Horrors! #Amwriting a Blurb by Rolynn Anderson

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All of us swear when we write blurbs.  Some of us have blurbs thrust upon us by publishers (and commence swearing at first sight). We indies get to swear at ourselves for every wooden phrase or hackneyed term. Since we're all trying to use the same keywords, it's no surprise our teasers sound alike. After we place the polished blurb on the back of the book, we're still growling and groaning over this or that word choice.

I come begging for feedback on the blurb below. Many of you read my Christmas short story about Sable and Carter, so you have more insight about FIRE IS NICE than anyone else I know.  So have at this draft...even if you just tell me the phrase/idea you like and/or the phrase/idea you don't like.  My skin is thick and I need your objectivity.  Thanks!

Giant redwoods crave a scorching forest fire to release their seeds. What kind of heat will smoke poachers out of Sequoia National Park?

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Criminals are stealing 11,000 year old animal bones from the caves of Sequoia. Ranger Sable Chisholm, assigned to collar the thieves, brings along her donkey and pig. Sable is a former L.A. Agent, recovering from a brain injury, which took away fear but intensified her other emotions. Ranger Carter Glass, devoted to applying logic and statistics to park problems, is Sable’s reluctant partner in crime-solving.

Then the bone-robbers start shooting rangers, deepening the mystery and pushing the stakes sky-high.

If Sable can’t control her fearlessness to team with Carter, her career is over.

For the ancient Sequoia tree, fire is nice, but Sable’s fiery personality could reduce two reputations to ashes.

Christmas with a Stranger-part three by Rolynn Anderson

Sable glared at a row of barrel cacti, feeling prickly, herself. She’d taken a seat on the patio, giving her sister and parents time to hash out their angst, or whatever you did when a changeling showed up for Christmas. So far, she’d stopped more conversations than she’d started. She read shock in her mother and Cindy’s expressions; her father listened, looking bemused and puzzled.  Since he was a research-nut, Sable was sure her dad had Googled amygdala problems to death.  How did it feel to witness a living, breathing example of fearlessness in your own daughter? 

As of an hour ago, her parents and sister were aware of her after-poisoning activities, nine months of prime pulp fiction material: two affairs, one with a married man from her office. A DUI and a brawl in a bar when she’d broken a guy’s nose. Less incendiary were her adventures at bungee-jumping, parasailing, wave-boarding, and snow skiing. Parachuting was on her bucket list. The medal she received for bravery following an arrest of drug-smugglers last month, was also a point of discussion, as was the fact no one in her L.A. office wanted to work with her thereafter. Talking about Dr. Sharon Dixon, Sable’s psychiatrist, claimed almost an hour of detailing. The shrink had gifted Sable with strategies to move forward, and a signed clean bill of health to resume duties as an agent.

Sable went on to explain all her trips to the hospital from the beginning of her posting at Sequoia. Three times. Warned more might be more coming.

Funny. Every person she knew complained about fear being a weakening factor, a source of shame, even.  Shouldn’t her family be pleased and proud Sable was intrepid?

Another point she made to her family: “Carter Glass is the only person who knows my story. He’s a big-picture numbers man for the NP system, and since I’m helping him build an anti-poaching strategy for the parks, I thought he should understand my background. He’s promised to keep the details to himself.”

Cindy asked, “He’s in Sequoia?”

“He’s cat-sitting at his parent’s in Mesa.” 

More questions and answers, soon exhausting all of them.  When her phone chimed, she’d taken it from her pocket and looked at the screen. “I’ve got a few calls to make.  I’ll head outside and take care of some business while you hash over what you’ve heard so far.”

Done with her phone conversations, Sable had wriggled on the lawn chair, read the time passing on her watch, listened to muffled conversation inside, and closed her eyes. Was it time to grab her unpacked bag and return to Sequoia?  Better check the weather report to see how much snow had settled on Highway 198.

“Sable?”

Her eyes opened at Carter’s voice. “What in the world?  How did you get here?” As he walked toward her, she focused on his face, his dark brown beard, mustache and hair, framing kind eyes and a smile. No eyebrow up in dismay, no head shaking in judgment. For the first time he looked happy to see her.

He said, “I’ll never be able to scare you, but I can surprise you.”

She rose slowly and walked toward him, still thinking he was an apparition.  “But. How. Why?” She pointed to the animal cage he placed on the pavers. “Who?”

“Complete sentences, please.” he said, eyes dancing.

She grabbed onto his belt loop and yanked.

Pulling in air at her gesture, he said “Jeff…your dad called me. He invited my parents and me to join you for dinner tonight. My folks aren’t in town, so you got me.”

“He called you?”

“Glass isn’t a common name in Mesa.” He looked down at his short-sleeved blue shirt belted into khaki shorts. Leather sandals. “He said dress informally for a barbeque.”

“I haven’t seen you or heard from you for a month.”

“About that. Turns out I needed a little time to think. But I’m here, now. I interpret for food.” He jerked a thumb toward the cage. “That’s the family cat, Poe, who also enjoys free meals.”

Sable’s parents and Cindy came to the patio before she could respond, placing a pitcher of margaritas, glasses and the appetizer board on the table. Their smiles were almost smug. Cindy poured the margaritas, their father passed drinks around, and they all clinked glasses.

“Welcome to our home.” Jeff held up his glass to his guest.

Carter grinned. “Thanks for inviting me, but I should say, if your phone call hadn’t come I would have crashed this little party.”

“Seriously? And what do you mean, ‘interpret for food?’ ” Sable put down her glass, feeling left out.

“You see, I had an epiphany about what an ideal colleague should be.” Carter set his glass next to hers. “I’ve been reading your e-mails for a month.  You’ve been sharing your ideas with all the parks.”

He held up a hand to stop her from responding. “You’ve given me ideas I can use, and you pushed me to do valuable on-site research. But I haven’t added much to our partnership.”

Carter’s hand stayed up so Sable remained quiet.

“Most important, I remember my own challenges in adjusting to your fearlessness. Since you are a stranger to your family, I’m here as your interpreter, explaining who you are today, at Sequoia, where we admire you, not just for your bravery, but for your compassion and leadership.”

A lump the size of Alaska formed in her throat when she saw her family’s broad smiles and felt her father’s hand squeeze her elbow.

Carter took a swallow of his margarita, snaked his arm around Sable’s waist and raised his glass high to her family. “I’m a numbers man, you know, bent on understanding anomalies. Well, this Christmas I’ve come to help the Chisholm family learn about Sable, my most fascinating outlier, yet.”

And with that, Sable’s first Christmas AP, after poisoning, took on the glow of a miracle.

Dear Reader.  You have just met Sable Chisholm and Carter Glass, characters in my newest novel FIRE IS NICE, set in Sequoia/Kings National Park, where fire nurtures trees and relationships J.  Watch for it early in 2018.  While you wait to hear Carter and Sable’s story, I have eight other suspense novels for you to read.  Check out my website for more information: http://www.rolynnanderson.com

Christmas with a Stranger-part two by Rolynn Anderson

Carter Glass sat in front of his mother’s computer.  While he waited for Quicken to update he looked out at the horizon, as if to catch sight of Sable’s location in Phoenix, some thirty miles away from his parents’ place in Mesa. She was spending her first Christmas with her family after her life-changing injury.

Her challenge was monumental; his was small, by comparison.  Ever since his father had been laid off, both his mother and father had gladly pushed tax-reporting responsibilities to their only son. “You’re the numbers man for the Pacific National Park System. Handling our measly account is child’s play.” His father turned over bill-paying to his mother. When conversation turned to budgets, dad left the room.

The trouble was, every time Carter analyzed his parents’ income and expenses, he died a little inside. Social Security and savings barely met their living expenses; Carter’s monthly check of an additional $500 allowed them to go out to dinner on occasion or save up for a vacation. But his generosity didn’t sit well with his folks. This year, Carter’s Christmas gift to his parents had no dollar value attached: caring for the family cat while his parents stayed overnight with a sick relative.

Carter sat out on a balcony hung over a pool area, walled in by other units exactly like this one. He missed his own computer and four monitors, set up in a Sequoia National Park cabin. Usually he enjoyed working alone, but this place was cramped and sterile, a typical shotgun condo with the kitchen, island, four-chair dining room set, couch and two chairs, lined up in a congested march to the lanai.

With columns of figures screaming his father’s failures, Carter felt anxious about his own future. And missing something.

Sable.  He’d promised to help her with an anti-poaching strategy, but he hadn’t communicated with her for a month.

Poe made a sound from his curled up station on the tabletop. The long-haired animal, named to honor Edgar Allan Poe’s short story about a black feline, was Carter’s pet, given to him by a girlfriend years ago, and adopted by his parents when Carter was assigned to Sequoia. The problem with Poe: when left alone in the apartment or a kennel, the animal screamed like a banshee.

The cat observed Carter with unblinking yellow eyes, mouth pursed in judgment. “Wrong time to rendezvous, Poe. Sable hasn’t seen her family for eight months, so I don’t want to interfere.”  Sable had been poisoned by carbon dioxide while on an FBI surveillance in a motel, a malfunctioning pool heater sending deadly fumes into her room. Her partner had died and she’d sustained damage to her amygdala, robbing her of fear, forever. Shunned by other FBI agents for being over-eager to engage criminals, she’d been assigned to Sequoia to catch poachers.

Poe re-crossed his front paws and continued the piercing stare.

“I wonder how she’s doing?”

Sable’s assignment to Sequoia had upended Carter’s quiet, orderly world. She was a hurricane of a woman, her abject bravery alternately highlighting all his fears so he felt like a pansy, and raising his protective emotions to such an intensity, he couldn’t keep his mind on his work.

A tiny movement of Poe’s head telegraphed interest.

“Worse is being away from her. Wondering. Worrying.”

Poe’s ears twitched.

“She’ll frighten her family like she scared me. And they’ll pity her, which she’ll hate.”

The cat rose from his curled up position, yawned, and hopped to the floor. Throwing back a ‘Time for food’ yowl, Poe trotted to the kitchen.

Carter stared at the throbbing cursor, aware his heart had taken up a similar rhythm. He’s spent a month In Zion, troubleshooting the park’s burgeoning visitor problems. He should have enjoyed the time away from Sable’s chaotic personality, but he hadn’t.

The cat yowled again, sounding like a mortally wounded child.

“Work alone, son.” All of his youth, Carter had heard his dad’s complaints about inept, greedy and selfish co-workers, laying blame for his layoff on a colleague conspiracy. “Find a job you can do by yourself. No one else has your best interests in mind.” So for the past two years, Carter had holed up in a Sequoia National Park cabin, building his reputation. “Lone Star,” they called him. For Carter, solitude signaled success.

Until Sable arrived with her incessant questions, wild ideas, and fearlessness.

Poe gave Carter the stink eye from the kitchen, a look he often got from Sable during their rocky partnership.

My dad was right about co-workers getting in the way. I was fine until Sable roared into Sequoia.

Dear Reader,

Now you know more about Carter from FIRE IS NICE.  Stay tuned for the third part of my story tomorrow, when you'll find out how the holiday ends for Sable and Carter.  Another Sequoia picture to please you is below.  And don't forget to take a look at my novels on http://www.rolynnanderson.com

Christmas with a Stranger by-part one Rolynn Anderson

Pulling this off would take a Christmas miracle.

Sable Chisholm parallel-parked her Ford 250 in front of her parent’s Phoenix duplex. Though she killed the engine and opened her door, she remained in the truck, calculating the chances of a happy holiday.  Carter, her Ranger partner, adept at working National Park numbers, would be proud she was considering the odds.

“Sable!” her father yelled from the front stoop before he rushed toward her. “‘Bout time you got here. We’re holding up on the margaritas.”

When she stepped down from her truck, he hugged her fiercely, telegraphing love and something else…pity? God, she hoped not. He released her, holding her shoulders at arm’s length. “Gorgeous, as usual, Brownie.”

“Thanks, Pop.”

With father and daughter at six feet tall, eyes the same golden brown, and brows dark and defined, they’d always been close physically and mentally. At sixty, he exuded the energy of a man ten years younger, slim and well-toned. A runner. He was bald except for a salt and pepper fringe of hair, but the effect was a modern, hip look.

If anxiety was what she felt in his robust embrace, she’d know by looking into his eyes.

Before she could assess her father’s expression, her mother tackled Sable around the waist, almost bowling her over with an embrace. Sable squeezed her hard, kissed her on the cheek and said, “Hey, Mutt.” Every aspect of Ruth was miniscule. At an even five feet Sable’s mom was definitely diminutive compared to her dad, Jeff. Her short brown hair framed a perfectly oval face, which moved from frown to abject joy in halves of seconds.

Now Ruth did the scrutinizing.

Sable wore jean shorts and a Sequoia National Park t-shirt, finished off with flip flops. On this hot December day, she wore her long brown hair clipped to the top of her head, happy to be rid of khakis, Ranger hat, gun, and all the other heavy stuff she clipped on her belt. Lately she’d been wearing a Kevlar vest. Nothing comfortable about Law Enforcement gear.

Her mother seemed to read Sable’s thoughts. “I saw a picture on the internet of an L.E. Ranger uniform, honey. I’ll bet you look fierce in it.”

Sable smiled. “The criminals run away at the sight of me.”

Her mother stepped aside, leaving a space between them that should have been filled by Cindy. To cover the fact her older sister remained in the house, Sable cleared her throat and observed the front of her parent’s home, the window boxes brimming with succulents. “Settled in, I see.” Sable had helped them move, BP. Before Poisoning. She hadn’t seen the place since.

After Poisoning. AP. New house. New daughter.

Silence. Even the birds stopped chattering.

Her dad said, “Cindy’s preparing appetizers.”

“Right,” Sable muttered.

Her parents looked startled at Sable’s dismay.  Hers was not a family that favored bluntness.

Sable hauled a suitcase from the trunk, hooked her backpack over her shoulder, and stalked to the front door. “Cindy’s angry because this is the first time I’ve come home since the poisoning.”

“Now, Sable, we don’t hold that against you,” her mother said, struggling to keep up to Sable’s pace, while Jeff lagged behind.

 “You should. Cindy should. Nine months of e-mail-only is cowardice. Mine.”

Sable dropped her stuff inside the door and headed for the kitchen to confront Cindy.  “The welcoming committee was one person short, Cin. You still mad at me?”

Another startled look. Cindy was ten years older than Sable, a sophisticated dresser next to Sable’s throw-it-together wardrobe. In a crisp yellow sundress, accessorized with gold necklace and earrings, Cindy was putting the final touches on a serving board of cheese and crackers, a sprig of rosemary in her hand. She placed the greenery, wiped her hands on a towel and embraced Sable. “Welcome home,” she said. Cindy shook back her dark brown hair and eyed her baby sister with green, catch-everything eyes like their mother’s.

Sable remembered her psychiatrist’s warning: “You’ve lost fear, but no one else has. People tend to cover their worries with other emotions. Ask them what they’re frightened about. Try to remember the feeling.” Easily said. Sable’s family exhibited a cauldron of concerns. Where to start?

Beckoning her parents to come into the kitchen, Sable said, “Let’s have this out, family. Before margaritas and appetizers.”  More surprised expressions and bodies taking positions of discomfort: mom put her fingers to her throat; dad stuffed his hands in his shorts pockets; Cindy hugged herself. Sable’s adjustment period was nine months old; her family’s sense of loss was cobbled together in minutes. Perplexity loomed in the small kitchen.

She fingered the rosemary, releasing its pungent odor into the air. The good news: I am alive and I still feel tremendous love for Cindy and my parents. Does the loss of one emotion double the intensity of others? “I thank you for visiting me when I was in the hospital.” She made eye contact with each person to reinforce her point. “I’m sorry for communicating so little while I got used to my new personality, but the transition was confusing.”

They stared at her as if she were an alien.

True, that.  She had survived a near-death experience in the line of duty as an FBI agent. The former Sable was a woman lying on the sidewalk outside a tired motel room, gasping for her last breath, while carbon monoxide dissolved part of her brain. She’d survived, all right, but returned to a life shorn of one defining element. Fear.

In less than fifteen minutes, her family had observed her behavior and discovered she wasn’t theirs. Even if her physician and the FBI psychiatrist called her ‘fit,’ and even if she’d strapped on her gun and gone back to full duty, Sable would fail this Christmas litmus test. Since they couldn’t recognize her, she was about to ruin the holiday for everyone.

Dear Reader,

You have just met Sable Chisholm from my new novel, FIRE IS NICE (out early next year).  Tomorrow, you'll meet Carter, and learn more about Sable's challenges as a brand new person.  Check out my eight suspense novels, already published at http://www.rolynnanderson.com.  See you tomorrow! For your viewing pleasure, here's a giant redwood in Sequoia National Park, my setting for FIRE IS NICE.

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