Sherry Lewis

Today's Blog Post

2016-03-31T06:18:00.003-05:00

I'm in the process of migrating to a new site and my blog is up and running there. At least, I hope it is. I scheduled today's blog post there and it looks to me like it showed up. If you have a minute to check it out, you'll find it here:

13 Things that Start with "C"

Hope to see you there!

13 Things That Start with "B"

2016-03-24T01:00:00.000-05:00

1. Books have always been a major part of my life. I can't remember a time when I didn't treasure them. In fact, I'm still pretty peeved at my mother for selling my Nancy Drew books to buy my brother a set of Hardy Brothers books which he never read.

2. Book Clubs. I love talking books almost as much as I love reading books. For many years, I was in a book club with several women I went to high school with plus a few I didn't. I moved away six years ago, so I can't attend that book club anymore, but recently joined one here in Florida. We're currently reading The Girl on the Train by Paula Hawkins. Okay, so I'll admit I haven't started it yet, but I will. Soon.

3. Brothers. I have one. He's six years younger than me. I also have a terrific brother-in-law. There are so many things I could say about them, I don't even know where to begin. Let's just say that I love them both to the moon and back.

4. Burnout. What happens to writers when they write too much, too fast. Unfortunately, the creative process has to include time to regenerate creative energy and in the quest to make a living too many of us don't build that recuperative time into our schedules. Sooner or later, it catches up with all of us. Nobody can escape it forever.

5. Blood Sugar. Because Diabetes doesn't begin with B. A few months ago, I discovered that what I thought was solely burnout (see above) was actually made much more severe by a case of previously un-diagnosed Type 2 Diabetes, so now I'm hyper-aware of my blood sugar count on a daily basis and how awful I feel whenever it gets too high or too low.

6. Broccoli. Sounds weird, I know, but I've always been a grazer. I feel much better when I don't let a lot of time build up between meals, and it's even more important now that I need to watch my blood sugar. Of all the low-carb, healthy snacks I've seen, read about, or tried, broccoli is my current favorite.

7. Balance. The thing I am always actively seeking in my life. I try to have a life balanced between family, faith, and work, but I don't always succeed.

8. Beatles. I'm old enough to remember when they first burst onto the music scene. As a girl, I used to play "Beatles" with my friends. We'd get our mother's brooms and pretend they were guitars and we'd stand out on the street (we lived on a very quiet street) and sing and "play" until grouchy old Mr. Tibesaur came home and tried to run us over for playing in the street. When we weren't actually being the Beatles, we picked boyfriends. Everyone always wanted Paul, but I was a George Harrison gal.

9. Bankruptcy. I spent more than 15 years of my life working in the close-knit world of bankruptcy law. I went from being a legal secretary, to an office administrator, to a judicial assistant at the federal court before I finally quit to become a full-time writer.

10. Barbie Doll. I loved my Barbie because she wasn't like everyone else's Barbie. My Barbie had lovely black hair, so I could always tell her apart when playing with friends. She survived quite nicely until my brother (see above) decided she needed to go swimming in a hole someone dug in the field next door. (I have no conclusive evidence that said brother dug the hole. I only know he took full advantage of it.) He wrapped Barbie in Scotch tape (he claims this was to protect her from the dirty water), tied a string around her waist, and dipped her in the muddy water. The Scotch tape must have worked. I still have her and shes still in my original Barbie case under my bed.

11. Bicycle. Okay, this isn't so much part of my life now, but it once was. My sister and I used to ride our bikes all over the place. This was back in the day that a kid could take off on a bike in the morning (or maybe after lunch) and just be told to be home in time for supper. There was one hill (I think it was Grand Avenue in Billings, MT) where we would zoom down one side and, if we could get going fast enough, coast almost all the way to the top on the other side of the gully. It was awesome!

12. Band. True confession time. For 9 or 10 years when I was young, I played the keyboard and sang vocals in a band. It was just a local thing, but we were pretty well known in certain circles in our area. Here we are playing ... somewhere. I'm on the far left behind the keyboard.

13. Beach. I grew up in the west near the mountains, and there are still days when I wake up wanting to take a drive up one of the canyons, but right now I live about 5 minutes away from some of the most beautiful beaches in the world. We have white sand and emerald-green water, and it's beautiful. When my youngest daughter and the grandkids lived near me, and her husband was deployed, we went to the beach every morning. Now that they've moved, I don't spend as much time in the sand as I used to. I probably should get out more.

Scratch that. I definitely should get out more.

_______________

photo credit: 100_8962 via photopin (license)

St Paddys Day Giveaway

2016-03-13T01:00:00.000-06:00

Between March 13th and March 20th, you have a chance to win some leprechaun gold! These amazing authors are giving away a $100 Amazon gift card. Don't miss out!

For more information visit Mary's Garden

a Rafflecopter giveaway

13 Things That Start With "A"

2016-02-25T11:10:00.000-06:00

Just for the fun of it -- 13 things in my life that begin with "A"

1. Apple peeler/corer. I don't use it as often I'd like to, but it's pretty much the coolest thing ever.

2. Apple slicer: a handy-dandy gadget that has become my new favorite kitchen tool. You can pick them up for around $5 at the grocery store, and they make coring and slicing apples easy as pie!

3. Afghans I've crocheted. I don't even know how many there are, but it's something I've always loved doing. I used to have one in the works all the time. Lately, not so much. It's just too hot and humid here in Florida to have a heavy wool blanket laying across your lap, even in the depths of winter. Still, I find working on a crocheted afghan soothing and hope I can get back to them some day.

4. Angel. She's not with us anymore, but this dog is still a huge part of my heart. I got her for my youngest daughter after an illness. The dog was supposed to help her heal. Well, she did her job, and then my daughter got married and moved out, and Angel stayed with me until the day she died. She was a magnificent dog, really. She could jump down 5 stairs at a time and sail over an 8 foot fence without even breathing hard. She's still one of my favorite things. Here she is with one of the afghans I crocheted. For some reason the colors and pattern of this one appealed to her, and she claimed it as her own.

5. Autumn. It's the time of year when I was born, and I think it's my favorite time of year. I love the cool nights, the moderating temperatures in the day, the leaves as they change colors, the smell of the soil, the sound of leaves underfoot as I walk. I love Halloween decorations and school bulletin boards, and gourds and squash. I just love it all.

6. Alabama. No, I don't live there, but I live right "next door" and can get there in less than an hour. The part of Florida where I live is less like you'd think of as Florida and more like lower Alabama. .

7. Anne Tyler. She's not really part of my life, but I love her books so she makes the cut.

8. Amazon: Not because I spend so much time shopping there, but because, since taking the leap into the indie publishing world, I spend a great deal of time there putting books from my backlist up on the site and making them available for sale. It's become a rather large part of my life lately.

9. Avocados. Delicious, especially when made into my cousin Angie's guacamole recipe.

10. Alaska. I went several years ago and had a wonderful time. The scenery is amazing and the people fascinating. I hate the signs documenting how many moose have been killed along the highways. It's sad. Beautiful land. Everyone ought to go once.

11. Arkansas. It's where my dad and both of his parents were born. Even though I've never lived there, my ancestry gives me a connection to the state--at least in my own mind. It's also a much prettier state than you might think. Los of rolling hills and thick, wooded area. Apparently also a lot of rocky soil.

12. Ancestors. I was raised to do genealogy. It's in my blood. I've known the names of my great- and great-great-grandparents.for as long as I can remember. I find doing genealogy fascinating and only wish I could just hop on a plane and jet off to France or Germany or England to learn more about my ancestors like they do on shows like Finding Your Roots or Who Do You Think You Are?

13. Acadia National Park. One of my favorite places on earth. Admittedly, I'm a National Park nut. It's one of my dreams to visit every park in the US and Canada before I die. Yellowstone National Park is my favorite, but Acadia ranks right up there. It's beautiful.

Organizing 101...or 2

2016-02-18T02:00:00.000-06:00

Years ago, when I was first starting to work from home full-time, I decided to declutter and organize my home office. It seemed like a pretty straight-forward task, but it turned out to be much more involved, layered, and difficult than I had imagined. The problem was, I'd been using my office as a catch-all for everything else. Everything I didn't want to see went into the office. Everything I planned to do later went into the office. Everything I didn't have time to do at all went into the office. Everything that didn't have a specific home elsewhere in the house went into the office.

I was raised by parents who lived through the Great Depression, so I was trained to keep stuff, to repurpose stuff, to make stuff do, to fix stuff. Tossing stuff wasn't on the agenda most of the time.

Ask my brother or my daughters about the time we tried to drink all the juice left over at the end of our vacation. It never occurred to any of us until we'd almost made ourselves sick that we could throw perfectly good juice away. That mindset sometimes makes it difficult to declutter and organize.

The idea of reorganizing the office became critical when I realized that I was having a lot of trouble working in there. I took a good look around and tried to figure out what te problem was. It had lovely windows looking out on the street, lots of good light, a big desk, bookshelves, and a closet for storing stuff, so I didn't realize the problem immediately.

It took some time to figure out that I'd filled the room with all kinds of things that needed my attention--bills to pay, clothes to iron or mend, papers to sort and file away, photographs and mementos to organize and scrapbook. Every time I walked into the office, I was pulled in a hundred different directions, and that made it really hard to be creative.

After a while I realized that in order to make my home office a workable space for me, I had to allow only the things I needed to practice my craft inside the room, and I needed to ban everything that needed me.

It was a great lesson and one that served me well for a long time. I got pretty good at following the advice to handle things once (mostly.) Instead of carting the day's mail into the house and creating a pile of paper to be sorted later, I tossed what I didn't want before I even walked through the door. I tried to move through my days much like my mother had, more slowly than was my usual pace, but more focused, working on one thing until I finished it and then moving on to the next task instead of rabbiting around the house doing a little bit of everything and never really getting anything "done."

And then I moved. And then I moved again. And then life happened. And now my home office is right back to where it was before. I'm ashamed to admit there's even an old TV sitting in there in the middle of the floor. Good grief! How did that happen?

Isn't that how it goes? (Please tell me that's how it goes at other houses besides mine!) I guess I know what I'll be doing this weekend.

photo credit: 2011.07.13 - Surroundings via photopin (license)

Getting it Together

2016-01-12T15:41:00.000-06:00

I was doing so well at blogging on a schedule ... and then the holidays hit and then a cold or the flu or a wicked combination of both hit, and here I am, dragging myself back into the land of the living and trying to get back onto some kind of schedule...again.

I don't know how it is for you, but for me it's a never-ending battle. There's always much more to do in the space of 24 hours than one mere mortal can possibly get done. That being the case, the days become a juggling act for as long as a person can manage to keep all the balls in the air.

Eventually, though, luck runs out and we're forced to make choices, and much as I hate to admit it, that's where I am right now. Do I keep four different blogs running (and I use that term loosely) or do I give up on a couple and concentrate on the other two? Do I give time and attention on a daily basis to the books I wrote under a pseudonym a few years ago--books I still love, by the way--or do I focus on the books form my backlist that I'm releasing again in Kindle format?

I'd love to do it all. Really, I would. In my dream world, I would get all of the Dancing on Coals workshops for writers revised and published in Kindle format, and I'd even produce a few new workshops on subjects I hadn't tackled when I stopped actively conducting workshops every month.

I'd lavish attention on Candy Shop mysteries I wrote as Sammi Carter and I'd tweet and be active as Sammi on Facebook. In my spare time, I'd judge lots and lots of writing contests, while still having time to exercise and eat right and spend time with my family.

It's just not possible.

Still, it's hard to turn your back on a pen name that was a huge part of your life for several years and to let books you would love to see doing well languish instead. But either I give time and attention to the old books--at the expense of new books I could be writing--or I let the older ones find their own way while I nurture new books into the world.

After reading the six books in the Fred Vickery series again to get them ready for Kindle release, I realized why readers are still, all these years later, asking me for more books in the series. I agree with them: I can't leave the characters that way. And there's my current WIP, a book I'm calling by the working title Dead on Arrival that's been nagging at me since 2008.

And there are big books, contemporary and historical and maybe even a few more time travels, and that Christmas romance that's been niggling at the back of my brain for the past few months. And the novellas I'd like to have ready to give away to readers next holiday season ...

And there are blogs to write and social media to visit, and covers to design and approve and ...

I'm not complaining. We're all way too busy. This is just my particular brand of busy, and honestly, I wouldn't trade it for anything--except maybe unlimited leisure time to spend with the grandkids. I mean, a woman can dream, can't she?

photo credit: Tu tires ou tu pointes ? via photopin (license)

Day 3 - Your Favorite Series

2015-12-08T10:00:00.000-06:00

I started doing a 30-Day Book Meme on Sammi Carter's blog a couple of weeks ago. It's not actually a 30-Day meme with me. More like a 30-ish-week meme. Because I'm easily distracted, and something else may come up that I'd rather talk about, or should talk about ... or whatever.

In case you're interested, you can find Day One here.

And you can find Day Two here.

Today's prompt--or should I say this week's prompt--is to discuss my favorite series.

Naturally, I have more than one series that could fit here and, naturally, it's a bit of a chore to figure out which one I should rate as #1.

There's the fabulous Amelia Peabody series by Elizabeth Peters. I haven't read all of the books in the series, but I've enjoyed every one that I have read. Amelia is a delightfully unreliable narrator and I love her view of the world, her family, and especially of herself.

There's the Candy Shop Mystery series by Sammi Carter and the Piece of Cake Mystery series by Jacklyn Brady, not to mention the Fred Vickery Mystery series by yours truly. Some might argue that I'm a bit prejudiced and it would be true. I am. But I love each of these series and every character in them, so I include them here.

How could I list any series without including Agatha Christie's Hercule Poirot and Miss Marple books? Though not series as we think of them now, they remain among my favorites and probably always will. Of the two sleuths, I think I prefer Miss Marple--at least I did when I was younger. I need to read them again to find out if my perspective has changed.

I could go on and on, but I suppose I should get down to the nitty-gritty of it and just deal with the issue at hand. If I had to pick one series and label is my favorite today, it would be he Ruth Galloway series by Elly Griffiths.

Ruth is an interesting protagonist--a normal sort of woman who carries a few extra pounds and who doesn't always do everything exactly right, which is why I relate to her. She has self-doubt that rings true to me, as opposed to the made up kind of self-doubt you find in so many books. The character needs a flaw and the author provides one, but it never really rings entirely true. Ruth is a forensic archaeologist who is frequently consulted by the police on cases. Her relationship with DCI Harry Nelson and his wife is interesting and, again, truthful. Griffiths' writing is clean and precise and evocative and it transports me into Ruth's world with every single book.

I stumbled across the series at the library one day and began with the 5th book in the series, A Dying Fall. I enjoyed it so much I went back to the beginning and read them all, reading #5 again when I got to it in order. Though the book stood alone beautifully, when I read it as part of the series, I enjoyed the story all over again with my new understanding of the series and the characters.

I'm eagerly awaiting the next installment!

Oh, the Places I Want to Go

2015-12-01T03:00:00.000-06:00

I love to travel. Love, love, love to travel. I love going new places, seeing new things, learning new history, and eating new food. New to me, anyway. When I was younger, I read about James A. Michener and how he researched an area before he wrote about it. His books Centennial and Chesapeake are two of my favorite books ever, and I wanted to be just like him when I grew up.

So when I read that he would move to a location and live there for two or three years, getting to know the area, getting to know the people, the climate, understanding the weather and the culture, I thought how amazing that would be. That's what I wanted to do too!

I wanted to live for a little while in a small town on the coast of Maine and spend another few years on the west coast in Oregon. I wanted to live in California and Vermont and maybe even travel to places more exotic. Of course, I didn't factor in money or how much I might miss my family. I just knew I wanted the experience.

I've been lucky in my lifetime so far. I've traveled more than I probably should have been able to, but there are still places on my list that I long to see someday. I was looking up pictures for another project earlier and came across a few shots that stirred up that old longing. So today, in no particular order, I give you five places I want to visit.

1. Philadelphia, PA for all the obvious reasons. Or maybe they're just obvious to me. I am a history buff, and my favorite time period is probably the American Revolution. One of my dreams is to someday write the great American novel set around the time of the Revolutionary War. One of my favorite books in the world is John Adams by David McCullough, I've had the good fortune to visit Boston and Braintree and Quincy, MA, and I've paid a few short visits to Washington, D.C. (although I still haven't been able to see anything there.) but Philadelphia has so far eluded me.

2. Italy. Rome. Wherever. I don't care what part of Italy I get to first, I'd just like to go. I have no particular reason for wanting to go, I just do. Okay, there's the obvious historical reason to want to visit, and it seems like the kind of place someone who loves to travel ought to go. It's the site of all the interesting stuff that happened during the Holy Roman Empire, the site of amazing architecture, art, and music. And wasn't Much Ado About Nothing filmed in Italy? Who wouldn't want to go there?

3. Hawaii. I've never been. I think I ought to go, although, admittedly, after living in Florida for the past six years, it seems slightly less exotic than it used to. But it's still on my list and will undoubtedly remain there. I've read a few books set there and those add to the mystique. And, of course, there have been movies, but honestly, I think the appeal of almost anyplace I'd like to visit comes from a book.

4. France. Again, no particular reason, but it's France. Paris. The south of France. I read and loved A Year in Provence and ever since then I've wanted to ... you know ... spend a year or two in Provence. Then, of course, there's The Count of Monte Cristo and The Three Musketeers and there's the food. I mean, I hear it's amazing. I'd like to find out for myself. And because having spent a long time working on my family's genealogy, I've learned that I'm related to various Kings Louis and Charlemagne, so it would be nice to visit the land of my people (as my granddaughter says.)

5. The Holy Land. Again, the land of my people -- which is pretty much true of everyone, right? It's the land of the descendants of Abraham (both branches of the family) and claimed by Christians, as well. So much interesting history has happened here -- and continues to happen. I'd love to see it some day. I'd love to visit the temple for which the Psalms of Ascension were written, to see the Mount of Olives, the Tower of David, and the Garden of Gethsemane.

I'd love to stand on the Temple Mount and walk along the shores of the Red Sea. I'd just like to see it all, breathe it in, and gain a better understanding of the divisions that have existed between people for so many centuries.

My wish list is much too long to share the whole thing, but these are the top five on my list. Do you have one? Where in the world would you like to go?

Think Happy Thoughts

2015-11-24T11:16:00.000-06:00

It's been a rough few days with emotions running high. Nothing huge. Nothing major. Just a few of those days run together. They haven't been all my days, either. But you know how it is when someone you love is having one of those days. It kind of becomes your day, too.

I had planned to blog today about something I encountered online yesterday that bugged me, but as my youngest daughter was hanging up from an early morning phone call, during which we had been discussing her no good, horrible, very bad day (before the day even really got started) she issued a challenge to me to blog about something happy.

Well, clearly, venting about my new pet peeve didn't qualify, but having had a few of those days in a row, I wasn't sure where to find something happy.

And then a favorite quote from The Tao of Pooh ran through my head, and I set out on a search to find it to make sure I got it right (because clicking around on the Internet is infinitely easier than searching through all of my bookshelves to find my copy of that tiny book.)

Of course, any time I delve into the mind of A.A. Milne, I'm fascinated and charmed and I very quickly find myself smiling. Even though it took forever to find my favorite quote (it doesn't happen to be everyone's favorite, I guess) I found some other charming quotes along the way.

This one, for example. Because if you can get past the personal frustration of being disorganized, which can frequently lead you to think you're not only having a very bad day, but you're destined to always have bad days because you just can't get it together, you might just realize that being disorganized can lead to having surprising discoveries ...

Like that purse you completely forgot you owned, or a favorite shirt found at the bottom of a pile of dirty laundry, or change you left in the pocket of a pair of jeans. Really, the discoveries never end.

Okay, some of the discoveries aren't all that great, but some are. That's the important thing.

Or this one, which is my second favorite quote from A.A. Milne because it's one I so desperately need to remember. A life spent as a single mother working all the time and always feeling as if I was sprinting from one forgotten thing to another (or one thing I couldn't quite get myself to on time because of my day job), there were times when I really needed to just take a deep breath and remember that rivers are incredibly wise.

There is no hurry. We shall get there some day.

There's some real wisdom in this quote. Because, seriously, in this day and age, when it seems that everybody is busy talking at each other and very few people are actually talking to each other, it helps to remember that the other guy probably has a small piece of fluff in his ear.

In reality, that piece of fluff is probably a life just as disorganized as yours, and he's probably just as worried about what he's late for or who he's disappointing as you are.

It won't hurt to (again) take a breath and work up a little patience. I think most people would happily remove the fluff from their ears if we stopped getting irritated with them for having fluff in the first place.

I wish I had a nickle for every time in my life I've been caught up in worrying that a tree might fall down when I was underneath. I would be a rich woman, indeed.

It has taken a lot of time and energy and mental focus to occasionally suppose as Pooh does. Supposing it didn't!

It's good to anticipate problems to some degree, but it's not good to get stuck in an endless loop of problem anticipating. Yeah, today's tough, but supposing it gets better? And even if it doesn't supposing tomorrow is a great day? What then?

I think, like Piglet, I'm comforted by this.

And finally, my favorite quote:

Aren't you glad you stuck with me? Is that great, or what? The thing I've realized over the years is that, if I walk out the door feeling pretty sure than an Adventure is going to happen, one usually does.

Maybe it will be a happy Adventure, and maybe it won't, but Adventures almost always happen to those who are Ready for Anything.

So brush the honey off your nose and spruce yourself up as best you can. I hope your Adventure is wonderful and fluff-free!

Fred's Back -- No Place for Tears

2015-11-17T03:00:00.000-06:00

I'm really excited to announce that No Place for Tears is now available for your Kindle. It's also free to read on Kindle Unlimited.

This is Fred Vickery's fourth adventure in murder and mayhem, and one of my favorites. They always say that writers should write what they know -- and in this case, I certainly did.

Eddie Leishman is a local musician and, in Fred's mind, a local loser. Eddie has taken up with Sharon Bolinger, daughter of Fred's old friend, Doc Huggins. Trouble is, Eddie already has a wife. Everybody knows that Doc hates Eddie, and most folks believe he has good reason to feel the way he does. But when Eddie turns up dead after receiving treatment at Doc's hands, the tide of public opinion begins to turn against the old goat.

Doc might be a constant pain in Fred's neck, but soon Doc's back is against the wall and Fred can't ignore his old friend's troubles.

One of the fun things about being an author is being able to get justice with the stroke of a pen or the pressing of a few keys on the computer. I wrote No Place for Tears when my own dad was still alive. Dad always knew that he and Fred shared a few personality traits but he never did see himself in Doc's character in this book. Even so, it did us both good to give the fictional Eddie an untimely end since real "Eddie" (not his real name) was very much on the loose and busy ruining the lives of women with reckless abandon.

I hope you enjoy Fred's most recent adventure!

You can read an excerpt here

and buy a copy of No Place for Tears here.

Book of the Week - 11/16/15

2015-11-16T11:14:00.001-06:00

Two pieces of news this week. We have a new Book of the Week and No Place for Tears, the 4th book in the Fred Vickery mystery series is coming to your Kindle. More about Fred tomorrow. Today, it's

Book of the Week

Let's start with this week's featured book from my back list. The Children's Cop is part of the Women in Blue series published by Harlequin Superromance in 2004. The series tells the stories of six female police officers who became friends while in the police academy and features books by some of the romance world's favorite authors: Kay David, Roz Denny Fox, K.N. Casper, Linda Style and Anna Adams. The Chidren's Cop is second in the series.

The lovely thing is that thanks to digital publishing, the whole series is available in e-book format. You can find them all here:

The Partner by Kay David

The Children's Cop by Sherry Lewis

The Witness by Linda Style
Her Little Secret by Anna Adams
She Walks the Line by Roz Denny Fox
A Mother's Vow by KN Casper

You can read an excerpt from The Children's Cop by clicking here.

I had a great time writing this book and working with five other talented and accomplished authors to come up with a cohesive plot line that would allow each book to work with the other books in the series, but also to stand on its own.

Enjoy!

Sharing a Couple of Things Today

2015-11-10T10:33:00.000-06:00

The week has definitely gotten away from me, so today's blog post is going to be a quick one.

First, I want to share the news that, due to popular demand, we're revving up the publication schedule for my back list and all the Dancing on Coals workshops, We'll be doing one workshop and one work of fiction every month until all the workshops and the books on my back list I can re-release are available.

To that end, one of my most popular workshops is now available on Kindle.

Why, Why, Why? Mastering Character Motivation is a writing craft workshop focused on helping you create strong, realistic motivation for the characters in your novels.

Motivation is one of the key elements of any novel. Strong, believable motivation can drive your story from page one to the final scene, while weak or unrealistic motivation can be the kiss of death. In this workshop, we discuss how to avoid clichéd and contrived motivations and how to build on your basic characterization to create characters that actively push your story forward. We also tackle that dreaded nemesis of so many writers—author intrusion.

This is a great follow-up to Creating Characters with Character, our workshop on characterization, but can also stand alone, especially if you've already some preliminary work with your characters. This workshop has been presented in part at various writer’s conferences, including Romance Writers of America annual conference in Washington, D.C. (2009) and an excerpt from it was published as an article in RWA’s trade journal, Romance Writers Report.

I haven't decided which workshop will come next. I'm trying to decide between Plotting the Organic Way, Avoiding Author Intrusion, and Dodging the Dreaded Saggy Middle. I'm going to be conducting a poll on the Dancing on Coals Facebook page on Friday, so please stop by and offer your opinion.

Also, for those new here, I'm featuring one book every week from my back list of books still available for purchase. This week's Book of the Week is:

Picture Perfect

(originally published as Call Me Mom)

You can read an excerpt here and also find buying information if you'd like to pick up a copy.

I think that's it for today. Hope everyone has a fabulous week!

Fred's a Boxed Set!

2015-11-02T07:03:00.001-06:00

It's live a whole day early, so let's celebrate! The first three books in the Fred Vickery Mystery Series are now a boxed set!

BOOK 1: No Place for Secrets
BOOK 2: No Place like Home
BOOK 3: No Place for Death

Save more than 30% when you buy all three books together in the set.

No Place for Tears is scheduled for release in just two weeks, so this is your chance to catch up on all three of the books that come beore it in the series. Just click the link below!

The Fred Vickery Mystery Series: Books 1-3

About Mr. Congenlaity

2015-11-01T03:00:00.000-06:00

This week's Book of the Week is Mr. Congeniality. I'll be posting the links and excerpt tomorrow, but today I thought I'd share with you the letter I wrote to readers when the book was published in 2002. People often ask writers where we get our ideas. In fact, next to how much money we make, it's probably the most-asked question we encounter. So here's a little about the idea for Mr. Congeniality.

July 2002

Dear Reader,

One of the questions that authors are frequently asked is where we get ideas for the stories we write. As a reader myself, I’m always fascinated to hear about those snippets of conversation, moments glimpsed from the train or the car, stories on the evening news, and songs on the radio that spark other imaginations and turn into the seeds from which stories grow.

Mr. Congeniality got its start about three years ago. I was half-heartedly watching a cooking show on television, trying to take my mind off the fact that I had to pay bills. I don’t remember what was on the menu or even which show it was. But I do remember glancing up once to see a chef (who was quite obviously from the city) standing along the bank of a stream in the mountains of the American West.

As I watched, the chef began pulling tin containers, linen napkins, and assorted trinkets from a saddle bag--things she’d hauled up the mountainside by horseback so she could create an artistic arrangement of hors d’oeuvres along the trail. By the time she cheerfully assured her viewing audience that presentation is vitally important even in the mountains, my bills were forgotten, Annie Holladay had come to life, and Dean Sheffield had crept into the shadows of my mind.

Photo from Unsplash

I’ve been visiting Annie and Dean off-and-on ever since that day. They weren’t always the easiest couple to work with. In fact, they were frustratingly uncooperative at times, and I officially gave up writing their story several months ago, making a solemn vow never to look at it or think of it again. The very next morning I was standing in line at the bank when Dean perched on my shoulder and began whispering the secrets I’d been searching so hard to find on my own.

Mr. Congeniality is a story about forgiving and healing, about loving and laughing, about letting go and hanging on. It’s about life with teenagers and all the joy—and occasional pain—that comes with the territory. I hope you’ll enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.

~Sherry

I dedicated this book to my male cousins because I'm lucky enough to have the best cousins around. So once again, this is for you,

Gary, Ted, Bart

Tony, Ray

Carter (Jeff), Chris, Jay, Todd

Blaine, Brad, Garth

Clay, Clint, Blake

Mike, Steve and Sam

Thanks for a lifetime of laughter and memories!

Let it Snow, a trial post

2015-10-30T09:30:00.000-05:00

I'm playing around with a Facebook function I've never tried before. Apparently, I can embed posts from Facebook on my blog and/or web page. I just want to see if it actually works.

TBT -- One of my favorite books. While driving outside Gunnison, Colorado, I saw Rick in my imagination, standing on the...
Posted by Author Sherry Lewis on Thursday, October 29, 2015

And look at that! It works. Hmmm...

Easy, Quick Ideas for Halloween

2015-10-27T03:00:00.000-05:00

It's almost Halloween and I've been out of town so I haven't even thought about decorating for the season. That's a shame because decorating for holidays has always been one of my favorite things to do. I'm having to content myself this year with clicking around on the Internet and saving ideas for next year.

Here are a few of my favorites.

Source

Look at these cute little guys. A few small pumpkins, some pipe cleaners and a votive candle or two and you're in business. I'm not sure I'd put them on the floor, especially with pets or small children around, but they'd also be great either clustered in small groups or alone as centerpieces.

If you had a big enough mantle over your fireplace, they'd also look great there.

Speaking of fireplace mantles, I also love this idea:

Source

It's a very different theme, so I can't see the pumpkin spiders on the same
mantle with the pictures, but this is very creepy and haunting, don't you think? Some inexpensive black frames, a few pictures printed out from historical sites or family genealogy, a smattering of candles, and a little cotton batting and you're in business.

Here's another relatively easy and inexpensive decoration if you have a sidewalk or garden path, or even a patio you'd like to surround with cheerful Halloween faces. Hang the carved jack-o'-lanterns from shepherd's hooks using hangers made out of heavy-gauge wire (easy to find.) Use battery-powered candles to keep the pumpkins lit without risk of fire.

Source

Tell me these little guys aren't cute! Use plastic-foam balls in different sizes and draw pupils using a permanent marker. Use a toothpick or stick to hold eyes together and attach pairs of eyes to a bench or fence or any other dark-colored background. I'm visualizing them on the shelves of a bookcase.

Doesn't that make the porch look warm and inviting?

Source

Last, but certainly not least:

Doesn't that make the porch look warm and inviting? I sure think so.

Ahhh, well, I won't be doing any of these things this year. Maybe next October

Book of the Week - 10/19/2015

2015-10-20T03:00:00.000-05:00

This week's Book of the Week is Keeping Her Safe. Originally published by Harlequin Superromance in 1997, it has also been released a couple of times as part of other imprints.

This was my third book for Harlequin and it was one of the hardest books I've ever written. The plot was simply too close to home.

Like far too many women in our society, I was involved in an abusive relationship. I was luckier than some and escaped with my life--but just barely. My kids and I went into hiding for several years after I finally managed to leave and, in fact, it's only been within the past few years that my youngest daughter (the basis for DJ's character) has had any kind of contact with her biological father.

Like Christina, my original plan was to tell my daughter that her father had died or moved away somewhere, but I soon realized that the best way to keep her safe was to tell her the truth. I was driving down the street one day after a conversation with her (she was just 10 at the time) when I began to wonder what might have happened if I had lied to her about her father.

Like many books, this one was born from a What if? What if my daughter had grown up believing that her father was dead--and then he showed up on her doorstep one day? How would she feel about him? How would she feel about me?

From that, the idea for Keeping Her Safe was born.

Adam was the perfect match for DJ. Strong and trustworthy, with a bit of baggage of his own, he was just what DJ needed--and she was right for him. In writing him as the hero in this book went a long way toward healing some of my old wounds.

I knew the book would be hard to write, but I didn't realize just how tough it would be. I didn't know how to write the scene between DJ's sister, Laura, and Larry Galloway, and my daughters and I ended up doing some roll-playing with the help of a family friend. It ended up being cathartic for both my older daughter and me, but it was one of the most difficult things I've ever done.

Of course, it is first and foremost a romance--a story about truth and trust and the redemptive power of love,

You'll find an excerpt from the book and information on where to buy here.

Happy Reading!!!

One Downside of a Long Writing Career

2015-10-13T09:55:00.001-05:00

I had a conversation with my oldest daughter the other day that made me look at my world in a whole new--and not entirely pleasant--way. We were talking about re-releasing the very first mystery series I ever wrote, the Fred Vickery mysteries. When I wrote those books, I created Fred as a mixture of my dad, who was in his 70s at the time, my maternal grandfather, who had passed away years before, my next-door neighbor, Fred, and me.

When I pictured Fred, I saw him as an elderly man, at least a full generation older than me. I based his speech patterns on those I'd heard my parents, grandparents and great-grandparents use. Fred was elderly. No doubt about it. If I imagined the books being made into a movie or a TV series, I pictured actors of the day taking the role of Fred -- Andy Griffith, maybe. The older Andy, not the younger Andy of Mayberry version. Andy in his 70s, just like Fred.

Even though I created Fred in 1992, which means in the real world he would have aged a good 20 years, in my mind he was still Andy-Griffith-in-Matlock-esque.

But the other day my daughter said something that blew me right out of the water. "Ooh!" she said. "If they made a movie now, Kurt Russell could play Fred."

Excuse me!?! What??? Kurt Russell? No! No way!

To begin with, Kurt is my number one go-to hot guy. Kurt is not old enough to play Fred in a movie. Kurt is Wyatt Earp in Tombstone tough (and have I mentioned hot?) Kurt isn't 70-ish and slowing down. Kurt is timeless.

When I wrote my very first published romance, Call Me Mom, the hero, Kurt Morgan, was based on Kurt. Kurt was Kurt. Kurt still is Kurt. When I reworked Call Me Mom to be republished as Picture Perfect by Harlequin Heartwarming, Kurt was still ... Kurt.

But, as my mother always says, "If wishes were fishes, we'd all have a fry." I can't change reality just by refusing to acknowledge or even accept it. The fact is, I've aged. Kurt has aged. And the hot guy who was the hero in my very first romance novel probably could now play the septuagenarian in my very first mystery novel. I'm still not okay with it, but I'm not okay with a lot of things that show up in my world--like the fact that I'm not 30 anymore.

But I'll tell you one thing--if and when I write more books in the Fred Vickery series, I'm going to be looking at good old Fred in a whole new light!

Book of the Week - 10/12/2015

2015-10-12T10:26:00.000-05:00

Recently, I discovered that several books from my back list (books I thought long out of print and unavailable) are actually still available in digital format. I couldn't be more excited since some of these books are very dear to my heart.

To celebrate, I'm featuring a "new" book from my back list every week by posting an excerpt from the book and providing links for all the places I've discovered you can find the book.

In case you missed it, last week's featured book was High Mountain Home.

This week I'm celebrating That Woman in Wyoming, published by Harlequin Superromance in 2001 and made available in digital format last year. Click on the book or the title above to read an excerpt.

I loved writing this book and getting to know Max and Reagan. I loved creating the town of Serenity, Wyoming, which appears again in The Christmas Wife.

An Excerpt from NO PLACE FOR DEATH

2015-10-06T03:00:00.000-05:00

Fred Vickery's fourth foray into the world of murder and mayhem, No Place for Tears, is set for re-release on November 17. I thought I'd celebrate that by offering an excerpt from the third book in the series today.

If you haven't yet met Fred, he's 70-something, a widower, and retired from his job as Buildings and Grounds Supervisor for the school district in his rural Colorado county. Fred has four adult children whom he loves, even if they do make him crazy at times. Fred's a family man through and through, and that's what readers seem to love about him.

So, for your reading enjoyment, Chapter One:

________________________________________

(copyrighted material)

ONE

Pleasantly full after a great meal, Fred Vickery followed his brother-in-law, Porter Jorgensen, from the Jorgensens’ kitchen into the living room. In the nearly fifty years since they’d each married out of T.S. Cooper’ daughters, they’d done this hundreds of times—a big meal in the kitchen, after which the men were shooed into the living room where he and Porter saved the world (in theory) while Phoebe and Harriet chatted and cleared the table.

In the early years, Fred had often tried to help but Phoebe had always sent him away. He’d finally given up after she explained it was her only chance to spend time alone with her sister and that the dishes provided a convenient excuse.

An air conditioner unit in one window churned out cold air and a fan whirred softly on the other side of the room, trying to take the edge off the hot August evening. Fred settled into an easy chair and listened to the clatter of silverware, the rush of water, and the low murmur of conversation in the kitchen. If he closed his eyes, he could almost believe nothing had changed. But the kids were all grown and out on their own now—except Douglas, who’d moved back home in the spring—and Phoebe was gone. Had been for nearly three years now. Fred had grown used to living without her—almost. But times like this brought the pain back so sharply, Fred wondered if he’d ever truly adjust.

The past three years he’d avoided Phoebe’s family almost entirely—four sisters, all too much like Phoebe in one way or another, one brother, and too many children among them all to keep an accurate count. Porter and Harriet lived closest to Fred, and he’d missed the times they used to spend together. So when Harriet called last Sunday with this invitation to dinner, he’d convinced himself he’d healed enough to make it through the evening without trouble.

He’d been wrong.

Stifling a groan, he patted his stomach and forced a smile. “Harriet sure hasn’t lose her touch with a meal.”

Porter grinned and dropped heavily into his easy chair. “Nope, I’ll say that for her. She’s still one of the best cooks in the county.” His ample frame provided silent proof of his words. His snow-white hair, once nearly jet-black, testified to how many years he’d been enjoying Harriet’s efforts in the kitchen.

He picked up the remote control from the TV tray beside him and almost instantly a picture popped onto the screen. With a satisfied grunt, he settled back in his chair as if he’d been watching the blasted thing all evening.

From the kitchen, a burst of laughter erupted and Fred’s heart twisted. But it wasn’t Phoebe’s laugh. Tonight, Harriet and Nancy Bigelow, the Jorgensens’ youngest child, had joined forces and kicked the men out of the kitchen. The laughter drifted away, then erupted again before facing into muted conversation. Nancy’s voice blended with Harriet’s like Phoebe’s had. Both voices were soft and melodious. Both a little husky. Both pleasant and soothing.

Fred leaned his head against the chair and tried to push away the longing for the life he’d never get back. He’d had forty-seven years with Phoebe. Many people didn’t get that much time together. This year they’d have celebrated their golden anniversary, but no matter how much he longed for the past, he couldn’t bring Phoebe back. All he had was the here and now. He wanted to make the best of it.

Tonight he’d shared some pleasant company and had eaten a good meal for the first time in years. Obviously, Harriet and Phoebe had learned to cook from the same teacher. His daughter Margaret had cooked that well once, but lately she’d let her fear of fat grams and cholesterol chase all the taste from her food. The only flavor he got these days was what he snuck into his own recipes.

Cutting a glance toward the kitchen he said, “It’s good to see Nancy again. I didn’t expect her to be here.”

Porter grunted again and wiped a trickle of sweat from his temple. “We all thought Douglas would come with you, and she was looking forward to seeing him again.”

“I passed along the invitation,” Fred said, “but I can’t predict what Douglas will do now any better than I could when he was a boy.”

Porter nodded, no doubt remembering the younger Douglas and his tendency to leap from one interest to another without warning. “Did you say he’s working now?”

Fred’s mouth tightened into a frown. “He’s still looking.”

With an expression full of understanding, Porter leaned back in his chair. “If it’s not one thing it’s another, isn’t it?” He shot a quick glance at the kitchen door. “Nancy’s been on my mind a lot lately. She comes by more than she ought to, but that husband if hers spends all his time working, so she’d be alone if she didn’t spent time with us.”

Fred heard the disapproval in Porter’s voice and saw it on his face. Fred empathized with his brother-in-law. He knew how it felt to disapprove of a son-in-law, but Phoebe hadn’t liked him to voice his opinion of Webb in front of Margaret, and he figured Harriet would feel the same way about Nancy’s marriage. Besides, Fred had known Adam Bigelow since childhood. He’d watched the boy grow up as he went through school, and he’d always kind of liked the kid. For all those reasons, he tried to keep his voice neutral. “What’s Adam doing now? Does he still have that government job?”

“He’s a subcontractor,” Porter said. “Soil and water testing, that sort of thing. What it amounts to is he plays in the dirt and mud all day.” Porter made a noise at something on the television and leaned forward slightly. “For hell’s sake—” he muttered, then dropped back again and shook his head. “So are you and Douglas coming to the picnic on Labor Day?”

“I don’t know,” Fred admitted. “Douglas could have found a job and left town by then.”

“The real question is, what about you?” Porter asked. “We’ve missed having you around.”

Fred appreciated that, but he didn’t want to make a promise he might not keep. “I don’t know,” he said again. “There are lots of memories in this house. More than I expected.”

Porter’s chins waggled as he studied the living room. Maybe he thought he could see the memories if he looked hard enough. “Well, I suppose there are reminders here, and I’m sure it’s tough. But you can’t make yourself a hermit forever. Phoebe’s gone, sure, but that doesn’t mean you’re not part of the family anymore.”

“I know that.”

“You should have been at Bev’s for the Fourth of July,” Porter went on. “We had quite a party, and everybody asked about you.”

Phoebe’s eldest sister, Beverly, had long ago claimed the Fourth of July as her exclusive bailiwick, but Fred hadn’t joined them at once of her parties since Phoebe passed on. It just wouldn’t be the same. But he knew the others wouldn’t understand so he just nodded slowly and said, “Margaret told me.”

Porter chuckled at some picnic memory and adjusted his shirtfront over his ample stomach. “Viv brought a date—did Margaret tell you that?”

Vivian, the sister between Phoebe and Harriet, had divorced her husband more than twenty years earlier. Every year or so she’d date someone new. Nothing serious had ever developed with any of her callers, but her descriptions of the dates kept the family in stitches.

Fred smiled, realizing that he’d missed hearing Vivien’s stories. “Do I need to run out and buy a wedding gift?”

Porter snorted in reply. “No, not yet. She called the next week and said the guy turned out to be the Date from Hell.” He changed the channel on the television and went back to ignoring the program. “So what about Labor Day? I’ve got to warn you, Bev said that if you didn’t show up this year she’d drive down and drag you up here by the seat of your pants.”

Fred grinned at the image. Beverly had been a year ahead of Fred in school, so he knew she had to be at least seventy-four, but he had no trouble picturing her carrying out her threat. “Labor Day’s still over two weeks away, “Fred said. “I’ll think about it and let you know.”

In the other room, water shut off and chairs scraped against the floor. Porter jerked his head in the direction of the kitchen. “Sounds like they’re coming. You know Harriet’s not going to let you rest until you give her the answer she wants.”

Before Fred could respond, footsteps clattered on the hardwood floor and a moment later Harriet and Nancy burst into the room. Harriet still wore her apron, and she’d left a kitchen towel draped over one shoulder. She had lighter hair than any of her sisters, but there was no mistaking which family she came from.

Nancy followed her mother, carrying a tray loaded with steaming mugs of coffee. She must have been about thirty, Fred calculated—give or take a year or two. The only girl out of the Jorgensens’ five children, she had her mother’s light hair, but her eyes were honey brown, just like Phoebe’s had been. Those eyes, inherited from a maternal grandmother, had marked the family connection through several generations.

Harriet beamed at them and waved Nancy toward the coffee table. “Well, here we are. Anybody want coffee?”

“It’s not decaf is it?” Fred asked.

She handed him a mug and jerked her head toward her husband. “Are you kidding? Porter would divorce me if I tried to give him decaf.” She perched on the edge of the couch and let her gaze linger on Fred as he sipped cautiously. “So, did he talk you into coming for Labor Day?”

Fred smiled and shook his head. “He asked, but I don’t know—”

Harriet put a hand on his knee. “Please, Fred? We’ve missed you. Holidays aren’t the same without you.”

“They’re not the same without Phoebe,” he said.

He half expected Harriet’s eyes to grow misty, but in her typical bullheaded way she refused to let the emotion take hold. “No, they’re not. But we can’t change that, can we? This is ridiculous, Fred. We live less than thirty miles apart, but we’ve hardly seen you in the past three years.”

“I’m here tonight,” he pointed out.

“Yes you are,” Harriet admitted. “And it’s a good thing, too. I’ve just about reached the end of my patience with you.”

Nancy grabbed a mug and wedged herself into a corner of the couch. “Come on, Uncle Fred. Admit it. You’ve missed us too.”

He had. No denying it.

As if sensing his hesitation, Harriet touched his knee again. “Dorothy’s bringing that casserole you like so much—”

Against his will, a laugh escaped. “Now you’re fighting dirty.”

Harriet pushed at his knee and chuckled. “The best way to win you over has always been with food. Why do you think Phoebe spent one whole summer learning how to bake? We all thought we’d die in that hot old house before you got around to proposing.”

Porter flicked through another couple of channels. “You might as well give up, Fred. You don’t stand a chance. They’ve been plotting against you all summer, planning a menu with all your favorite dishes and who knows what else.”

Fred laughed, but before he could reply the front door slammed open and cut off what he’d been about to say. Nancy’s husband, Adam Bigelow, stood in the doorway, his chest heaving from exertion or emotion, Fred couldn’t tell which, and a stream of hot summer air swept into the room with him.

As just about six feet tall, Adam wasn’t a small man. He had the broad-shouldered build and weathered complexion of a man who worked outdoors, and now that he’d reached his early thirties, he had a fine sprinkling of fray in his dark hair and beard.

Pausing only a second to get his bearings, Adam stormed into the living room toward Nancy. His dark eyes glinted and his breathing was ragged.

Nancy’s smile faded. “Adam? What are you doing here? What’s wrong?”

He jerked his head toward the door. “I want to talk to you right now. Outside.”

A flicker of uncertainty crossed Nancy’s face, but she put down the mug she was holding and stood to face him. “Now? Adam—”

“Right now!” The angry look he gave her made Fred uneasy.

“For Pete’s sake, boy—” Porter snarled.

“Don’t get involved, Porter,” Harriet interrupted. “Let the kids work out whatever it is.”

Nancy looked at each of her parents and managed a weak smile in Fred direction. “I’m sorry—”

“I said now.” Adam grabbed her arm roughly and tried to pull her toward the door.

Nancy jerked away from him. “Let go of me.”

Porter struggled to his feet and tried to step between them. “Whatever you’re upset about, there’s no need to get pushy.”

Adam ignored his father-in-law and grabbed for Nancy again. This time she managed to sidestep him.

Harriet scrambled for Porter’s remote and aimed it at the television. But when she turned up the volume on the first try and changed the channel on her second, she tossed it aside with a cry of irritation.

“Are you coming with me?” Adam demanded.

“Not while you’re acting like this,” Nancy said with a toss of her head. She was trying to look brave, but Fred could see anxiety in her eyes.

He wondered if he should leave. He’d recently seen Douglas through a divorce and he didn’t have the stomach to hear more angry accusations and bitter recriminations. But a quick glance around the room told him that it wouldn’t be easy to slip out. Harriet was blocking the door to the kitchen and Adam was standing between him and the front door. Leaving right now would call more attention to himself than he wanted so he sat back in his chair and tried to make himself invisible.

When the television show gave way to a commercial, the volume jumped again. Growling in frustration, Porter marched toward the set and turned it off manually. “You’re not going anywhere with him, Nancy. Not until he calms down.” He turned on Adam with an angry scowl. “You have some nerve barging in to my house like this.”

Fury contorted Adam’s face. “This isn’t your concern, Porter.”

Harriet fluttered her hands toward the couch. “Why don’t you sit down, Adam? I’m sure you two can work out whatever’s wrong.”

Adam laughed bitterly. “I don’t know what I’m thinking. There’s nothing to work out. I’m talking to an attorney first thing tomorrow.”

It had gone this far, then. Fred sure hated to see it. He knew how deep the wounds of divorce could cut.

Harriet cried out as if Adam had struck her. “What? Oh, Adam, you don’t mean that.” She turned to Nancy and grabbed her arms. “He didn’t mean it, sweetie.”

Nancy’s eyes filled with tears and her face crumpled in pain. “Yes he does, Mom.”

“No,” Harriet insisted. “You’ll see.” She reached a pleading hand toward her son-in-law. “Maybe you and I should talk about it, Adam.”

Nancy tugged her backward. “No, Mom. Adam’s right. This is between him and me—”

Adam barked another angry laugh. “If that were true, we might have a chance. But it’s been a long time since things were between the two of us, hasn’t it?”

Harriet let go of Nancy and began to wring her hands. Adam took advantage of that to grab Nancy’s arm and jerk her toward the door. He must have gripped her too tightly or pulled too roughly because she cried out in pain.

That’s all it took for Porter to lose his temper. Red-faced and breathing hard, he lunged toward Adam. “You hurt her again and I’ll take you apart.”

“Please don’t, Dad,” Nancy begged, trying in vain to pull away from Adam.

Adam refused to let go and jerked her toward the door again. “Now, Nancy. I’m not waiting all night while you milk your parents for sympathy.”

Embarrassed to witness the argument and concerned for everyone involved, Fred wished they would stop. That they’d go their separate ways tonight and discuss it later, when their emotions had cooled. If they let this go on too long, it would be hard to repair the damage later.

Nancy bit her lip as if Adam had hurt her again, and Porter’s round face turned even redder. “Let go of her, you little son of a bitch—”

Adam finally let go of Nancy, but only so he could get in Porter’s face. “Stay out of this, Porter, unless you want to hear things you’d rather not know about. Nancy can tell the whole damned lot of you about it later. . .” His mouth twisted into an ugly smile. “. . .if she wants to.”

As if she’d suddenly regained control, Nancy snarled at her husband. “Stop it, Adam. You want to talk? Fine. We’ll talk. But leave my parents out of this.”

At least she was willing to talk, Fred thought. Maybe they’d discuss it rationally—whatever it was—when they were alone.

And they might have if Porter hadn’t rushed after Nancy shouting, “You’re not going anywhere with him. Not unless he calms down.”

Adam’s face turned to stone. He leaned too close to Porter and when he spoke his voice came out low and frighteningly controlled. “If you had any idea. . .”

“All right, you want a divorce?” Nancy shouted. “You’ve got it. Just get out of here before you do any more damage.”

Harriet looked at Fred as if she thought he should do something, but he stayed put. Much as he hated watching this scene play out, he had no intention of getting involved. He’d learned his lesson with his own children. He worked hard not to interfere in their lives, and he wasn’t about to walk into the middle of his niece’s troubles. Besides, he was no match for Adam physically and he doubted Adam would listen if Fred tried to calm him down.

“Before I do more damage?” Adam demanded. He laughed bitterly. “You’re something else, you know that?”

Nancy turned away from him and Harriet started to say something, but Porter put one arm around Harriet’s shoulders and spoke before she could. “You heard her. Get the hell out.”

Adam’s lip curled. “That’s the way you handle everything, isn’t it? Can’t even think about telling you the truth about any of your precious children because you wouldn’t believe the truth if it hit you in the face. Well they’re not the angels you think they are, Porter.”

As if Adam had given him an idea, Porter shot out his fist and connected with Adam’s face. Blood spurted from the boy’s nose and all hell broke loose. Nancy cried out in shock. Harriet ran toward her husband shouting something, and Adam answered with a right hook to Porter’s stomach and a quick left to his jaw.

Too late, Porter jerked to cover himself too late, groaning when Adam’s fist knocked the wind out of him. Belatedly, Fred realized that maybe remaining neutral was the wrong decision. He worked his way to his feet, a lot slower than he wanted to. He still didn’t think he could restrain Adam, but he had to do something before someone got seriously hurt.

Before he could cross the room, Nancy threw herself between her father and husband. Harriet shouted and Adam tried to hit Porter again, but because Nancy had planted herself between them, he struck her arm and shoulder instead. She cried out and gripped her arm with her free hand.

Porter pulled himself upright, still trying to catch his breath. “Call the sheriff, Harriet.”

Harriet said something Fred couldn’t quite hear, and Nancy sank onto the couch, burying her face in her hands.

Adam let his gaze wander over Nancy slowly, and Fred saw bare hatred there. “Congratulations,” Adam said softly. “You’ve got what you wanted. I don’t ever want to see you again.”

“Adam, no!” Harriet cried and tried to grab him.

He shrugged her off and slammed out the door.

Harriet caught back a sob and rounded on her husband. “Now look what you’ve done. Go after him.”

“The hell I will,” Porter snapped, his angry red face a sharp contrast to his snowy white hair. “And neither will anyone else.” He dropped heavily into his chair and rubbed his jaw gingerly. The look on his face left no doubt that he meant what he said.

Harriet looked just as angry as her husband. “You’ve ruined everything. The kids could have worked things out if you hadn’t jumped into the middle of their argument. Did you hear what he said to her? Did you hear?”

“I heard, and I say good riddance to bad rubbish.”

Harriet shoved her hands onto her hips. “You’ve going to have to apologize to him tomorrow, you know.”

Porter glared at her. “I’m not apologizing. I’m not a bit sorry for anything I said. Or did.”

Harriet stared at him for one long moment as if she couldn’t believe her ears. “One of these days, you’re going to go too far,” she said. And without another word, she walked out of the room.

(copyrighted material)

___________________________________

Want to keep reading? You can buy a copy for your Kindle here or read the book free with your Kindle Unlimited subscription.

Excerpt from A Time to Dream

2015-09-29T03:00:00.000-05:00

(copyrighted material)

Hannibal, Missouri 1999

Heart thudding, head fuzzy, and eyes still blurry from sleep, Shelby Miller tried not to trip over the hem of her robe as she raced down the grand staircase. She’d been in the middle of a perfectly lovely dream when someone started pounding on the door and jerked her mercilessly awake. Whoever it was, she thought as she stumbled past the landing, they’d better have a good reason for waking her.

Early morning sunlight spilled down the staircase from the huge window on the landing and into the foyer through the full-length windows flanking the door. Even this early—surely not later than seven o’clock—the temperature and the dense Missouri humidity made her long for central air conditioning.

Clutching the collar of her robe, she ran her free hand through the curls she could feel bobbing wildly with every step—the hated curls that had earned her the nickname “Medusa” as a child. She’d probably scare whoever was so rudely—and insistently—banging on the door. Well, if she did, it served them right. Maybe it would teach them a lesson in manners.

Before she could make it to the bottom of the staircase, the pounding started up again. “Hold on,” she shouted impatiently. “I’m coming.” Shelby had never been at her best in the morning, which was one of the reasons she loved her position at Winterhill. She didn’t have to look perky, dress for success, or even be coherent before noon if she didn’t want to be.

Slipping a little as she crossed the polished wood floor, she skidded to a stop in front of the massive door and yanked it open. Jon Davenport, her dearest friend in Hannibal—her only real friend anywhere—stood on the porch, backed by the rising sun, his hand raised to knock again.

She let out an annoyed sigh. “What are you doing?”

Jon lowered his arm quickly and ignored her question. “It’s about time you answered. Where were you?”

“In bed. Asleep.” She stepped aside to let him enter and closed the door behind him. “Why aren’t you at work? And why are you banging on my door like the world’s coming to an end?”

“You might think it has ended when I tell you what I just heard on the morning news.” Jon’s eyes were dark and uncharacteristically solemn, his mouth nothing more than a thin slash cut into his tanned face.

Shelby made another vain attempt to tame her curls. “Okay, I’ll bite. What did you hear?”

“The news report said that Evan McDonald has put Winterhill up for sale.”

It took a moment for Jon’s words to sink in completely, but when they did, the old, familiar anxiety began to pulse through Shelby’s veins. “He’s done what?”

“He’s listed this house on the market.”

Praying that she’d heard wrong, Shelby shook her head. “That can’t be right. He can’t do that.”

“He can,” Jon said, “and, according to the news, he has.”

“But why?” Her voice came out sharp, but she made no effort to soften it as she went on. “I thought he’d decided to restore Winterhill.”

“Apparently, he’s decided not to.”

Time slowed, ice water flowed through her veins, and a steady pounding started somewhere behind her eyes. Working as caretaker at Winterhill for the past six months had given her the first security she’d ever known. She’d even started to believe it would last. She should have known better. “But why didn’t Evan tell me first?”

“Who knows?” Jon moved closer and put a hand on her shoulder. The weight of his hand and the depth of his concern bore down on her.

She tried to step away from both. She’d spent most of her twenty-eight years on her own. Jon’s friendship was the first real tie she’d ever had to anyone or anything, and it still left her slightly off balance.

Jon didn’t let her escape. “Even when Evan’s mother was alive, he didn’t like this house, Shelby. And to tell you the truth, everyone at the historical society was surprised when he hired you instead of selling it after she died.”

She couldn’t bear the gentleness in his voice. It made the pain worse somehow. She’d grown to love Winterhill. She’s let herself dream of staying here in Hannibal. Its history appealed to her and made her long to be a part of it.

She moved toward the front window, glancing outside and letting her gaze linger on the crumbling turrets of the neighboring house that was barely visible above the rows of trees separating the two properties. “What about Summervale?” she asked softly, turning back to face her friend. “What about the movement to save the twin houses?”

“There is no movement,” Jon admitted reluctantly. “I haven’t been able to whip up much excitement about saving Summervale. Most people think it’s already too dilapidated to save. And without Winterhill—” He broke off and shrugged helplessly.

“But the twin houses are a piece of Hannibal’s history.”

“A piece nobody’s much interested in,” Jon reminded her.

Shelby pushed a curl away from her forehead. “Maybe whoever buys Winterhill will be interested in restoring both houses.”

“I doubt it,” Jon said, shaking his head slowly. “People are speculating that Evan will sell this place to some industry or developer.”

Shelby’s heart twisted painfully. “And they’ll tear it down. And Summervale will follow.”

“Probably.”

Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to give in to them. Crying had never solved a problem for her, not even once in her life. “I won’t let that happen,” she said, lifting her chin.

A shadow flitted behind his eyes. “You can’t stop it, Shel. The only real selling point we’ve ever had in trying to save the houses was that they’re less than two miles apart, built by the same man within only a few years of each other, and virtually identical in every respect.”

“Yes. Exactly!” She in front of the window, ignoring the pity she saw on his face, fighting her sudden flash of resentment. “And the mystery, of course.”

“There’s no mystery.” Jon’s voice sharpened slightly as it always did when she raised the subject. “Summervale belonged to a crazy woman who lived as a recluse most of her life—”

“Yes, and Winterhill belonged to the husband and children who lived within spitting distance of her and never saw her.” Shelby let the fear building inside her come out as anger. “And nobody knows why. You can’t tell me that’s not fascinating stuff.”

“It’s not fascinating stuff,” Jon said, his voice slightly more gentle. “Not fascinating enough to convince anyone to shell out the fortune it would take to restore Summervale. Not enough to save Winterhill.” The pity in his eyes deepened. “Nobody cares, Shelby.”

“I care.” Desperation made the pounding in her head worse. If she couldn’t even convince Jon to fight for the houses, how could she convince anyone else? She waved a jerky hand toward the window and Summervale and tried again. “There was no hint of insanity before Agatha married Zacharias.”

“So, her husband drove her crazy,” Jon said with a lazy shrug. “The point is—”

“The point is,” Shelby interrupted, growing angrier and more hurt by the minute, “if we could find out what happened to her, maybe we could generate public interest in the houses.”

“We’ve tried to find out what happened,” Jon reminded her, “over and over again. Zacharias’s papers hardly mention Agatha at all, and we can’t find any of her letters or journals.”

“That doesn’t mean they don’t exist. There has to be some record somewhere. Some explanation for why Agatha turned her back on her children.”

Jon’s eyes roamed her face, searching, probing, and making her distinctly uncomfortable. “Is that why you’re so obsessed with the Logans?”

“I’m not obsessed,” Shelby insisted. “I’m interested. There’s a difference.”

“Aw, Shelby.” Jon touched her shoulder again. “Finding out why some woman—a woman who’s been dead for more than a hundred years—turned her back on her children isn’t going to explain why your mother abandoned you.”

Shelby jerked away and wished she’d kept that part of her past secret from him, as she had from everyone else. “My mother didn’t abandon me. She put me up for adoption. The fact that nobody ever wanted to adopt me wasn’t her fault.”

Pity filled his entire expression now. “Why do you stick up for your mother, Shel?”

“I’m not sticking up for her,” Shelby said quickly. She hated thinking anyone felt sorry for her. She might not have any idea who her mother was. She might have bounced from one foster home to another as a child. She might even have moved from one city to the next as an adult, but that didn’t mean anybody had to feel sorry for her. Many people had difficult childhoods. It happened, and she’d long ago adjusted to the hard parts of her own life.

She forced a laugh and tried to change the subject. “We’re not talking about me,” she said firmly. “We’re talking about the twin houses.” She put some distance between herself and Jon again, trailing her fingers across the gleaming wood of the bannister. “If Agatha hadn’t died so young. Or if Zacharias had stayed in Hannibal. . . If they’d stayed together, there’d probably still be Logans living in both of these houses, and they wouldn’t be in danger now.”

“Maybe,” Jon said without conviction. “But Agatha did die, and Zacharias didn’t stay. And the houses have brought bad luck to every family who’s tried to live in them since.”

“That’s nothing but superstition.”

“Maybe.” Jon glanced at a scowling portrait of Zacharias hanging on the wall of the landing. “But wishing things had turned out differently won’t change anything.”

“I know that.” And she did. Only too well. She dropped onto one of the steps and stretched out her legs in front of her. “I’m not delusional, but I can’t stand by and let these houses be destroyed, Jon. I just can’t.”

Jon sat beside her, his shoulder barely grazing hers. “What do you have in mind?”

“Nothing, unfortunately. Not yet, anyway.”

Jon put a hand over hers and rested his cheek on the top of her head. “If I thought you had a chance, I’d help you in whatever way I could. You know that, right?” She nodded uncertainly and he let out a sigh that spoke of tested patience. “Why don’t I ask around and see if I can find you another job somewhere?”

Shelby fought the urge to draw away. “I don’t want another job. I want to save the twin houses.”

“I know. And I wish I knew of a way for you to do that. But I just don’t want you to get your hopes up. You can’t rewrite history.”

“Well, I wish I could,” she muttered as a wave of futility crashed over her.

Maybe she should know better than to get her hopes up. Maybe she should have learned her lesson after watching her dreams vaporize one by one over the years. But everything had seemed so different here in Hannibal, and the longer she stayed, the more she loved it.

She took a deep breath and tried to pull herself together. But she couldn’t face losing another home and having to start all over again. After the last time, she’d vowed it wouldn’t happen again. And that was a promise she intended to keep—no matter what it took.

(copyrighted material)

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Does the Race Really Go to the Swiftest?

2015-09-22T03:00:00.000-05:00

In a world where the race goes to the swiftest, do you ever feel as if you're lagging behind? Struggling just to stay in the pack, never mind moving into the lead? Do you feel as if you're peddling as fast as you can and getting nowhere? Don't worry. You are not alone.

With all the advice out there, it's easy to get overwhelmed. It always has been, but now, with all the social media and the quick exchange of information from hundreds of thousands of people (dare I say millions) all at once, all the time, it's both better that it's ever been before and, somehow, worse.

Back a billion years ago, right after I sold my first book and became eligible to join the Published Author Network (PAN) of Romance Writers of America (RWA), I received a booklet containing advice about what to do after my first sale. The problem was, the booklet didn't arrive until just a few weeks before my first book was set to hit the shelves, and most of the advice was stuff I should have done weeks and months before. I remember staring at that booklet and feeling completely conflicted. I was exhilarated because I qualified to have the thing in the first place and but I also felt overwhelmed and a bit hopeless because it seemed to me that the advice had arrived too late to do me any good.

Yesterday, as I scrolled through the thousands of posts, tweets, and pictures and tweets, I found myself feeling much the same thing. I was exhilarated because, after years of living with an undiagnosed illness and the utter debilitating fatigue that came with it, I'm finally starting to feel well enough to make an effort to get my career back on track. But I'm also overwhelmed by the sheer volume of advice that's out there and feeling a little hopeless because in my weaker moments, it feels like too little, too late.

Part of my current issue, is that the publishing world has changed so much from when I first signed up for the race. Back then, it was all about getting your work in front of an agent and/or editor and what the Big 6 publishing houses wanted. Now, with the advent of independent publishing, there's so much more to learn it's mind-boggling.

That's okay. Really it is. Because while I have thoroughly enjoyed a 20+ year career working with a couple of the Big 6 publishing houses, and will continue as long as it's mutually beneficial, I'm also really excited by the freedom that going independent offers to authors. But going independent means that there are five or six other full-time jobs I need to take on to produce and promote my books in addition to the writing itself, which we all know is a more-than-full-time job.

And much of the "advice" available today doesn't come across as advice at all. It's demanding. It's delivered in the form of orders and rules. It's black-and-white, no questions asked dictates: 10 Things You Must Never Do or 25 Things You Must Do Immediately! because current wisdom says we must be bold, authoritative, and confident and we must never show weakness. (Oh what I wouldn't give for a touch of honest vulnerability!)

Much of this bold, authoritative, confident advice is worth listening to and considering, and even trying. But some of it doesn't make any sense at all (at least not to me). Some of it is counter-intuitive (why should it matter to my tweeting schedule how many people are following me on Twitter? Isn't the real factor that affects how many times my tweet will appear in their feed based on how many people they follow?) And a lot of it is conflicting: Don't use social media to promote your book is immediately followed by Always use social media to promote your book.

So maybe in this overloaded, overwhelming world some of the old rules should still apply:

Be open.
By all means, listen.
Consider.
Especially if you're not exactly where you want to be in your career, be willing to try new things.
Then keep what works
And discard the rest.
And write the best book you can

Ultimately, I'm not convinced that the race goes to the swiftest. I think the race really goes to s/he who doesn't give up.

Release Day! A Time to Dream

2015-09-15T04:00:00.000-05:00

It's up! It's here! It's ready to download.

I'm really excited to share this book with you again after all this time. It was a lot of fun to write, and the characters still have a special place in my heart. It was fun for me to reconnect with Zacharias, Agatha and Shelby. I hope you enjoy visiting them again or meeting them for the first time.

Originally published by Jove Time Passages in 1999, A Time to Dream remains a reader favorite.

Hannibal, Missouri, 1999 -- While trying to save two historic houses from an uncertain fate, caretaker Shelby Winters is whisked back in time--and into the body of Zacharias Logan's estranged wife...

Hannibal, Missouri, 1871 -- Becoming Agatha Logan is no walk in the park for Shelby. Agatha has secrets she hasn't shared with anyone and her marriage to Zacharias is all but over.

Shelby is undeniably attracted to Zacharias, but he has secrets too. Even in the past, Shelby doesn't know why Zacharias built two identical houses or why his marriage to Agatha is in trouble. If she is to preserve the houses, she must mend the marriage and get back home before she loses her head--and her heart--completely...

Click here to buy your copy. Also available on Kindle Unlimited.

Have Coffee with Fred

2015-09-09T14:12:00.000-05:00

Click here to order "No Place for Death."http://amzn.to/1Mvej9W
here to order "No Place Like Home"http://amzn.to/1tZDLIe
and here to order "No Place for Secrets"http://amzn.to/1frFlex

Announcing This Month's Release!

2015-09-02T11:40:00.004-05:00

I'm getting ready to re-release A Time to Dream later this month and I'm pretty stoked. It was originally released by Jove Time Passages in 1999 as a paperback original, and it remains a reader favorite. As I went through the manuscript to make sure it was ready for a new life and tweak a line or two, I was really thrilled to discover how much I still love the story.

My designer is hard at work on the new cover, and I hope to have a cover reveal ready for you in the next few days.

Meanwhile, Zacharias and Shelby (Agatha) are two of my favorites in a long list of characters that I've spent time with in the past 20 years. It was great fun hanging out with the two of them, remembering all the twists and turns in their relationship and meeting their friends and family again. Yes I know they're fictional, but they're real to me. I hope they become real to you.

Set in Hannibal, Missouri, on the banks of the Mississippi River, A Time to Dream is first and foremost a love story about the longing to belong and the power of forgiveness--and who doesn't need that at some point in their lives?

Stay tuned for more details!

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photo credit: 112. Bowlegged: Third Floor the Inn at Cape May via photopin (license)

photo credit: Mississippi Palisades State Park via photopin (license)