RT Booklove...: Hundreds of Smashwords authors are participating in an exclusive promotion this week at the RT Booklovers Convention in New Orleans. In...

The Patriot Guard Riders

2014-04-22T09:56:00.000-04:00

I was sitting at my computer and checked my email with a click. My heart feels heavy as I see the PGR request. Another soldier has fallen and the Patriot Guard Riders are on their way.

Photo by Gary Adams, GA PGR

Who is the PGR? They are a nameless bunch, never asking for any reprieve or reward. I’m sure you’ve seen them though on TV or at a grave. They are the ones, standing watch while our flag waves. The Patroit Guard Riders volunteer their time. They ride shotgun for our soldiers, fireman and police when they are called from this earth. They dedicate their time protecting the families from spite. And they are there to show support and display their quiet might.

There motto is: Standing for those who stood for us. And they proudly do!

I was lucky enough to meet these giving souls on better terms than most. We are working on a way to spread the word. A country group has sung a song to aid in this quest. Alias, Smith & Owens sing so our soldiers may rest. They may lie in peace, knowing that their loved ones can grieve without reprieve.

They protect our soldiers honor while they travel on their way. They may look intimidating with their bikes and leather boots. But let me tell you, their hearts are filled with gold as they try to spread the truth.

So together we wanted to introduce you to the group. And if you are interested in riding, or just holding a flag; sign up or donate to help them on their way.

A little something that popped into my mind,

And So They Came

By Lynn Hubbard

A soldier has fallen, a life was lost. And so they came. One by one they suited up in black, red, white & blue. Their badges of courage sewed to their vest gives meaning to it all. Their flags proudly flowing in the breeze as they rumble down the road. Men and women, road weary and brave to guide the fallen home. Some live close, some live far but they all hear the call. Another brother has lost the fight, so come lead the way. They die too young, some say as tears moisten their eyes. Their dark shades hide the grief they have buried deep inside. Those that live never forget what they gave for us to be free. For there always is a price, freedom isn’t free.

Patriot Guard Riders-National http://www.patriotguard.org/

Georgia PGR Website http://www.pgrofga.com/

Alias, Smith & Owens Website http://aliassmithandowens.com/

Get the song at Amazon, all proceeds will benefit the PGR Missions.

Amazon.com Widgets

The Results are in!

2014-04-19T13:00:00.000-04:00

Thank you to all who entered!

The name of my new book is......

Captured By Love

I am off to work on the cover and finish writing! Should be out this fall!

You can still pick up a free copy of War of Hearts by following the instructions below.

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/349858

Use code upon checkout

Promotional price: $0.00

Coupon Code: EQ26N

Expires: May 23, 2014

Help Lynn Name her Next Romance Book!

2014-04-05T17:29:00.002-04:00

I have been agonizing over a new name for my next Romance book. I have it narrowed down but I still cannot decide.

So I am seeking your advice.

Book info:

It is set during the CivilWar in 1864. Barrett is a Yankee, and Olivia is a Rebel. He escapes from prison and and she keeps him captive in her home.

I would like to tie it into a war series. My last book was ‘War of Hearts’.

I have listed my selections below.

Please vote for your favorite or suggest your own.

I will gift a free ebook copy of War of Hearts to everyone who comments or participates!

I will announce the final name on the blog comments.

Thank you for your help & Support!

+Lynn Hubbard

+Lemon Press

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/349858

Use code upon checkout

Promotional price: $0.00

Coupon Code: EQ26N
Expires: May 23, 2014

Create your free online surveys with SurveyMonkey , the world's leading questionnaire tool.

Finding Your Own Unique Voice

2014-03-17T14:09:00.001-04:00

Finding Your Own Unique Voice

Guest Post From: Nikolas Baron

Attending conferences, reading about writing, and perusing writer’s market guides, writers often run across advice to “develop a unique voice”. It is some of the most valuable, and frustrating, advice a writer can receive. In addition to doing a thorough spelling and grammar check, revising and editing for clarity, continuity, characterization, and a solid plot, writers are told that they must have a “fresh voice”. What do editors mean by “voice”?

One mistake that many writers make is confusing voice with style. A style of writing refers to the way the material is presented. Sentence length, word choice, and structure of the writing all contribute to style. You can copy another writer’s style with impunity, but your voice must be your own, unique mode of expression that no one else shares. Your voice must stand out from the crowd, if your work is to be noticed. It is well understood that developing one’s voice is critical to success as a writer, but what is voice, exactly?

The precise definition of voice is difficult to pin down. Voice is a combination of style, and the unique perspective each writer brings to their work. Finding one’s voice is really a matter of finding the deeper motivation and purpose for writing, and allowing the depths of honesty to flow out onto the page. Finding a unique voice means writing not what you know, but rather what you are passionate about. Diction, sentence structure, and the choice of literary devices, as well as the tone of the piece, come together to determine voice.

Discovering and developing one’s own unique voice is a process that takes place over the course of learning craft and developing one’s writing experience and ability. To help hasten the process, try writing in a journal or blog, or even free writing. When unfettered from the rules and regulations of writing for an audience, the voice is freed.

Piers Anthony is a British writer who is well known for incorporating puns and word play into his fantasy stories. Milkweed pods, in his books, replace cows as a source of refreshing nourishment. Sugar sand is sweet, and ant lions are a dangerous hybrid of insect and large feline. Tolkien, by contrast, takes a far more serious and poetic approach to creating an equally elaborate fantasy world, relying on descriptive passages and elegant imagery to draw the reader in to Middle Earth. When reading, it’s easy to tell the two authors apart, because each has a unique voice.

Finding one’s own voice is a lifelong endeavor for most writers. Writing well is a matter of learning the craft, of studying grammar, spelling, and word choice. Studying craft is important, but in the pursuit of effective writing, many writers allow their voice to be buried in a sea of advice. By avoiding certain types of words, like adverbs, or certain types of sentence structure, like dangling participles, a writer limits himself or herself, fencing them in. Learning the rules is important. Without the rules of good writing, clear expression is impossible. Once the rules are learned, they can be effectively bent and broken.

William Faulkner didn’t seem to understand the concept of a run-on sentence. His sentences are sometimes several paragraphs long. Yet, his prose is known as iconic American literature, and his books have informed a generation of writers. Mark Twain was perfectly capable of using correct grammar, yet his most effective characterization was created using broken dialect. Each word he laid onto the page was specifically chosen for its impact and power. He once said; “The difference in the right word and the almost-right word, is the difference between the lightening, and the lightening bug.”

Finding one’s voice is a matter of deciding upon the type of personality to bring to one’s work, and the tone that best fits the audience, and purpose of the writing. Word choice and sentence structure are less formal and more simplistic, for example, when writing for children, than writing for a professional journal. The personality projected when writing for a boss will be different from what is expressed when writing a love letter. Voice is as much a matter of tone as of style. Once a writer finds their unique voice, they will find success.

By Nikolas Baron

------------------------------------------------------//-----------------------------------------------------

Bio:

Nikolas discovered his love for the written word in Elementary School, where he started spending his afternoons sprawled across the living room floor devouring one Marc Brown children’s’ novel after the other and writing short stories about daring pirate adventures. After acquiring some experience in various marketing, business development, and hiring roles at internet startups in a few different countries, he decided to re-unite his professional life with his childhood passions by joining Grammarly’s marketing team in San Francisco. He has the pleasure of being tasked with talking to writers, bloggers, teachers, and others about how they use Grammarly’s online proofreading application to improve their writing. His free time is spent biking, travelling, and reading.

Happy UnBirthday!

2014-03-02T09:25:00.001-05:00

Why celebrate only one day a year?

Birthdays are important!

So for my Birthday, I will be celebrating all month long!

Be sure to enter for a free Audiobook copy!

If you Love Cowboys (and who doesn’t?)

My Best Seller, Run into the Wind ebook is only .99 for the Month of March.

Get Run into the Wind at:

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

And Because this is my 100th Blog Post!

I am Raffling off

3 Audiobook Copies of Run into the Wind.

Enter below and Good Luck!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Writing is hard work, please read & review!

Waiting: A Letter to my Aunt Susie Lynn Hubbard

2014-02-09T15:35:00.001-05:00

Dear Aunt Susie,

One of my earliest memories of you, you weren’t there at all. You were 18 years old, very sick and in the hospital. I was too young to go in your room, so every time my family visited, I and my sister received a new comic book to read while we waited.

The waiting rooms were stark white, not colorful as they are today. I was about 6 and my sister, Lisa, was eight. Things were different back then, safer I guess. So we were left in the waiting room, alone with our Archie comic books, to read and pass the time. We would get a new one from the gift shop each time we visited. My sister and I would trade off, and read each other’s when we finished our own. I still recall the full page ad on the back, Sea Monkeys. I always wanted to clip out that coupon and send it in.

After loads of tests, you were diagnosed with a rare kidney disease. They gave you lots of medicine to treat it and you got better. You were back to yourself in no time.

You were always our favorite babysitter; you and my Aunt Patty would let us do anything we wanted. I can vividly recall sliding down the stairs in our snowmobile outfits. I hated winter and was quite happy when we moved from Michigan to Tennessee.

You moved as well with our grandparents, so we still saw you often. I remember our parents taking us to visit you at the restaurant you worked at-Jerry’s. You would buy us drinks from the fountain with your tip money. I always wanted to grow up to be like you. To work and make my own money to do whatever I wanted to do.

Then you got married, to some guy I didn’t know. It didn’t last though, and you were soon back home, with a baby on the way. You didn’t seem to miss him much. Why should you when you had us?

I had a ball while shopping for tiny baby clothes. Being the youngest, I wasn’t around babies much. I recall driving hours, it seemed like, to Nashville for your doctor appointments. The baby was a strain on your kidneys, so you had to be monitored often.

I was ten when he was born by Cesarean section at Vanderbilt. He was a big boy! I was still too young to visit legally, but I was more cunning then. My sister and I kept watch until the hallway was empty, and made our way to your room.

You were doing great, but your roommate was very sad. Her twins came too early, they were in intensive care. We normally weren’t allowed, but she okayed us to go back and visit them. I have never seen anything so tiny. I remember one weighed 12 ounces, the size of a can of pop. The other was about two pounds. I always wondered if they had survived. I hope they did.

Well Jeremy Nevle, named after his grandfather, was a strong, healthy boy. He had curly blonde hair and blue eyes. He was about three years old when we moved to New Jersey.

You moved too. Back to Michigan, with my grandparents and Jeremy. Not sure why you moved back. After living in Tennessee, I hated snow. And New Jersey had its share.

You came to visit us once, all of you flew over. We visited New York City and the Delaware River. My Grandmother loved flowers and had a green thumb that apparently skipped me. At one of the Botanical Gardens they had beautiful flowers, and signs clearly marked to not pick them.
Well, my Grandmother didn’t pick them. She dug them up by the roots to take home. You don’t mess with women who lived during the Great Depression. Of course she said they were always so poor in Kentucky, they didn’t know about any recession. Poor was a way of life.
We visited the Jersey Boardwalk. Atlantic City is like a life size monopoly board! And they had the craziest shops! I was a teenager then, and I remember wanting a pack of naughty playing cards.

Being my favorite Aunt, you bought them for me and snuck them out of the store. My parents were VERY upset at both of us when they found them in my room. Sorry Aunt Susie.

Eventually we ended up in Michigan too. One of the best nights of my life is when you took me, my sister Lisa, my cousin Renee, and Jeremy to a haunted house. Lisa lost her shoe, Renee peed on herself, and Jeremy was scarred for life. But it was a night I will always remember.
One good thing about Michigan was Halloween, your favorite holiday. Michigan is flat as a board, and the houses are about an inch apart, so you can hit fifty or sixty in a single night! You always took us trick or treating and would even dress up as well. We would get pillow cases full of treats, go home to unload, and out for more. Halloween is just not the same anymore.
Sometimes life moves too quickly, before I knew it, Jeremy was a teenager. And I had married and ended up with two boys of my own.
You moved to Georgia, where we now lived and even watched my boys from time to time. I was blessed by a divorce and as adults, we somehow grew even closer.

You had been fighting your kidney disease for twenty years now and it was taking its toll. You were unable to work. Having had hundreds of kidney stones over the years, you were in much pain and very frail. But, still in good spirits.
Jeremy grew up, got married and had a child. All of the goals you had set for your life were being checked off. Then your kidneys started to fail. You needed to start dialysis.

I went to the hospital with you to have your fistula surgery, to make dialysis easier. I stayed with you during set up and you told me: you were glad I was there, that you were scared to die alone. I assured you, that you would be just fine and left to sit in the finely decorated waiting room. I was alone this time, not even an Archie to read. It grew dark outside, American Idol came on, and finally a doctor arrived, it was tougher than they expected. Your veins were so weak. But the surgery was done. You started dialysis, choosing the first morning session before dawn, so it wouldn’t ruin your day. You woke up and drove yourself several times a week.

They suggested a kidney transplant but they wanted to remove your bad kidneys first. You see with Renal Tubular Acidosis your kidneys made stones, so they had to remove them. Once you healed, they would put a good kidney back in, if any became available. Your siblings went down to get tested for matches, but you refused. You just couldn’t part with a piece of yourself. Or perhaps, you were just tired of fighting. You had been through so much. On some dark days; you even spoke of ending it all. But I was there for you. And if I could have taken away your pain, I would have.
Spring was here and one day in my mother’s kitchen you told me what had happened at your last dialysis session. An air bubble had gotten into the tube and you’re your limbs contracted horribly, you were in so much pain. It passed with time but you vowed to me that you would not live like that. That you would never go through that again. And I believed you. You had already made your wishes clear and had filled out the forms stating them. You didn’t want to be kept alive on machines.

And the next day while I was at work, you were rushed to the hospital. You couldn’t breathe. A blood clot broke loose and entered your lung. You were too ill to do surgery. And the family came, but I was the first. And then my mom.

They were doing tests so we couldn’t see you. Again, I was waiting at the hospital. Older now, and wiser to things I wish I never knew.
We heard your voice in the hallway. Your unmistakable high pitched sound, you were talking to someone. My mother and I looked at each other and we went up and down the hallways looking for you. There was nobody there.

When you were wheeled down the hall minutes later, you were not conscious and an oxygen mask was helping you breath. My sister arrived as did Jeremy and his family. We took turns visiting with you.

As a lifetime asthmatic, I know about breathing, your oxygen level kept dropping lower and lower. Jeremy couldn’t take it and left the building. His only parent was leaving him.

Against your wishes you were put on a breathing machine to help sustain your life. It helped for a little while as we stood around your bed watching your body lift up off the mattress with the force of each breathe.

This is not what you wanted. And as much as I selfishly wanted you to live. I knew that you did not want to live like this. Jeremy came back and regretfully signed the paperwork. He went to be with his family as his heart broke.

And for once, I was not in the waiting room. I stood next to your side across from my mother and sister and I held your hand as the breathing machine was removed. You took several labored breaths, and we told you it was okay. You seemed to calm and a smile graced your lips. Then you passed from this earth.

At the age of 47, you were gone and I was glad that I was able to be with you. That you were not alone.

My heart ached so badly, I cried for a month. I had been blessed, and had never lost anyone close before. Jeremy, took it the worst. To this day he still blames himself. Maybe this letter will help him understand. It was not his choice, but your own.

And I know that you are not truly gone. I know that you visit from time to time. I have seen you in my dreams and while I was awake.
So I do what we all must do, I go on. But I try to spend more time doing what I enjoy and less time worrying.

Life is just too short.

With Love Always,
Lynn

This is one of the letters from the book, Lost Love Letters: An Indie Chicks Anthology available now from Amazon

www.lynnhubbard.com

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Pantyno's

2014-01-03T13:53:00.004-05:00

As a Western Romance author, I spend a lot of time in Cowboy World. I was invited by a friend to join them in their yearly Cowboy Limo ride for the Holidays.

I was so excited!

I had seen previous pictures of everyone dressed up in finery for a night on the town. I asked about the dress code and was told it would be less dressy than last year, more semi-formal.

Great! I love wearing skirts, and since it is winter it would give me a chance to wear the tights I had bought years ago. I hate pantyhose and have maybe worn them once in the last twenty years. However, this was a special occasion. Plus, it is fun to dress up once in a while.

So I sandblast my feet so I won’t rip a hole in them with my heels and carefully rip open the new package.

There must be some mistake.

These pantyhose are four inches wide. I look at the package and double check the size. Size is correct. And I notice the “Tummy Control” lettering highlighted as well.

I guess they will stretch, a lot. I proceed to get into my Yoga pose and carefully insert my foot. The first one is fine. The second foot was more trying, and I wondered if Harry Houdini could pull off this trick. I start the slow painful process and watch my legs disappear.

I grasp the waist for the final hoist and rippppppppp, my thumb goes through the control top waste. But they are on, and even with the added hernia, they aren’t moving. The package lies, these are not tummy control, it is more of a butt corset.

Nonetheless, I am thrilled by my accomplishment. I finish dressing and head off to meet the limo.

I arrive full of good cheer!

Then I notice...everyone else is wearing jeans.

May everyone have a Happy and Joyful New Year! And hugs for Cindy and Beverly for taking me a long on their magical journey!

.99 KINDLE SALE! : .99 KINDLE AUTHOR SALE--FOUR DAYS ONLY!

2013-12-27T13:11:00.001-05:00

.99 KINDLE SALE! : .99 KINDLE AUTHOR SALE--FOUR DAYS ONLY!: WELCOME TO THE .99 HOLIDAY AUTHOR SALE! Between December 26 and December 29 ONLY, you can get ALL of the books below for a mere .9...

Santa: Do You Believe?

2013-12-22T12:53:00.002-05:00

I grew up believing in Santa Claus. And I still do. I tried to share this with my children. My oldest welcomed Santa with open arms, and had a LONG list of requests every year. When his brother was born he dutifully informed Santa of Michael’s wishes as well as his own.
Michael was not appreciative of Santa’s generosity and getting a picture with the Head Elf became harder and harder. Lots of tears and kicking. About the age of five I finally gave up on the perfect Christmas Card picture.
In fact, getting both of my children in a picture together while smiling was becoming a great challenge. So much for the wonderful dreams I once had. My world shifted from happy pictures of toothless babies to grumpy teens. Time certainly does change, but Santa is still the same.
And that awkward moment when I was questioned if he was real or not?
Well, Santa only brings presents to those who believe.
So Santa still visits my house every year.
I was even fortunate to recently meet the real Santa. (I have been advised, I am on the nice list.)
Imagine my surprise when I found out he rides a motorcycle and does volunteer work with the Patriot Guard Riders (PGR) for our Veterans. I was fortunate to be able to work with him on a charity project. And we would like to share it with you.
Because the most important thing about the Holidays isn’t found under a tree.
It is in our hearts.
Patriot Guard Riders Tribute

I'm Smell Blind

2013-11-17T12:46:00.000-05:00

Several weeks ago, I realized I couldn’t smell. It wasn’t something I really noticed until I visited a fudge shop in Helen Ga. Helen is a quaint German town nestled in the GA mountains, where else would you go for Oktoberfest?

I was very excited to visit with my family and as always, our first stop: the fudge shop. The small shop was lined with people and we squished our way in. My sons wife, Tamara, grabbed my arm and says “Oh my God! It smells so good in here!”

I sniffed.

“I don’t smell anything.”

She looks at me like I’m crazy. “You can’t smell the cocoa?”

“I can’t smell anything.”

And for the first time, I bought no fudge. Not even a sample, I didn’t have the craving for it.

Since then, I began to ponder when I had stopped smelling. Everything smells like normal. All the time.

How long has this been going on? All the times I had sniffed my laundry, or previously worn clothing and came away satisfied. Now I wonder. Did they stink? Do I stink?

Showering has become an obsession for me, as well as doing laundry.

Cooking is a challenge. I have to constantly watch the stove because I can’t smell when the food is close to being done or burning.

Walking the dog has been a pleasure. Picking up poop is no problem without the odor.

The hardest part I guess is my family, they are constantly “testing” me.

From holding fresh bags of coffee under my nose, to steaming cups of herbal tea. No. I don’t smell it.

No fresh baked cookies, or bacon, or the gift on the floor the dog left.

My helpful friends: “You know that’s a sign of Alzheimers.” If I didn’t have sinus problems, I would be more worried. Even after sinus surgery several years ago, I am still snotty.

One side effect is I have no cravings for food. I don’t smell the awesomeness of food, so I am eating less and only when I am hungry. Best diet ever.

The downfall, walking through the mall looking for Christmas gifts. Choosing scented candles by color or description. My son likes cologne and I can’t smell them. I can still picture the blank stare I have received from the sales clerk armed with a spray bottle when I informed her I was smell blind.

The term smell blind is not my own, it is a quote from the movie “Walk Hard.” My son declared me smell blind when I relayed my odd symptoms to him. In a crazy sort of way, it fits.

Is this permanent? Too soon to tell, but apparently, many people have this problem. Some have never been able to smell.

Maybe we should start a club.

Write From the Heart: Romance Author Lynn Hubbard

Dancing with Sean

Dancing with Sean

He is not.

A Tribute to Ron "Pappy" Papaleoni

This stuff only happens to the living (Excerpt from PTSD No Apologies)

Ron Papaleoni USN CPO Retired

But What Are They Eating?: FOODFIC: Please Welcome Lynn Hubbard, Author of Re...

Champion-The Movie

Champion-The Movie

Well, it is that time of the month again!

PTSD- No Apologies Open Call for Submissions

Welcome Spring!

Welcome Spring

Welcome Spring!!

Read more from Lynn Hubbard:

Dog Ears

Man Vs. Chocolate, Your Choice

Men are like a box of chocolates

Chocolate is just confusing you're not quite sure what you are getting.

I've spent some time recently trying to contemplate the minds of man. I have decided that there is no sense to make of it. They say what they don’t mean, and do what they won’t say.

It is enough to drive one mad! After much conversation with friends I have decided that like life, men are also like chocolate.

You can’t judge them by their fancy wrapping, or flashy tag lines. Nope, the only way of is judge for yourself.

Sure you can start by finding an an attractive package. However the inside may be bitter. Some are a bit nutty, which is fine if you like nuts. But most women like a combination, nuts and caramel perhaps?

Chocolate comes in all sizes colors and flavors. And I love nuts, but pretty much anything covered in chocolate works for me. Some candies are wrapped up in a cup and you choose one thinking you will find your favorite. You take a bite, marshmallow cream. Not bad, but not what you were looking for.

So you move onto the next one, and soon all the good ones are taken. The ones left have no discernible lumps or markings. Do you take a chance? You have been burned before. Your mouth waters, your stomach rumbles. Yes, one more chance. You select one and take a bite.

Jelly filled.

Yuck.

Spit or swallow?

Being the lady you are, you swallow it down, and toss the rest.

Try another or give up?

Who am I kidding? It’s CHOCOLATE.

I’m sure there is a chocolate, nut, caramel, toffee, nougat, crispy, coconut filled one somewhere.

What is your favorite sweet?

Cowboys, Sex, and Zombies

Searching for Treasure

Rebel Writers

My inspirational take on the Revolution.

What Is Love?

What Is Love?

Smashwords: Smashwords Romance Authors Promoted at RT Booklove...

The Patriot Guard Riders

The Results are in!

Help Lynn Name her Next Romance Book!

Finding Your Own Unique Voice

Happy UnBirthday!

Writing is hard work, please read & review!

Waiting: A Letter to my Aunt Susie Lynn Hubbard

Pantyno's

.99 KINDLE SALE! : .99 KINDLE AUTHOR SALE--FOUR DAYS ONLY!

Santa: Do You Believe?

I'm Smell Blind