I Did it Again by Alison Henderson

As you may remember, a couple of months ago I redesigned the cover for Boiling Point, the second book in my female bodyguard series. I was never completely comfortable with the original cover and didn't feel it was consistent with the series brand. I was so pleased with the new cover for Boiling Point that it got me thinking about the cover I'd designed for the third book in the series and my current WIP, Child's Play.

I'd struggled to find the right images for that cover, too. In this story, the heroine goes to work undercover as a nanny for an Archaeology professor whose young niece is being threatened. I had settled for a background of a child's bedroom, but once again, I'd struggled to find a figure I liked. Encouraged by my success with Boiling Point, I decided to try again. 

Now that the first two books featured outdoor background shots of the settings, I thought I'd take another look for a snowy college campus scene and found several I liked. I also found a new image of a woman with a gun wearing boots (season appropriate!) that is quite similar in pose to the figure on the cover of Unwritten Rules. Then I put a couple of my favorite settings--one with a red brick collegiate building and one with gray stone--together with the figure and showed them to OG.

Imagine my surprise when he pointed to the photo with the stone building and said, "That's Blair Arch at Princeton! I lived in that dorm one year, and that's the window of my room."
Well, that sealed my choice. Now, I not only have a cover that continues the image of the series brand perfectly, but it features OG's dorm room! (It's the second floor window to the left of her left calf.) According to him, this represents every college boy's fantasy--a giant woman in high-heeled boots and a micro skirt, carrying a gun and appearing right outside his window. LOL

Here are the three covers for the series. I finally think I've got a solid, unified look that reflects the tone. Whew! If at first...

And on another positive note, the book is actually progressing rather well.

Onward and upward!
Alison
www.alisonhenderson.com

RWA Bound! by Christine DePetrillo

At the end of the month I will be attending my first Romance Writers of America Annual Conference in Orlando, Florida and I am psyched! I've gone to local chapter events and other writing conferences, but nothing of this magnitude.

Did I also mention that I've never been "away from home" by myself? Yeah, 40-something years old and I've never traveled alone.

You can call me a loser. It's okay. I agree with you. Why in the hell have I waited this long to go on a quest? Clearly, no one would entrust me with tossing the One Ring into the fires of Mount Doom. You thought it took Frodo a long time to make the voyage. Me? 40+ years people. 40+ years.

I'll know people once I get there and I've been to Disney World like nine times. I feel comfortable navigating my way around down there, but a part of me is a little nervous. I'm not going to lie to you. I'm a writer. I imagine scenarios. Like airplane problems. Getting lost. Terrorist attacks.

Or the worst... getting stuck sitting near a baby on the flight. Ugh. Let's hope that doesn't happen.

I plan to pack light and just take a carry-on bag. Summer dresses that I can roll up for easy, fuss-free packing. A pair of comfortable shoes and a pair of cute sandals. Maybe a set of Mickey Mouse ears.

Traveling alone should make for a streamlined experience, right? No one to worry about but myself. No husband who ALWAYS is the guy security wants to investigate further. "Step aside, sir." Every. Single. Time. But me? Who would find me suspicious? I'm sailing right through that check in.

I'm looking forward to the entire experience. Going a day early to bounce around the parks and get my Disney fix. Then I plan to soak in the fun of being around other romance authors and people who "get" writing. People who understand the dream.  People who, like me, enjoy weaving a good tale.

If you've gone to an RWA conference before, what tips do you have for me?

Toodles,
Chris
www.christinedepetrillo.weebly.com

   

So this is how other people live?

I have not been writing.

This is very odd for me. I am almost always working on a new story. But I've taken these first few days of July to decompress, get caught up on some reading, and put my brain in neutral.

The first thing I've noticed is time: when you're not working on a book, there's a lot of free time. I work full-time, so that's 40-50 hours out of my week that's taken. I normally spend 2-3 hours a day working on writing, and an hour or two thinking about writing. When I free up 3-5 hours of Brain Time, that's a lot of free time.

How am I using it? Doing some reading -- I read outside my genre, so I'm reading historical fiction and other books. That's hard, though. I nitpick them and find all the errors, mentally critique them, and end up skimming a lot. I'm just not much of a reader anymore, sadly. I'm a writer, first and foremost.

I'm also getting caught up on organization -- cleaning out files, re-doing some bookcases, etc. I'm also doing a bit of charity sewing (but it's too hot to do much of this).

All of this adds up to: I'm getting antsy to get started on writing again. I'm just not set up for passive entertainment (TV, books, movies). I need active entertainment (the kind I write and generate for myself).

I expect that by the next time I post (on the 26th) I'll be elbow-deep into a new manuscript. Let's see, if that comes to pass, I will have taken 10 days off from writing.

Sounds about right ...

J L
(jayellwilson.com)

A Greyhound Tale

Roughly a month ago, I got a message from my nephew. He told me my sister was becoming more frail and wanted to see me. Could we come to Pennsylvania for her eighty-fifth birthday? Pauline is sixteen years older than I and I can't recall us ever having a cross word between us.

We've led two different lifestyles. She was a fulltime homemaker, who ran the sweeper between the mattress and box springs and canned her own fruit. I worked outside of the home, survived a divorce, and named all my dust bunnies. Even so, we were always affectionate.

Calvin and I thought of ways to reach her. Flying was out. Our local airport only flies south. We could go to Charlotte, North Carolina to Miami, Florida and then north to DC and hitch a commuter plane to Hagerstown, Maryland. We checked out Amtrak. We could easily take it to DC, rent a car, and drive out of the Capitol, heading north. The last time I drove through Washington, DC, we ended up almost in Ocean City, Maryland while I'd aged five years.

"I could drive the whole way," I suggested to Calvin. I thought his shaking head would tumble off his shoulders.


Calvin looked at me as if he'd discovered the solution to world peace. "You know what? I haven't ridden a bus in years. Let's see if we can take a bus up there. I rode it all the time to Hampton University. It's a relaxing way to travel."

I swear my sweet husband's memory has faded. There was nothing relaxing about our trip to Pennsylvania. But getting to see my sister and brother was great.

Left to Right: Me, my brother Ray, and Pauline. I'm the baby.

We had a great little family reunion. Plus, I got to see both of my sons and grandkids. A very pleasant trip. Then we got on the bus to head for home. At the terminal in Baltimore, a new driver got on.

I knew we were in trouble when she'd driven three blocks from the terminal, stopped, and yelled, "Okay, listen up, y'all. This is a new route for me. Is DC north or south of Baltimore?" She reached into a bag of fried chicken setting on her window ledge and pulled out a drumstick. "Which way do I go?"

Someone yelled directions and she aimed the bus toward DC while she chewed on her chicken. "See, I'm from South Carolina, but the company moved me up here to run this route." Honestly, the driver talked faster than the bus drove.

"Okay," she waved her chicken bone over her head. "I'm coming up on DC. Who has a phone with a GPS. Help me find the terminal." We gave her directions which she claimed were wrong. In the meantime, we circled the Washington Monument three times. Zipped the wrong way up a one way street. Horns honking. People yelling.

She flagged a city bus down as leaned out the window. "Hey! Can you tell me where the Greyhound terminal is?" She followed the other bus driver's directions and drove by the station twice while claiming the man was wrong. At one point she aimed the bus toward the White House, hell bent for leather,  while security guards ran toward us, waving their arms. They gave her the same directions that the city bus driver had.

She finally pulled into the back of the station--the wrong way. And when workers yelled and waved, she waved the chicken bone she'd been sucking on at them. "Get the hell out of my way. I've been praying on Jesus to find me the way here! I'm not backing up now."

Heavens, so had we!

Some trips just go haywire. Like Zoey Morningstar's trip to Paris for the birth of her sister's first child. Her daughter's kidnapping and rescue. A murder in the sex district. A bombing in the Metro. Going undercover with a handsome French Counterrorism Agent to find the terrorists who tried to kidnap her daughter. Passion. Her trip was to include none of those things, but like ours it had its own twists and turns. Only much more dangerous and sexy.

 BUY LINKS:  http://a.co/eQhxT9h          

Summertime…and the livin’ is…Well, You Decide – Part One by Margo Hoornstra

Some of you will remember the Gershwin song, Summertime from the musical Porgy and Bess. The opening line goes like this. Summertime…and the livin’ is…easy.

Brings to mind visions of tranquil days full of sunshine and fresh breezes. Lazy, hazy days to sit back, relax and soak in the quiet. Enjoy doing whatever we want, or nothing if that’s our choice.

In that spirit, we recently purchased a couple of Adirondack Chairs for the front yard.

And a glider swing to go with the rocker on the back deck.

Inviting, right? If only I could use them more.

If I may paraphrase the great Mr. G – in my world, it’s more like Summertime…and the livin’ is…busy! Not that I’m complaining, mind you. Oh no…

Here’s a taste of my current summer days, so far…

In June, my novella titled, For Money Or Love was released. It is one of six within the 99 cent box set, All In For Love…

In July, I began promotion anew, (through Author Promo Pal aka Lacey Jewel, daughter of our own Alicia Dean) of my three novella anthology Saturday In Serendipity…

Also in July, the final, final, final (fingers crossed) galley is now proofed, corrected, approved and returned to my editor, Ally Robertson of The Wild Rose Press for Book One in the four book series Brothers in Blue…On the Surface...

But, I’m not done yet…

Currently, I’m editing (and rewriting where necessary, Thanks, Jannine!) the first draft of Book Two of Brothers in Blue…On the Force…

Oh, and, the Calla Lily I touted here last time on the 23rd. It’s actually blooming…

Yay!!!

That’s my summer so far…

How about you? How’s your summer shaping up?

My days to blog here are the 11th and 23rd. For more about me and my stories, please visit my WEBSITE

My Golf and Writing on Parallel Paths by Rolynn Anderson

I’m a retired Washington State high school principal (and English teacher) who traded Seattle’s gray skies for sunny California in 2000, decided to write suspense novels, signed up for the golf experience at Cypress Ridge Golf Course in 2001, started writing...and never looked back.

Sixteen years later, I realize my adventures in writing matches my journey to become a skilled golfer.  I’ve learned golf and writing share the same pains and joys…and I wouldn’t give up either endeavor.

Let me show you how my golf and writing careers have followed parallel paths.  For instance, after writing eleven novels in nine years, I was picked up by Wild Rose Press-my thriller, LAST RESORT.  In golf, I chipped away at my index, dropping from a 28 to an 18.  For those of you who know the game, that means I took ten strokes off a round of eighteen holes of golf.  Yippee!

And I challenged myself by playing difficult golf courses, pocked with bunkers, and plagued by narrow fairways that took right and left turns at will.  As an author, I challenged myself at every crossroad, following LAST RESORT with a quirky series of three novels about a boutique funeral planner whose dead clients refuse to rest in piece.  Every book presents a new ‘golf course,’ forcing me to dig deeper for confidence, skill, and persistence.

You’re well aware of the old saw that we learned everything we need to know about life in Kindergarten.  Forget that.  I learned everything I know about writing from golf.  I whack at a golf ball with the same intensity I attack a sentence, no holds barred.  Each ‘lie’ (or plot sequence) is different.  Every hole (or scene) requires fresh insight.   I must learn the ins and outs of a new character…same with a new golf club.  Choosing a club, aligning the ball and calibrating my swing match my deliberate word choice and word order.  I love playing with great golfers as much as I’m inspired when I read novels by fabulous writers. Conflict?  Oh yeah! Novels are juiced up by conflict, as is competitive golf.  Each 'game' can go down because of a psych-out.

But the most important thing I learned from golf is the ‘practice’ element.  You can’t be a great golfer or writer without consistent, repetitive, focused encounters with the skill.  I write every day, revising and crafting new stories…and my golf index improves if I play two or three times a week.

I will tell you that in many ways, golf is easier than writing a novel.  Most books take me eight months to write, with the editing part as painful as labor.  In golf, four hours may produce a score of 82…or not.

I ask you to pick up a glass of champagne and join me in a cyber toast:  Here’s to golf (and chipping two more strokes of my index) and the launch of my new golf/geology/Italy/cave novel, BAD LIES.  Big sales and tiny handicaps to us all! 

To celebrate, I’m offering BAD LIES, in e-version, free for three days, July 10-12.  Download it, read it, and please review it on Amazon/Goodreads.  If I get 20 reviews, I can promo the novel on Book Bub…that’s my goal!  Thanks for helping me get there!

Here it is, BAD LIES http://a.co/0DuYNPn:

Italy’s haunted caves spell danger for an American golfer and a NATO geologist

****

Sophie Maxwell is a late-blooming, unorthodox golfer, and mother of a precocious thirteen year-old. Determined to put divorce, bankruptcy, and a penchant for gambling in her past, Sophie goes to Italy for a qualifying golf tournament.

Jack Walker turned his back on a pro golfing career to become a geologist. As a favor to his ailing father he’ll caddy for Sophie; off hours, he’ll find caves on the Mediterranean coast, suitable for NATO listening posts for terrorist activity.

Someone is determined to stop Jack’s underground hunt and ruin Sophie’s chances to win her tournament.

On a Rome golf course and in the Amalfi coast’s haunted caves, all the odds are stacked against Sophie and Jack.  In their gamble of a lifetime, who wins?

Seven Suspense Novels Spiked with Romance

Web and Blog:

http://rolynnanderson.com

Facebook page:

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Rolynn-Anderson/188767867821613 

Twitter:

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Goodreads:

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4990049.Rolynn_Anderson

http://www.amazon.com/author/rolynnanderson

Aging Gracefully, What a Joke! by Brenda Whiteside

Early 20s

I'm not fond of aging. This is my story, and I'd love to hear if you've had as much trouble as I have.

Every decade has brought a new complaint from me, a new hurdle to get over. The year before I turned thirty was one of my worst. There were milestones missed, intended accomplishments that never came to fruition. Wow, was I hard on myself. And then the physical signs of aging reared their ugly head.

My husband tells me that I approach aging with the wrong attitude. There should be joy in making it to the next decade. He doesn't understand my angst. I'm ecstatic to make it through every year. It's the physical aging part that has always made me...hmmm...angry, I guess.

I actually didn't mind turning forty. But then the forties started disappearing. Time sped forward and I went kicking and screaming toward the next decade. I dared anyone to acknowledge my fiftieth birthday. FDW warned a good friend

One month from 40

who was planning a surprise party that if she valued our friendship, and her life, to let it go. Luckily, she did. And I'm happy to say, she threw me the party for my fifty-first birthday. Thrilled me. So much fun.

And the years passed. I didn't know the meaning of the term "aging gracefully." The hurdle of acceptance was taller than Mount Everest. I quit wearing a swimsuit. The next thing to go

51st birthday party

was shorts. A few years later, sleeveless tops were taboo. It's not that I hadn't taken care of myself. My diet was excellent and exercise was a normal part of my routine. But there is only so much you can do as the years pile on. Vain? I suppose. But nothing could deter me, especially when those close to me proclaimed "you look great for your age." Argh! Yes, definitely vain.

Last week, that gigantic hurdle crumbled. There was no big ceremony, no

Well into my 50s

cosmetic surgery, no miracle. My four-year-old granddaughter wanted me to go to the pool and see how much she'd learned at swimming lessons. When I said, I would watch, her face fell. She wanted me in the water with her. How could I possibly say no?

I'm free!

I dug out my discarded swimsuit, held my breath, and tried it on. It fit. I peeked in the mirror. Okay, I don't look like I used to. How could I? I have a beautiful little granddaughter. I'm a Nana for pete's sake. But something just came over me, and I really can't tell you what. Padding across the cool deck, following that little girl into the pool, my self esteem was just fine. I had so much fun. And I am who I am. Isn't that aging

Thanks to this little girl

gracefully?