Sunday, July 19, 2015
Hunks At The Beach

pic1Band of Bachelors coming this summer
I love beach scenes on the covers of novels. I love the whole white-sand-blue-ocean-thing. Tanned bodies lounging without a care in the world, or so it seems.

We are, after all, in the middle of summer. The year is half over. Before long we’ll be making plans for the holidays. We hear the crickets chirping and see the bright rose-orange glow of sunset, hear the waves crashing and hear the sea birds crying.

I have nothing but happy memories of being at the beach with my grandfather. For two glorious weeks out of the year we got to go to his mobile home in Santa Cruz. We’d see the fireworks on the beach at Capitola on 4th of July. He was a pastor, never making much in the way of money, but his trailer perpetually parked at a year-round park, gave him an inexpensive respite. Our favorite thing to do was eat pancakes, and it was a contest to see who could eat more, me, my brother or my grandfather. I usually won. But sometimes he did!

My beach bum grandson. Yeah, he’s a hunk too.pic2

I can remember walking the beach with him, talking about anything but religion. Grandpa was like that. He never forced anything on anyone. One of the good guys, the white hats. Because I was little, he seemed like a giant, even though he was only about six feet, a little shorter than my dad, but for some reason, he seemed taller. His long legs stretched to the sky. He took two hour walks and wore his swim trunks well into his eighties, always insisting on being fit and in the sun to have a tan year-round. He’d fashioned a home made windbreaker, created the stakes and had them sewn together in a canvas ribbon that would keep the wind off us. Grandpa could have sold hundreds of these if he’d wanted to do something else other than preach. My grandmother would sit under the shade of our umbrella with Noxema on her nose. She burned easily.

After my grandmother died, he retired at near eighty. Now that he is gone, the beach belongs to the hunks again. Belongs to the fantasies in my stories about love and the happily ever after. But as a child, the beach was all about grandfather, and the horizon on the ocean, about dodging waves and daring to dream of what my life was going to be like. Who would I meet? Would I ever fall in love and would that love be as powerful as the ocean?

pic 3Band of Bachelors, novella in Hot SEALs
I’m so excited to announce that my novella, Band of Brothers: Lucas, will be part of the launch of Cat Johnson’s Kindle World Hot SEALs 8/4/15, along with some dozen other fabulous authors. We began this anthology over a year ago with Hot Alpha SEALs, which hit the NYT and USA lists when it came out. Now many of the same authors are involved in this new world. Hope you enjoy the journey.

What about you? What kinds of memories does the beach have for you? Memories of childhood? Loves? Stolen dreams or wonderful vacations?

Sharon Hamilton
Life is one fool thing after another.
Love is two fool things after each other.
Author Page ** Sharon’s Blog ** Sharon’s Website ** Facebook**Twitter

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A Laugh Till It Hurts Literal Leigh Romance Diaries Spin-off
Witches, Werebears, and Imps. Oh my!
Waiting for Karma is fine—for the patient. But for the rest of us, it sure would be nice to give Karma a little nudge every once in a while.
Too many dates that turned out to be losers or liars? Have a problem with two-faced backstabbers? And don’t even start with the so-called customer service centers. There comes a day when enough is really, truthfully, enough already. For Kelly and Esmeralda, two snarky single witches, that day was yesterday. After applying their witchcraft to dish out a little magical payback, they realize they have a penchant for the dark art of revenge. And who’s to say a witch can’t make a few bucks with a talent like that?
Doing the odd job was fun and gratifying. Then along came an unusual client with a pitch for an idea, “Karma Inc.-Reality TV.” The witches set up shop in the sleepy little town of Caldron Falls, Wisconsin. By enabling the good citizens to settle old scores, they hoped to transform the town into a virtual coliseum of televised revenge. It didn’t take long before a few inconvenient and unexpected dead bodies began to pile up. To complicate matters, Caldron Falls just happens to have more than its fair share of paranormal creatures, not to mention a Chicago mobster seemingly bent on taking over the town.
Can Esmeralda and Kelly solve the rash of unexplained deaths before they get the blame and end up behind bars? What will Marie Laveau and the Witches Union have to say about this? And as any fool knows, Karma carries a roundtrip ticket.
©2015 Melanie James karma

“SEAL’s Code: Bad Boys of Team 3 (SEAL Brotherhood #10)” By Sharon Hamilton
Blog Tour
July 1, 2015 – July 14, 2015
HTML CODE

SEAL’s Code
Bad Boys of Team 3 (SEAL Brotherhood #10)
By Sharon Hamilton

Blurb:

Danny Begay has tried to drive out the voices of his ancestors for most of his young life, but the life springing from his Navajo roots will not die. He is summoned back to Arizona to visit his dying grandfather, one of the original Navajo Code Talkers. Ashamed he has disappointed his hero grandfather he buries himself one more time in the arms of a stranger before he goes back to his home in Northern California. 
Luci Tohe teaches at the reservation school, safeguarding the health of her ailing mother and little sister’s future, at the temporary expense of her own. She doesn’t expect the young Dine warrior she meets to be anything but a distraction from her loneliness. She knows she will dream about their hot encounter for years. 
Danny cleans his life up, joins the Navy and becomes a SEAL, where he becomes the man he knew he was destined to become. Between deployments, he goes back visit the girl he cannot get out of his mind. The reservation has become a dangerous place for Luci’s family and soon Danny is embroiled in not only saving Luci, but her whole family as well. 
Available for purchase at 
      
Excerpt
The Blue Fox bar, just outside the res from Flagstaff, where Wilson lived, was perfect. Like all the Ukiah dives Danny had spent time in, it was populated with pot growers and some over-the-hill hippies. Music choices ranged from Waylon Jennings and Johnny Cash to Emilou Harris, the old ones. Seeing as they were in Arizona, it was also dotted with bikers and people just passing through. The legendary Route 66. 
He and Wilson parted without him saying much at all about the revelation Wilson had made. Wilson threw the keys at Danny and took off. Danny grabbed a motel room and went searching to drown the spirits that wouldn’t stop their chatter.
A few local guys he knew from his childhood sat at dark tables in the corner, playing cards. As usual, they wore black, high crown felt hats; the same he used to watch White Owl make as he sat on his grandfather’s knee. Grandfather risked the ire of Danny’s mother by bringing him here starting as a boy of six; when he was old enough to not get into trouble. That was a long time ago.
He stalked over to the bartender, his cowboy boots knocking familiarly on the old plank floor that hadn’t been washed in a month. Returning to his roots required a couple doses of courage to smother the voices in his head. The singing way of his people was lilting up to the skies, no doubt announcing the arrival of Grandfather. He also heard the collective songs of his ancestors in celebratory response. It used to terrify him as a young boy, and it still did today. Especially today.
The place smelled of old piss and even older spilled beer. He’d forgotten how familiar the smells were, from a time when the world was simple, when all he worried about was making sure his balls didn’t get pinched because his skinny butt was perched on his grandfather’s thigh. It had been nearly thirteen years since he’d set foot in the Blue Fox, and yet it was like stepping back in time. Nothing had changed. Maybe that’s what terrified him most.
Scenes from his childhood tickled and danced all around him. White Owl would tell the stories, and Grandfather would request the music be turned down and would fill in the blanks, often correcting him. Grandfather was the keeper of the legends. He didn’t like embellishments or modern details.
“The old way is still the best. Been the best for hundreds of man-years. We honor those who came before to tell it to the young ones the way it was told to them. And then they can choose for themselves.”
White Owl told him in secret one day Grandfather had it in for him because White Owl got the girl Grandfather wanted to marry. But then his grandfather met Jenny, his grandmother, and all debts were forgotten. Not forgiven, just forgotten.
Music flooded the tiny, dark bar. The same twangy country tunes that hadn’t been played on the AM channels for thirty years and never on the XM, except for quaint oldies specials. These tunes debuted on eight-track tapes or LPs. Probably hadn’t been changed out of the jukebox since before he was born. 
His grandfather had a whole collection of oldies in his garage. Danny and Wilson had tossed those precious records like flying saucers one afternoon, destroying the bulk of them. The two boys couldn’t sit down for nearly three days from the whipping they both got from Danny’s aunt, Wilson’s mother. They’d have gotten another one too if Grandfather had not been at a tribal meeting in Washington D.C. Something official was in the air that summer, and he spent a lot of it gone from the res.
Tonight, Danny was grateful for the fact that the music was loud. It competed with the shrill voices in his head which roared up in a near panic again when he tilted his forehead to the corner where the card players were.  They answered him back with stoic indifference. They knew who he was. He wasn’t really coming back. They knew why, knew Grandfather and everyone else on the res, and distrusted him because of it. They probably thought he was being Native American when it suited him, when he could show it off. A fair-weather Indian, they called it.
The crying wind and whispering voices died down as he approached the bar. 
“Beer.”
He knew there was not much choice. He was served two Route 66 Specials, a brewery owned by an old friend of his father’s. The signal probably hadn’t changed in over twenty years: if you ordered one drink and the house gave you two, you only had to pay for one.
An exotic scent drifted his way. Turning in that direction, he imagined some Asian or Parisian hooker on his right. But her skin was like the way he drank his chai latte, a light caramel brown. Her high cheekbones contrasted with her shiny obsidian black hair, which was held with a large clip made of polished turquoise and silver—a classic Navajo beauty. She could have been the ghost of his dead sister. 
It was usually hard for him to look at Navajo women and find them attractive, because all he could see was Natomi’s lifeless face staring back up at him, her warm brown skin a chalkish purple. He told himself over and over that he preferred women with hair the colors of the fall back in California or the color of spun gold like in his dreams. 
She glanced at his beer and ordered the same without looking at him, but he knew she’d taken stock of him and had probably selected the stool next to him on purpose. Something at the base of his skull buzzed and his ears started to get red. It was a sign he was too familiar with and meant one of two things. She turned him on big time or there was impending danger. Maybe both. Many times he couldn’t tell the difference. Most of the time there was no difference.
The large mirror over the bar was cracked, but he saw her cool smile, one full lip with its edge upturned, revealing an old thin scar. Her dark eyes pulled at him and he knew her instantly to be a sucker of souls.
“You’re new,” she said to the mirror.
He could feel her breathing, imagined what her flesh would feel like if he smoothed his fingers down her thigh. “Actually, I’m not here at all.”
She turned on the stool, grabbing her beer, and took a sip while she examined him. She was still smiling when she was done.
“You look pretty fuckin’ here, Dine kind. But then, maybe I’m a ghost, too, and maybe I see dead people.”
That deserved his attention, so he allowed his body to turn, facing her, knees touching hers. Through the stiff denim of his jeans, he could feel her body vibrate like the inner workings of an expensive Swiss timepiece.
“I’m Danny Begay. My mother is Miwok. My father’s side is from the Corn Pollen Clan. Chester Begay is my grandfather. I believe he will die tonight.” He watched it sink in, and wondered if his traditional side made a difference to her. She bit her lip just below the slight scar that slashed her upper lip, probably from an old injury. It made her look dangerous and sexy as hell. A slight worry line creased her right eye with just a touch of a twitch.
She turned back to the counter, staring down as if examining the head on her beer, allowing her unpolished nail on her left forefinger to dip into the sudsy froth and draw a figure eight. “Then it sucks to be you.”
He had to agree with her. It sucked he’d never made much of himself, and now his Grandfather was going to die knowing that too. He wasn’t sure of his potential for spiritual growth anytime soon either. His cousin had just scared the liver out of him. That sucked, too.
That left only one option for this evening. To get drunk. Maybe get her so drunk she’d go back with him to the motel. He glanced around the room and didn’t see any white boys, so figured he’d have a chance with her. With any luck, neither one would remember a thing in the morning. He’d get the call Grandfather was gone. He could pay his respects, stay for the ceremony, and then get his butt out of Arizona and back to Northern California. Forget this sandy hellhole for as long as the drink lasted.
“I am Luci Tohe of the Where Two Waters Meet Clan,” she whispered.
He noted she was not a clan cousin. “So why are you here?” he started. “Cheaper to drink at home, and a whole lot less dangerous, the drive, I mean.” He was surprised by his own words.
She answered the mirror again. “I know what you meant, Dine kind. I teach at the school.”
“Ah. First choice or last choice?” He knew it was a risk to ask, but he couldn’t help himself.
She almost spit her beer out. “Gawd, it must be true. That old fart gave you some of those visions.”
He turned and tilted his head, wondering what she meant. She addressed him this time by angling slightly so her knees wouldn’t touch his again. Her face in partial profile was masked. She was trying to hide something. “I’m not a do-gooder. Not one of those. I get to hide in plain sight. But I do carry a gun.”
“Running from something?”
“Nope.” She licked her lips, her tongue lingering there a little long, her eyes again focused down on the counter. “I am the sole breadwinner and protector of my little tribe. My mother and my little sister.”
“Except you drink too much.” He knew she’d not like that comment.
“As do you. I can smell an alcoholic a mile away.” Then she gave him the sultry look he was waiting for. “I seem to be drawn to them, like a string of bad pennies, little babbling storytellers. Can’t help it. My nature, I guess.”
Well, she’d already said twice as many words as he normally liked in a woman, and hadn’t given him nearly enough “looks,” but he was game.
“Humor me. What makes you drawn to me?”
Her full focus on his face almost made him blush. Her power and nature were strong, her soul deep. She did not possess the need to smile from nervousness or to hide the spirit that ran wild inside her. For him, right here and right now, she allowed him to absorb and be warmed by it. Her dark eyes peered back at him honestly. 
“I like your jet black hair, Dine man, and the blackness of your eyes all the way through. The bottomless eyes of the tribal kind. But you weren’t raised here, so maybe you got away, maybe not. In any case, I gotta hurry if I’m going to meet you, because I think tomorrow you’ll be gone.”
“True.” She had him down to the color of his buttons.
“I like your stare, your full lips, and your frankness. I think you like to screw a lot, and I do, too. But that could just be a lie, but ask me if I care?”
“Why would I do that?”
She gave him a gracious smile, showing all her straight white teeth. As if sloughing off an old happy memory, she shrugged and finished her beer. “I’m ready for another, if you’re buying.”
“Oh, I’m buying, but my tab comes with strings,” he said, watching the graceful lines of her profile, all the way down her long neck to the top of her shirt with her breasts pushing up like smooth rounded stones he’d find in an ancient streambed.
Her eyes didn’t peer into his, but stayed focused on his lips. “I prefer rope.”



Book Trailer




Enjoy this NOT PG excerpt from SEAL’s Code narrated by J.D. Hart



About the Author
NYT and USA/Today Bestselling Author Sharon Hamilton’s SEAL Brotherhood series have earned her Amazon author rankings of #1 in Romantic Suspense, Military Romance and Contemporary Romance. Her characters follow a sometimes rocky road to redemption through passion and true love. Her Golden Vampires of Tuscany earned her a #1 Amazon author ranking in Gothic Romance.
A lifelong organic vegetable and flower gardener, Sharon and her husband live in the Wine Country of Northern California, where most of her stories take place.
You can find Sharon at
             

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Blitz: Cooking With The Crazy Lady Authors

The Crazy Lady Authors aren’t just cooking up plots in their books, they’re also cooking up tasty vittles! Hey, we’re ‘crazy’ about you, so we’re ‘dishing’ our best recipes out in this awesome cookbook. It’s the CLA’s way of helping you serve up outstanding dinners in between reading any one of our published works. We know how easy it is to get lost in the pages. Before you know it, the hours have flown by and it’s time for dinner. The hubby is hollering, the kids are complaining, and even the dog wants treats. We figure it’s all our fault so why not help you maintain peace and harmony in your home by providing this amazing book of easy recipes to keep your clan well-fed? We do, however, stop short of coming to your house to cook it all up for you. We’re writing our next novels, after all! Don’t be greedy. Bon appetit!
USA Today Bestselling author, Melanie James spent 14 years as an IT systems administrator before tiring of the hustle and bustle of the technology world. She’s doing what she loves, by writing paranormal comedy, steamy paranormal, and contemporary romance books. Melanie has a Bachelor’s Degree from the University of Wisconsin-Oshkosh in Leadership and Development, with a minor in Women’s Studies. She is working on her Master’s Degree in Adult Education at the University of Wisconsin-Stout.
Melanie is married to a wonderful man who supports her dreams and goals. She has two children, three step-children, a beautiful daughter-in-law, and an adorable grand-baby.
As a child, Teri Riggs made up her own bedtime stories. When her children came along, Teri always tweaked the fairy tales she told her daughters, giving them a bit more punch and better endings when needed.
Now she spends her days turning her ideas into books. She lives in Marietta, GA with her husband.
Terri Hubbard Carle was born and raised in a small town called Kernersville NC. It is not so small anymore, but when I was growing up, everybody knew my whole family. I could not get by with anything! I was a little bitty girl with great big dreams and no direction. I got into more trouble than all my friends combined. I spent two whole years of my life grounded.
Kelly Cozzone was born in New Martinsville, WV. After spending 15 years in Myrtle Beach, SC, she finally made it back to her adopted hometown, Austin, TX.
When Kelly isn’t writing the mystery stories she loves, she is following her beloved Texas Longhorns. An avid football fan, she spends her fall months rooting on her favorite teams.
In addition to being an author, Kelly writes for Examiner.com and shares her thoughts and stories that strike a chord in her on her blog. She is a member of the National Association of Professional Women.
Kelly has been happily married to her husband for 20 years and has three children who are her life.
Angela Ford originates from Nova Scotia…Canada’s Ocean Playground!
Her love of the ocean and sunsets are always in her heart and give her inspiration. Her love for words keeps her turning the page. She is never without a book, whether she’s reading or writing. Her dedication and involvement with cyber safety seminars gave her an Award of Distinction and sparked the idea for her first book Closure.
Between two jobs, being a mom with a home always filled with teenagers and rather interesting stories; she is lucky to have one very patient and understanding man. Every possible quiet moment she finds, she treasures and just writes about the moments to come. She is a member of the RWA and an avid reader of Romance.
Ella Medler is a U.K. author and free-lance editor. She writes fiction in more than one genre in a seemingly vain attempt to slow down her overactive brain enough to write non-fiction on subjects she knows a thing or two about. She also does not believe in the starchy use of English and ignores the type of rule that doesn’t allow for a sentence to be finished in a preposition. Her books – whatever genre they may be – are action-driven. Well-developed, multi-layered characters are her forte.
Loves: freedom.
Hates: her inner censor.
Michele E. Gwynn is a freelance journalist in San Antonio. She writes for newspapers, magazines, and online websites like Examiner.com (under the categories of Film, Animal Rights, and Sex and Relationships), Alwayz Therro Magazine, FashionErotica Digital, and more. She also edits websites and books. Prior to her career in writing, Ms. Gwynn worked first as a referral coordinator, billing manager, then office manager for a dermatology practice.
Much of her career has been spent interviewing all manner of celebrities for Examiner.com, and hometown newspaper and magazines. Life has been kind, and these interviews can be found on her blog over at micheleegwynnauthor.com. She resides in the small town of Schertz, Texas on the northeast side of San Antonio with her four felines who so graciously allow her to reside in their home.
Jayne Hyatt is a novelist who currently lives in Denver, Colorado. A lifelong bookworm, she especially enjoys reading contemporary and historical romance, romantic suspense and mysteries. When she’s not writing, or reading, she’s very likely hanging out with her best friend, cooking up a storm, watching a movie, trying out a new restaurant, browsing in a used book store, or simply daydreaming. As she puts it: “I seem to spend a lot of time daydreaming about what my characters are up to when I’m not with them.”
R.E. Hargrave lives on the outskirts of Dallas, TX where she prides herself on being a domestic engineer. Married to her high school sweetheart, together they are raising three children. She is an avid reader, a sometimes quilter, and now, a writer. Other hobbies include gardening and a love of music. A native ‘mutt,’ Hargrave has lived in New Hampshire, Pennsylvania, South Carolina, Alabama, Texas, and California. She is fond of setting her stories~which range from the sweet to the paranormal to the erotic~on location in South Carolina and Texas, but its anybody’s guess as to what the genre will be!
Enjoying San Francisco as a backdrop, the ghosts in Diane Rinella‘s 150-year old Victorian home augment the chorus in her head. With insomnia as their catalyst, these voices have become multifarious characters that haunt her well into the sun’s crowning hours, refusing to let go until they have manipulated her into succumbing to their whims. Her experiences as an actress, business owner, artisan cake designer, software project manager, Internet radio disc jockey, vintage rock n’ roll journalist/fan girl, and lover of dark and quirky personalities influence her idiosyncratic writing.
Holly Barbo‘s world is shaped by her love of family, the beauty of the natural world and an irrepressible creative drive. She has always been curious and sees life through questions. These four characteristics color her writing voice and her stories frequently evolve from her asking “What if….?” Her tales tend to have non-urban settings with nature contributing to the plot, building discordant themes inside a seemingly peaceful refrain.
Holly weaves alternative worlds with threads from today.
Aubree Lane lives in the beautiful foothills of Northern California with her husband, two wonderful sons, and her super special peek-a-poo, named Tanner.
Her motto: Write Until Your Butt Hurts, And Your Eyes Are Crossed.
When not managing the pooper-scooper, you can find Aubree, also a certified water fitness instructor, leading her Menopausal Mermaids/Crustacean Cronies/Friends for Life, on their quest to become fit and fabulous.
Traveling to her tropical island get away, helps to infuse her creative juices periodically throughout the year.
Aubree and her husband enjoy the harvest of their seasonal garden and relaxing in the paradise they have created, called home.
Jami M Brumfield has a passion for the paranormal, supernatural, and mythological worlds for most of her life. She believes there is a kernel of truth in every story and loves playing detective to discover what that hidden truth is. She has written most of her life. She started with poems and short stories, then graduated to journalism working for online websites. It was only a natural progression that her love of writing and her passion for the unknown would combine. Her books are a product of that union.
Jami is a multi-genre author in the paranormal arena. She currently has eight series out and two more in the writing process. The Winters Saga series is a Young Adult Paranormal Fantasy Adventure with a touch of romance, Mystery Springs Series is an Adult Paranormal Romance with awesome Action and a Mythological twist, PBI (Paranormal Bureau of Investigation) Case Files series is a Paranormal Mystery series with Romantic Suspense, Ghost Connection series is a New Adult Paranormal Mystery series centered around a reluctant medium and her ghostly companions, Shifter Love Tales series is an adult paranormal romance with mythological twist, Paranormal Hypnotherapy Files series is an adult paranormal romance with a metaphysical twist, Vanished is a paranormal dystopian romance series, Magical Secrets Series centers around antique hunters Josie and Joshua Parker and the mysteries they solve from magical antiques they find, and Demon Love Tales an adult paranormal romance series.
Jennifer Theriot hails from the Great State of Texas. She is a career woman, working as CFO of a Texas based real estate investment firm. Working in her capacity as CFO, she felt something was missing and discovered her passion for writing novels–mostly at night and on weekends.
In her limited spare time Jennifer enjoys being outdoors; preferably somewhere on a beach curled up with a good book. Spending time with family and friends, watching a baseball game and enjoying a good bottle of wine are usually on her to-do lists. Jennifer is also ‘MiMi’ to three beautiful grandchildren and a mom to three grown children, all of whom she adores. Theriot is an admitted music junkie, loving every type of music, which takes up most of the memory on her iPhone. She listens to music from sun up to sun down and her love of music is reflected a great deal in her books.
Linda Lee Williams writes “contemporary romance with a paranormal twist.” Her stories revolve around imperfect characters, their families and friends, and a host of life issues. Currently, she has four published novels and is part of a short-story anthology.
After moving to Denver from Chicago, Linda taught creative writing classes and formed a writers’ group. An outdoor enthusiast, she enjoys hiking, biking, and birding. She loves critters of all kinds. During her journeys she’s called Maryland, Virginia, Illinois, Missouri, and Colorado home. Wherever she roams, she finds inspiration in her surroundings.
Although born in New Orleans, Cherime MacFarlane am proud to call myself an Alaskan. I have lived here since 1977. I have seen -40 degrees, hauled water, made bear bacon and I live in a cabin. I have used a fishwheel to catch salmon coming up the Copper River. I was my second husband’s chief mechanic’s helper and roadie. I have cut firewood on shares. I worked as a cocktail waitress during pipeline days in a small lodge on the Richardson Highway.
My second husband, a Scot from Glasgow, was the love of my life. When I write Scots dialect, I personally experienced hearing it from my in laws. When my husband got on the phone to Scotland, after 5 seconds I could barely understand a word.
We moved to Wasilla to get warm. It barely drops past -25 degrees here in the winter. I became a paralegal and worked for over 26 years for the same firm.
Alaska is my home. I never thought I would love it so much, I never want to leave. The beauty of Alaska is a draw I cannot resist. I love the people and the history. I have been captured by a place I came to under duress. Life does play some interesting tricks on one. My love and I were not apart more than 24 hours for 20 plus years. I never wanted to be anywhere but with him. He was a man to run the river with and was my biggest fan.

SUNDAYS WITH SHARON: Writing Books is Like Quilting

SUNDAYS WITH SHARON:  STRINGING TOGETHER STORIES IS LIKE QUILTING.

My daughter just finished our giveaway for this month’s Newsletter. We incorporate some of my SEAL book covers in it, and use the same Alexander Henry Pursuit of Happiness background, showing off George Washington, Abe Lincoln and other’s abs like you’ve never seen before.

Writing stories, especially stories for different venues, is very much like piecing together a fine quilt.

Quilting and gardening are two things that bring me solace. Yes, I do enjoy reading while exercising and I’ve been doing a lot of that lately (trying to get caught up on some new projects I’ll be involved in this year). Just like reading, quilting puts me in a “zone” similar to meditation or listening to wonderful music. We spend so much of our day “doing” things, showing up for events, communicating with readers and other authors, and running our businesses, sometimes it’s just good to have “screw around time” planned into the schedule. When I used to coach Realtors, I always made my clients schedule “just daydreaming” time. I had a couple Realtors who were shopaholics and we had to plan their vices into their schedule, because it would creep in anyway – better to have planned it.

So when I’m quilting, I think up stories. In high school I made all my own clothes. I used to think about romances while I was sewing as a girl of 14-17, with hunky men who would sweep me off my feet. Little did I know how important “daydreaming” would be, nor how important those themes in the stories were.

Last night I was plotting a new story. I was supposed to be working on another one, but this new one just came in and took over. I know better than to try to push my muse to the side. It dresses up like a bright drag queen and sings drunken pirate songs of love until I have to pay attention to it. Still not sure whether my muse is male or female. One thing is for sure, it likes to sing and dress up in bright colors, including wigs. LOL. More than you ever wanted to know about me, right?

I started with a color: Navy Blue. And the symbols: The Trident. And some heroic traits, and voila, I was off and running. I’ve got 3 in the works already and I’m excited to say I’ll be starting to write the first one this afternoon.

After launching a book I dearly loved writing and nearly wrote itself, I can’t wait to get good and steeped in this one. The hero is already whispering in my ear. The heroine is a real randy spitfire, so I guess I’m getting to relive my 20’s again…lol…He wants to come out and play hard and love harder. {{{sigh}}} Duty Calls.