Ladies (and Gentlem..en?) I can’t believe it’s September. Really really can’t. I need a pause button on life. I hope I’m not wrong in this but I met Erica Ridley for the first time in person this past July. She’s super fun, and when I grabbed her online I was like “you should guest here!” and since Erica is supergreat, she was like “okay I’m game!” And we emailed about Sir Arthur. (Who doesn’t exist?) So anyway, Erica decided to go with an author interview – and these are my questions and her answers! Enjoy! Continue reading
Hi friends! So we’re well into June [GAH!] – and this birthday month hasn’t felt very celebratory or anything, so I’m hoping that comes about soon. This is another good contribution though – as you see we’ve got Dorothy F. Shaw visiting with us today! She’s a first time guest so everyone give her a warm welcome!! Dorothy opted for an author interview – a style which was unique to ALBTALS when I started asking these zany questions, and it should be good – she’s a lot of fun. 😀 Continue reading
Hi friends! Today we have Patricia Sargeant who also writes as Regina Hart visiting with us! And it’s the first Tuesday of the month, so we’re keeping on with the Guest Author & A Giveaway tradition! I wrote “Part I” at the top because I expect to be updating this with some more information in the near future, so please bear with me. (My mistake for not having all information.) I hope you enjoy the ALBTALBS style interview in the interim! 🙂 Continue reading
Hello friends! Today we have Jessica Scott guesting with us … AND MAN this post would’ve been perfect during Social Media for Social Good … or maybe not? Maybe SMSG is the pressure Jessica is talking about? That’s going to give me a headache/complex – so yeah. Let’s not go there. Anyway – let’s just go ahead with her post, shall we? :X
Why did the ALS Ice Bucket challenge go viral when so many others were not? What was it about that specific challenge – the calling out of your friends on social media to either dump a bucket of water over their head or write a check – that got so many people around the world and from vastly different socio economic backgrounds up off the computer/phone/tablet and into the spirit of it? Continue reading
I absolutely cannot handle the fact that we’re into December. No. Unfortunately, it is what it is. (Which is a phrase I kinda hate but … it’s true, and fitting, and not a “passing the buck” when it comes to time. … Unless you’re Hermione. Or a Time Lord. Which is a Doctor Who thing, right?) Anyway. Today we have the fabulous Miranda Neville guesting with us!!! She has a book out at the end of the month so I decided to pounce on her early. You’re welcome. 😉
She also opted for a [non]traditional ALBTALBS author interview, because why not right? We only have 12 of these a year. If that.
Every single book release you have from here on out will hit #1 on the NYT and USA Today best seller lists. The catch is you can only eat pizza for the rest of your life. You can have regular pizza, and dessert pizza… but it has to be pizza. Do you take that deal? [And what type of pizza would be your “go to”?]
Are you kidding? Of course! My favorite pizzas have vegetables, hold the sausage and pepperoni. I love basil, goat’s cheese and sun-dried tomatoes on a thin crust.
What would your street [nick]name be? why? 😀
Posh Spice. Wait, that’s been taken. Can I be Champagne Neville? I’m not really a motorcycle gang girl. I aspire to bubbly and limos rather than beer and bikes.
You have the opportunity to be part of any TV show for one episode. (One that is on or off the air.) Which one do you pick, and what is your role?
I’ve just glommed the entire two seasons of Alpha House, Gary Trudeau’s Washington sitcom. Janel Moloney (Donna from The West Wing) plays a Tea Party senator in a crazy over-the-top way that looks like she’s having a blast. I’ll be Psycho for a Day.
What’s the most unique/strange silly skill you possess?
I’m very good at lighting bonfires. My friends call me One-Match. Come to think of it, that could be my street name. One-Match Neville.
Your next life you come back as a dog. What breed do you come back as and why?
A bichon frise, because they always seem happy and everyone loves them. But I wouldn’t want the poofed up grooming; keep the fur short, please.
Which celebrity is your “spirit animal?” Why?
Emma Thompson. Because my daughter says so. (I’d never heard of a spirit animal and had to ask her.)
If you were a serial killer, who would be your target? And what would be your MO? [“Calling card,” what memento would you take?] Target = old men, young men, school children, college aged women, etc.
People who weep on reality TV shows. Death by flying object. My calling card would be a photograph of Heidi Klum.
Hostile alien invasion, or zombie apocalypse? Which one do you think is more likely to happen? Which one is scarier?
Alien invasion is more likely but zombies are scarier.
What’s the most interesting thing you’ve ever done for research? what’s the most interesting thing you’ve learned while doing research? In general, or for this book?
May I look into the future? I intend to take a balloon ride in preparation for a book about a Regency balloon race. I can’t really pick one interesting thing, but I can reveal that the Pantheon Opera House, built in London in the 1780s, had mahogany toilet seats in the ladies’ water closet. This fact does not appear in The Duke of Dark Desires.
Which do you choose – walk in pantry, walk in closet, or extra garage space?
Walk in closet.
Can you name at least three US Supreme Court Justices without looking?
Ginsberg, Sotormayor, Kagan, Scalia, Thomas, Roberts, Kennedy…. OK now I need to go check.
How did you come up with your author name?
Neville is a family name. I picked Miranda because I like it.
What was your favorite book as a child?
It changed from year to year with my age. Anne of Green Gables was a perennial favorite.
What is the super power you would most like to have? and least like to have?
Most: Invisibility. Least: X-Ray vision. I’d like to be able to eavesdrop but not to see people naked.
Man I should’ve asked Miranda the spammer question, don’t you think? I bet she would’ve given a super entertaining answer. 😀 So now, it’s up to you. What outrageous and silly question do you have for Ms. Neville? Or you can definitely ask her about her writing and her books. Speaking of, this is the book that will be out on December 30th.
Rebellious Julian Fortescue never expected to inherit a dukedom, nor to find himself guardian to three young half-sisters. Now in the market for a governess, he lays eyes on Jane Grey and knows immediately she is qualified–to become his mistress. Yet the alluring woman appears impervious to him. Somehow Julian must find a way to make her succumb to temptation . . . without losing his heart and revealing the haunting mistakes of his past.
Lady Jeanne de Falleron didn’t seek a position as a governess simply to fall into bed with the Duke of Denford. Under the alias of Jane Grey, she must learn which of the duke’s relatives is responsible for the death of her family–and take her revenge. She certainly can’t afford the distraction of her darkly irresistible employer, or the smoldering desire he ignites within her.
But as Jane discovers more clues about the villain she seeks, she’s faced with a possibility more disturbing than her growing feelings for Julian: What will she do if the man she loves is also the man she’s sworn to kill?
You can order a copy of The Duke of Dark Desires here. And of course, some lucky commenter is going to win her choice of any of Miranda Neville’s backlist. In print or in electronic book form! Whee!
My darlings it is November! How did that happen?! Also, it’s the first Tuesday! >.> Yes. *koffs* So – it’s time for our Guest Author & A Giveaway feature! Today we have Yasmine Galenorn, she’s a first time guest at ALBTALBS so everyone give her a warm welcome! I also loved her answers, and I hope you do too.
So without further ado … your typical ALBTALBS Author Interview with Yasmine Galenorn! \o/
Which would you most like to go to? Ancient Greece, Rome, Egypt, China, Mesopotamia, Africa, or South America? Why?
Um…can I pick Finland? Because I have a special connection there—not by blood but by spirit. If not, then Mesopotamia, because I love the B52’s song. *grins*
Which fairy tale would you most like to be in? Least? Why (for both)?
Most: I’m picking Where the Wild Things Are. YES—I maintain it’s a modern fairy tale! I want to travel with Max to the island and meet the Wild Things. And some times, I want to stay there, because the concept of living on a magical island full of wild creatures who were also malleable sounds like a lot of fun.
Least: Cinderella. I don’t believe in Happily Ever After (though I do believe in Happy For Now), I don’t like housework, and I want my man to be an equal partner, not my rescuer. 😉
What’s the best book you read as a school assignment?
Watership Down. It’s still my favorite book. I absolutely love it, and see it as modern myth. I had to contrast/compare it to the Odyssey in 9th grade. I still cry over the end, no matter how many times I’ve read it, and my favorite character is Fiver.
What do you think about clowns?
Do we even have to go there? *shudders* Have NEVER liked clowns. They freak me out. They invade your boundaries and space and then victim-blame you for being a poor sport when you tell them to back off. I can’t imagine being married to a clown. That would be a deal breaker.
Celebrity/Author death match – who would you most want to take on? [you don’t have to say why ;)]
Oh hell, I dunno. Alyssa Day. Because I love the woman and no matter how it came out, I’d be happy . *laughing*
What did you do with the money from your first royalty check?
Bought a new desk and chair and got my first tattoo! WAY back in 1998.
What items have to be close by when writing & not just the sensible stuff like research notes, but the other perhaps slightly goofy stuff (bowl of m&ms, stuffed animal, stress ball, pot of coffee).
Other than my notebooks, research, Daytimer, dozens of pens and other office supplies…there are a number of trinkets I love but the ONE constant throughout my writing life has been Miss Kitty, the porcelain kitty I’ve had since I was 7 years old (and that is…a little over four decades). I traded a necklace for her at school. She’s been my writing mascot ever since. I have a lot of other baubles and things, but Miss Kitty? She has to be there.
If you had to become a bear, which type would you choose? Why?
I LOVE BEARS I LOVE THIS QUESTION…*calms down* Okay…Brown bear. I love brown bears. The goddess I’m a priestess of created the bear in the Finnish traditions/mythos and names him Otso. Bear is tattooed on my arm. I have three cave bear teeth that are 20,000 years old. I have statues of bears—including a very large one in my yard. I have pictures of bears. I have stuffed bears—I love the Gund Snuffles bears and collect them. Oh, you wanted to know why? Because brown bears are…bears. Isn’t that enough reason?
A twisted fairy offers you perfect health. You’ll never be sick or get a migraine again. The catch is you’ll break a bone every three years until your 75th birthday. Nothing crippling, but still a break. (Anything from a femur to your pinky.) Do you take the offer? why or why not?
Um, sure. Considering that at most, I’d maybe, possibly, live 15 years after 75 years old, that’s five bones and none of them crippling? Okay. Fine. I won’t be going wind surfing or sky diving at that point. That’s fine. Even at my age, if all health concerns magically vanished until I was 75—sure.
If you were to become a spammer, what product would you peddle? And what would your message be? Come up with the most attention getting, creative, crazy thing. Yes, that’s a challenge.
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Tell us two truths and a lie. (The catch is you have to tell us what the lie is later in the comments)
- I lived in a converted school bus and slept with a hatchet by my head.
- I firmly believe I was an Egyptian Pharaoh in an earlier life.
- I never went on a date with any of my boyfriends/girlfriends/husband (and former husband) before I got involved with them romantically.
If you could be a super hero what would your super hero name be? And what would your nemesis be named? What would both of your super powers be?
The Empress of Dark Sparklies. My powers would be the ability to enchant and delight, with the darkest of sparkly magic. And my nemesis would be Grumpy Conservo-Dude, who has the power to drain the magic out of any gathering, and the fun out of any situation.
If you could switch places with someone for 72 hours, whose life would you want to live?
Honestly? Nobody. If I loved it more than my own, I’d regret coming back. If I hated it, I’d never be able to talk to that person again without thinking, “I know too much about what their life is like.”
What five other authors do you think more people need to be reading? (You can assume you’re already on the list ;))
- Shawntelle Madison.
- Kerry Schafer
- Karen Mahoney
- Holly Black (The Coldest Girl in Cold Town is one of my favorites as of late)
- Chloe Neill
Who are you choosing for your zombie apocalypse team? [Real, then fictional?]
- My friend Andrew. He’d be my choice for leader of the pack. If anybody can survive the zombie apocalypse, he can.
- I’d be the brains.
- Samwise—my husband—to run the underground communications/computer network.
- Marc and Andria, my assistants—both strong and handy.
- Carol, one of my best friends.
- Gary Numan—my favorite singer because we’re going to need entertainment. *koffs*celebritycrush*koffs*
- Leonard McCoy from Star Trek: He can cure anything with that tricorder.
- Buffy: because she’s…Buffy.
- Daryl from the Walking Dead: Because besides being eye candy, you have to love a guy who can shoot a good cross bow and have no remorse.
- MacGyver: because he can create ANYTHING.
- Han Solo: because HAN SHOT FIRST!
- Thor: because he’s Thor, any other reason needed?
(Hey, you said ‘team’…to me a team means numbers!)
What a fun interview! But now I want to talk a little about Native American Indian Heritage month, and about how that relates to me. You might not know, but I’m (a significant) part Cherokee. I don’t talk about it much because honestly, I see it as just part of who I am. It doesn’t make me any more special or less special than someone who’s part Norwegian or part African American.
I’m one of those people who are kind of adrift about my family heritage. Most of the rest of my origin is Irish, but the honest truth is this: I don’t know much about a lot of my ancestors. I tried to investigate my Cherokee ancestry but my ancestors weren’t on the government rolls and that makes it difficult to pursue information.
The genealogy of my family wasn’t documented very well and with a great-grandma who outlived eight husbands, nobody really even knows what her original last name was, as far as I know. Our family? Not so close. Add to that, my blood father was my mother’s cousin (a long and involved story there. My mother left my stepfather for very good reasons, got pregnant with me, and then unfortunately went back to him)…and you begin to understand the complicated dynamics involved in my background.
However, I do know this: I grew up in a town where ethnicities weren’t accepted very well. I grew up hearing my stepfather refer to Native Americans as ‘warhoops’ (right in front of my mother and me), and Hispanics as ‘wetbacks.’ It didn’t make me ashamed of my background. In fact, his prejudice only served to make me leave that town and my family as soon as I could.
I also know that when my mother first married my stepfather, Grandma wouldn’t allow Mom to walk through the front door for a couple of years because she was part Cherokee. (Yes, I called—her Grandma. Blood related or not, she actually treated me pretty nicely though everybody knew I wasn’t actually H’s daughter. She didn’t take it out on me like he did—he abused me for just existing.)
Mom was forced to go through the back door or the ‘servant’s entrance.’ After my stepfather finally spoke up—two years later—and his brother and sister argued with Grandma, she relented. But two years of being relegated to ‘servant’ status affected my mother’s already low self-esteem and I don’t think she ever recovered. When I heard the story, it made me that much more determined that I’d never let anybody stop me from what I wanted to do, just because of who I was.
Once I left home, I don’t believe I’ve ever suffered discrimination because of my ethnic background. I’ve been discriminated against because of my weight, being tattooed, and to some degree—being bisexual—more than anything else.
But yes, that, and the whole dynamic of knowing what happened to my mother, did affect my writing. In my books, there are hate groups and racism, even though it’s within an urban fantasy setting.
While some things in my world are idealized, others are not. In Otherworld, same-sex marriage? Legal and no problem to most people. Alternative lifestyles and sexualities? Maybe not the norm but just a matter-of-fact presence. But discrimination exists, and not only among the humans. My D’Artigo Sisters’ father hates one of Camille’s husbands simply because of his heritage. He’s prejudiced. And it causes a rift and he pays a price in losing his daughters’ respect.
I approach the themes of ‘other-ness’ and discrimination from a world-centric POV rather than taking it down to one ethnicity. Because I see racism and discrimination in every group, in every country, every continent, every religion, every gathering of like-individuals. There will always be a few who browbeat those who aren’t part of the ‘us’ in the us-and-them. So my writing focuses on oddballs and misfits, and those who live—like I do—a little bit on the fringe. In fact, I truly don’t know if I believe in ‘normal’ as truly existing.
I’ve always been on the outside, always been a ‘misfit’ in the norms of society. And that has made me realize how important subculture becomes. It’s also made me think about how important it is that those of us in the subculture not become exclusive. We cannot allow ourselves to take on the characteristics of those who would make us feel less-than-human, less-than-acceptable—whether it be for our ethnic heritage, or our weight, or the way we choose to portray ourselves.
So, next time you see a heavily tattooed fat chick wearing retro-pinup clothing, before making quick assumptions about her, remember: that could easily be me. ~grins~
So tell me, how do you see yourself against what is thought of as ‘normal’ in society? I’m giving a mini-book basket to one commenter (must be USA, I’m sorry), including the first three books in the Otherworld Series, the first book in the Indigo Court Series, and the first book in my Chintz ‘n China series.
You all know how this goes! Guess – which one is the lie that she told? What crazy question do you want to ask Yasmine? (Or you know, a reasonable one. Or something about her books.) And go go GO!
You guys, it’s Tuesday, dammit, and that’s what I’m sticking to. We’re all going to say it’s Tuesday, and I’m on top of things, and breathing, and it’s ok. Right? Right?! … Anyway, now that Ms. Eden Conner has had this neurotic intro, let’s get to her post before anything more happens on my part >.>
My latest release, Rain on Me, began as a question posed in a writer’s group. Someone asked, “What’s been missing from the novels you’ve read lately?” Although there were some hilarious responses, my answer was ‘weather’. Apparently, it’s always sunny in other authors’ imaginations. Then, the gauntlet was thrown: Write one scene using the missing criteria. The scene I wrote eventually became the second chapter of Rain on Me. The story is written from two, first-person points of view, that of a widowed mailman and practitioner of the Japanese art of sexual bondage, Ray Casey, and a determined, younger, detective, Zinnia Jackson. In the scene I’m sharing today, Zin fears her sister’s impending death, yet she spurns Ray’s attempt to comfort her. And a Dom denied is a Dom determined to show his little sub who’s the boss.
I’d sleep with the devil to nail the source of illegal poker machines pouring into my district. It’s personal between me and those one-armed bandits, but when my captain asked me to go undercover as a sexual submissive to catch our suspect, my gut said “Hell, no, even I can’t tell a lie that big.”
Enter Ray Casey, shibari master, who spent two weeks showing me the world of erotic bondage. I fell hard for Ray, but the outcome of our affair was preordained; duty above all.
When the unthinkable happened, where could I turn when I couldn’t trust my brothers in blue? My instincts lead me back to Ray, but he wants me to submit to something harder than a little BDS&M….
~Zinnia J. Jackson, Det. 1st Grade, South Carolina Law Enforcement Division
Tying, for me, is foreplay.
My ties weren’t elegant tonight. They didn’t have to be, to accomplish my purpose. This little poser thought she’d use sex to hold intimacy at arm’s length?
This is my game. And she was about to learn how well I played it.
“Only the Dom initiates sex,” I explained. “For you to try and manipulate me like that… well, I think perhaps you need to learn who’s in charge here.”
Leaning forward, I pressed my lips to her navel. Feeling under the table for the leg, I lashed the limb to the sturdy taper.
Her eyes were wide when I moved to the other side and repeated the action.
It was such a shame she couldn’t see me pick up the chopsticks.
I knew she felt the pressure when I placed them, one on either side of her inner folds, pointing from head to toe, because she drove her heels against the table and her back bowed.
“It’s the right, and the responsibility, of a Dom to comfort his submissive.”
Her pupils were blown, and it wasn’t lost on me that she didn’t argue. There was such a supple give to her hands, arms, and legs—a lack of fight that spoke volumes. “To refuse to be comforted….”
The twist ties I save from bread loaves were within reach, so in moments, I had the chop sticks bound together, pinching her most tender flesh.
I left her there to retrieve a couple of condoms, a bottle of lube, and a hank of thicker rope.
Returning to the kitchen, I stood by her head, where she could watch me twist the rope into an elongated knot and drop it into one of the condoms. Her tummy hollowed when I lubed the latex. Did the little minx lift her ass to help me seat the knot? Goosebumps appeared on her inner thighs when my hands brushed her skin.
Standing between her splayed thighs, I screwed the knot into place, taking my time, enjoying the sight of her dusky skin against the golden oak table, and eyeing the glistening pink of her slit.
His fingers were slick with lube. They pierced my channel without effort, a forceful thrust he accompanied by dropping his free hand over my eyes.
I sensed his anger, but if I’d wondered, the fierce way he plunged inside me removed any doubt I’d offended him. I had no time to worry about my sin. Every time he pressed into me, his wrist struck the end of the chopsticks. Each rough blow jostled my clit and delivered a searing burst of pleasure. Each retreat left me with vibrating strips of bamboo that seemed to pinch more tightly with each strike. Desire coiled inside me.
He set a hard rhythm.
Just as I grew accustomed to the feeling, he changed direction. Rather than sliding in and out, he curled his fingers and changed his motion to an up-and-down stroke. His fingertips strafed a spot that sent flashes of heat streaking through my veins and his callous force took my breath.
Now, I longed for the closeness I’d spurned outside. Ached to be held, to have my arms free so I could hold him. His scent flooded my senses, overlaid with the smell of sex—my sex.
“This,”—he growled, nearly yanking my ass off the table now—“this is the Dom’s dominion, his temple, his sanctuary, and his rightful place.” He gave his fingers a fierce twist, so I had no doubt he was talking about my channel. “You may neither offer nor withhold sex. Understand?” He renewed his up-and-down thrusting, faster than before.
What I understood was that I was on the verge of coming. “Y-yes,” I panted, an instant before unbearable pleasure suffused me. Streaks of heat sizzled through my veins and I climaxed with such force, I screamed.
“Yes, Sir.” His tone was detached. I ached to see his face. To be denied that ability while he brought such intense pleasure seemed unfair.
I managed to swipe my tongue across my dry lips. “Yes, sir.”
Ray’s hand didn’t cease moving, but he returned to the in-and-out motion. Meaning he slammed into the chopsticks again and again—agonizing, delicious torture. Another orgasm flashed through me, bowing my back. Talons of pleasure pierced me, holding me rigid, while inside, I shook helplessly. Ray kept thrusting, driving into me with such force, the table legs rattled against the floor.
My nipples felt like scorched earth. With every thrust he made inside me, my breasts shook, and in turn, the motion jostled my fingers. That movement tightened the ropes pinching my nipples, sending a sizzle of pleasure through the sensitive peaks. The knot inside my anal canal was pressed between the table and his fingers, adding a decadent layer of sensation as it rolled and twisted inside me.
In short, every erogenous spot was being touched, and all he used were two thick fingers. Recognition of that masculine power gripped me, shoving me over the edge again. Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes, and I shuddered through another orgasm.
My juices smeared my inner thighs and I felt them running down my crack. I’d never felt this kind of pleasure. The orgasms kept coming and coming, flooding me with heat, with wetness, with a white-hot thrill that bordered on pain.
I tried to grip his fingers with my muscles, to still them, but the harder I clamped down on his hand, the more aggressive his thrusts became.
I screamed. I cried. I begged him to stop, and all that did was persuade him to change directions again. There was something so brutal about the up-and-down motion, and yet, the act turned me to mush inside. I couldn’t help but respond to the rough treatment with another burst of wetness. I fought for enough breath to scream out my pleasure. Or beg for mercy.
I crested, fell, crested again, and still he forced his fingers into me. I sensed he bent his head by the warm breath sliding across my belly.
The soft stroke of his tongue warned me before he bit down on my clit. His fingertips dug into that sensitive spot inside me I hadn’t known was there.
Pain sizzled inside the small nub, a sharp but tiny pain, more unexpected than brutal. Bright colors burst behind my eyelids and the incredible pleasure was so intense, I lifted my hips, forcing his face into my mound. I’d never gushed so hard.
Then, my darkness became absolute.
I was vaguely aware when he let the ropes loose. Knew when he pulled the knot free, but I was too dazed to respond. I could barely wrap my arms around his neck when he lifted me, but when he laid me in the bed, I couldn’t let him go. The pounding in my veins gradually slowed to match the languorous rain beating the roof. Distant thunder blended with the strong beat inside Ray’s chest. I was basted in bliss and his cock was hot and hard against my belly.
His lips on my neck felt like a blessing, and forgiveness.
He slid out of the bed. I heard the water run in the bathroom. He brought back a cloth. Where was my shame? I let him pry my legs open and marveled at his gentle touch with the cloth, but the soft swipes made me shudder and wrung another tiny orgasm from me.
“I’m sorry.” I couldn’t stop crying. I thought he’d take me, roll me to my back and fuck me, but as soon as he came back to bed, his breathing slowed and his hard-on gradually subsided. My last thought before I drifted off was that he’d given me pleasure and yet taken nothing.
The realization took more than I’d meant to give.
I’m giving away one e-copy of Rain on Me. To be entered in the contest, all you need do is post your e-mail address and answer the same question that spawned this story: What’s been missing from the novels you’ve read lately? I’ll e-mail the winner to ask their preference of either Kindle or ePub format. (Please note: I do not offer the .pdf format.)
Thanks for reading!
About this author
Eden Connor graduated from Converse College with a degree in Psychology so long ago, her sheepskin is chiseled in stone. She’s been a graphic artist, a bridal photographer and an antique restorer. Since the death of her true love, she raised two children to adulthood and now has the time to return to writing. She writes primarily contemporary erotic romances, the odd bit of erotica and an occasional paranormal piece. Most of her writing is set where she lives, in South Carolina, so expect the handsome stranger to come equipped with a slow drawl. Addicted to hazelnut creamer, baseball and cranberry glass, she likes the music of Motown and when not writing about adults behaving badly, she takes a stab at the occasional needlepoint canvas.
Yay giveaway! Yay exclusive excerpt! What’d you think? 😀