The Guest Post

by Margo Hoornstra

Saturday In Serendipity – And A Little Secret I’d Like To Share

It’s great to be here at the Serious Whimsy on my Saturday In Serendipity blog tour. Thank you, Jolana, for having me.

Saturday In Serendipity, my first foray into self-publishing, is a compilation of three novellas which revolve around a twentieth high school reunion at Serendipity High School. Serendipity is a mid-sized town located on the shores of Lake Champlain in Vermont.

Three Strikes Thursday, leaves Barry Carlson, professional baseball’s former golden boy, with some serious making up to do. A love ‘em and leave ‘em attitude of his youth has finally caught up with him and his future. Amanda Marsh is the one he foolishly pushed away. He has his work cut out for him if he hopes to ever win her back.

Two On Tuesday, has Serendipity High School graduate Blane Weston viewing her upcoming class reunion  as a chance to renew a former, but not forgotten, love. Enter Matt Durand, someone she’s recently considered, and quickly rejected as a potential business partner. Turns out he won’t take no for an answer and has other ideas for her time and activities at the reunion.

One Fateful Friday, is the story of forever friends Jake and Bethany, two soul mates through high school who went their separate ways after graduation. Brought together twenty years later, both involved with careers in healthcare, they assume they’ll re-establish their relationship with flawless compatibility. Except, they now hold different philosophies that might jeopardize their chance at a happy future.

Today, just for fun, I’d like to share some background information on the creation of Saturday In Serendipity. All three novellas were originally published separately as part of a reunion series. One of those stories  – One Fateful Friday – has seen it all, if you will. Allow me to explain.

I was once asked what I felt were the major differences between short stories and longer novels. With many of each under my belt—some published, some not—the simple answer is length to write and time to read. But there’s more to possible differences than that. With both short stories and long, ie novels, the goal is to create vibrant, believable characters and put them into interesting situations that need to be resolved. The short story format doesn’t allow for extensive descriptions or character development, requiring the scene or scenes to be written tighter and more concise. On the other hand, the novel can sometimes become bogged down with irrelevant details, character enhancements and back story explanations that are, quite honestly, better left unsaid.

Fortunately, or not, I speak from experience on both underwriting and overwriting, too.

One Fateful Friday began as a short, short story of  less than one thousand words that actually received a contract. However, I felt, and my editor agreed, the story deserved to be longer. So off I went to write it. The full length novel version came in at around 75,000 words that—my editor’s opinion which I ultimately agreed with—had great characters in interesting situations with no real all-encompassing plot. The novel I had such high hopes for, she declined to contract.

Disappointed but not defeated, I trimmed out almost half of those seventy-five thousand words. A humbling experience, to be sure, but one that produced, I think and my editor ultimately agreed, a more entertaining read.

The bottom line, length and time are the only true differences between short stories and long. But well connected plot lines, character development that is neither too much or too little, and strong, believable situations that reach satisfying conclusions, make all the difference between what comprises a good story versus one that is bad.

About the Book

Saturday in Serendipity (A Three Book Anthology)
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: August 11, 2014
Length: 427 Pages

A twenty year high school reunion changes the lives of former classmates and leads to unexpected futures.

Three Strikes Thursday
Barry Carlson, a pro baseball success, could have any woman he wanted. Except one. Twenty years before, Barry won Amanda Marsh’s love, only to crush her heart. He’s returned to Serendipity, determined to win her back. Recently divorced, Amanda is happy—until Barry slides back into her life. Can they put aside old wounds and new misunderstandings to find a forever love?

Two On Tuesday
Blane Weston’s construction company needs the venture capital Matt Durand has. With his reputation for hostile takeovers, she wants no part of him. Mixing business with pleasure, she’s off to Serendipity to hook up with a former flame. Not used to being denied, Matt follows. How can Blane enjoy a journey to her past when Matt is determined to dictate her future?

One Fateful Friday
His high school reunion in Serendipity over, hospital CEO Jake Holbrook regrets his single state. When a special woman from his past tumbles back into his life—and his bed—he’s determined to keep her there. Family practitioner Bethany Thomas avoids an entanglement with her new boss, but unknowingly betrays him. As the holidays approach, can they overcome a lack of trust to find their Christmas miracle?

The Excerpts

Three Strikes Thursday

The solution was simple. Get out of the car, walk up to the house and ring the bell. Apologize for the intrusion when her father came to the door, and ask to see Amanda.

Only for a couple of minutes. Please.

Then he could fall all over himself telling her how sorry he was.

“Yeah that’s gonna fly.” His whisper filled the emptiness around him, and he dropped his head. “Face it, asshole. You blew it.”

In an odd way, talking to himself, he didn’t feel quite so alone.

He turned his gaze back to stare at Amanda’s window. The shade was still down. Her light was out.

So that was it.

Moving like a rigid, soulless robot, Barry put the car in gear and drove slowly away. Picking up speed as he left Amanda’s subdivision, he floored it once he hit the highway. With the windows down, the warm night air cooled as it roared around him.

He flicked the headlights on high. Their beams lit up the trees, telephone poles and bushes as they whizzed by. Nothing could stop him as long as he kept his foot down hard on the gas pedal. Then something did.

Pulling to one side of the deserted road, he jammed the gear shift into park, jumped out, ran around to the back bumper, bent over.

And puked his guts out onto the warm asphalt.

Two on Tuesday

…up until a few years ago being alone suited her just fine. Lately though, call it a change in her biological timepiece, she entertained the idea of someone to share her life. Maybe even have a couple of kids.

All that remained was to find the right man for the job.

Car wheels crunched gravel, and she glanced out the window. A shiny black sedan pulled into a parking spot a ways away. Had Malcolm come out to the site for some reason?

She waited a moment to see. It was hardly the slight form of her business partner who emerged from the driver side a few minutes later. The green polo shirt on this man was unbuttoned at the neck and stretched to the limit over large, sturdy shoulders. Her gaze dipped to follow the expanse of a trim male torso then on to the jean covered outline of a noteworthy ass and long legs.

No doubt one of her foreman’s recruits reporting for work. An assessing gaze skimmed over him again. He certainly looked healthy enough for the job. Though she didn’t get why he drove a shiny new car instead of a rugged pick up like most of the others. Edging her head back in the seat, she studied him out the side window. Feet planted wide, something in the way he took in everything around him told her this one knew his way around a construction site. Doing another quick onceover of the man, she let out a sigh. Or life in general.

One Fateful Friday

…up until a few years ago being alone suited her just fine. Lately though, call it a change in her biological timepiece, she entertained the idea of someone to share her life. Maybe even have a couple of kids.

All that remained was to find the right man for the job.

Car wheels crunched gravel, and she glanced out the window. A shiny black sedan pulled into a parking spot a ways away. Had Malcolm come out to the site for some reason?

She waited a moment to see. It was hardly the slight form of her business partner who emerged from the driver side a few minutes later. The green polo shirt on this man was unbuttoned at the neck and stretched to the limit over large, sturdy shoulders. Her gaze dipped to follow the expanse of a trim male torso then on to the jean covered outline of a noteworthy ass and long legs.

No doubt one of her foreman’s recruits reporting for work. An assessing gaze skimmed over him again. He certainly looked healthy enough for the job. Though she didn’t get why he drove a shiny new car instead of a rugged pick up like most of the others. Edging her head back in the seat, she studied him out the side window. Feet planted wide, something in the way he took in everything around him told her this one knew his way around a construction site. Doing another quick onceover of the man, she let out a sigh. Or life in general.

About Margo Hoornstra

     Like many writers, it’s hard to determine exactly when my fiction writing career began. I remember composing a short story in grade school (I have no idea about what) which was chosen for publication in an all school anthology. A journalism class taken in junior high school led to a job on the school newspaper and a weekly column.

I always loved reading. I loved writing too. Someday, I thought, maybe when I grew up and received the right training, I could actually write a book. After all, I was often told, laughingly most times, I had an extremely vivid imagination.

Through the years, the desire to write was always there. I had so many ideas and characters roaming around in my head, so many stories. But the business of living—going to college, getting married then raising a family—took precedence over something as frivolous as writing a book.

Then one day out of the blue I was downsized—effective immediately—from a job I’d held for over thirty years. What seemed so unfair at the time, I now recognize the tremendous gift I was given that day. As I’m now able to spend more and more time doing what I love—writing romantic fiction—I find I really do have an abundance of stories to share.

The Giveaway

[I love the book title’s play on words, and Miss Nettie’s unintentionally humorous church newsletter column alone is worth the price of the book. See the excerpt below. :)]

Bringing in the Thieves introduces us to irreverent Frankie Lou Birmingham McMasters, a preacher’s prodigal daughter, whose former bad girl reputation still clings to her like hair on soap.

“Oh, it’s good to be bad.” So say the villains in recent Jaguar commercials on TV. Not so for Frankie Lou. When she returns to her hometown of Ruby Springs, Texas, she soon finds out that it’s not all that good to be bad, that people have long memories, and that Thomas Wolfe was probably right. You Can’t Go Home Again.

Here’s the author herself to tell you more. Welcome, Lora Lee!

Life’s Joyful Moments

Many, many thanks to my friend, Jolana Malkston for inviting me to be a guest here on Serious Whimsy today.  I hope my post will bring a bit of joy to your day.

Since my newest release, BRINGING IN THE THIEVES, is the first book in the Joyful Noise Mysteries, I thought a post about the joyful moments in life would be appropriate.  I’ve had a few of them and I imagine you’ve had some, also, so let’s talk about them, okay? Let’s celebrate our joyful moments!

Childhood memories of happy times are often exaggerated as we grow older. We remember our birthday parties as bigger than they really were. Our grades in school were better in those memories, too. And our social life – well, that was plain awesome. Sure it was. But I’m not talking about those kind of memories. I’m talking about the joyful moments that made a difference in your life. A monumental moment like when you graduated from high school or college, or when you got that first important paying job. How about when you met your soul mate and said, “I Do”?  The birth of a child, your first Mother’s Day as a real mommy, that first Christmas together as a family – all important and joyful moments. Or how about when you met someone who influenced your life in a positive way? A teacher, perhaps, who saw your potential and encouraged you to follow your dream. Even a total stranger could’ve impacted your life by bringing you joy. Have you visited a special place that filled you with joyful moments?  The list could go on and on, but for brevity’s sake I’ll share only one of mine here with you today.

Eight years ago my husband had a heart attack and emergency open-heart surgery. Thanks to the finest heart surgeons and excellent care at the heart center, his recovery was a good one. During his stay at the hospital, he had several nurses and aides who cared for him. One nurse in particular was a glowing ray of sunshine each time she entered his room. Funny, compassionate, full of laughter, she made hubby’s day a little easier for him to endure. She encouraged him and assured him he would get better. She told us she was a single mom, studying nights to further her medical career.  She was an LPN but wanted to advance and become an RN. Her name was Tammy and she was putting herself through nursing school. She was following a dream. She signed hubby’s heart pillow and we thanked her and wished her the best when we left the heart center. A joyful moment, indeed!

Then, one year later we were back at the heart center. This time, I was the patient undergoing open-heart surgery. Lo and behold, who walked into my room after my surgery but . . . yes, Tammy. Laughing and asking why I’d gone to such drastic measures to see her again, she blew away my troubles and cheered my hubby with her smiles.  She’d seen my last name on the door to my room and recognized it, so she came in to see us and ask if we were okay with her being my nurse. She wanted to request a change of her station and take care of me like she’d cared for my husband. Of course, we said yes. She finished her night classes, she told us, and was now an RN. She would be working as a surgical nurse soon, something she’d always dreamed of doing. It was by chance that she was still working on the floor where we were. We were surprised and happy to see her again, especially because I knew she would take good care of me.  I was there two weeks because of all the inside repair my old ticker needed. My joyful moment finally came when I was wheeled out of the room to the car holding my own signed, red heart pillow against my chest. Tammy hugged us both and I cried when I thanked her. Such a special person she was and how fortunate we were to have known her. And we never even knew her last name.  But she’d brought us joy at extremely stressful times in our lives and we will remember her smiles and laughter.

I have a little plaque on the wall in my office with one of my favorite sayings on it . . . “Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass, it’s about learning to dance in the rain.”  Dancing in the rain can be a joyful moment, too. Try it and you’ll see.

I wish you many joyful moments in your life,

Lora  Lee

Frankie Lou’s back and Poppy’s madder than a wet hen.
Create a church choir filled with teenage misfits?
Over Poppy’s dead body.

Minister’s daughter Frankie Lou McMasters has come back to Ruby Springs, Texas with her daughter, Betsy, eleven years after running off to marry the town bad boy. Her mild notoriety as a bad girl is prime gossip for her childhood enemy, Poppy Fremont, now choir director of Faith Community Church–where Frankie Lou’s daddy, now retired to Florida, was the preacher.

When Frankie Lou comes to the deacons with a request to add a youth choir of at-risk teens she’s been coaching, Poppy throws a fit. A few hours later, Frankie Lou finds her dead in the baptistery pool. And Poppy’s not playing possum.

Frankie Lou sets out to clear her name as the main suspect, and tries to locate the real killer. Could he be sexy Joe Camps, the father of one of her teen singers? In the meantime, her momma shows up from Florida to take charge of Frankie Lou’s life. Bless her heart.

Lora Lee also writes as Loralee Lillibridge. Learn more about her contemporary romances and keep in tune with the Joyful Noise at lora-lee.com

Excerpt

About Lora Lee

       You can’t be a preacher’s kid and raise a little hob without some serious repercussions. Yes, ma’am, that’s the gospel truth. Lora Lee’s JOYFUL NOISE mystery series for Bell Bridge Books, sheds a little light on just how serious those consequences can be when Frankie Lou Birmingham McMasters returns to her hometown of Ruby Springs, Texas after ten years in hopes of putting some shine on her tarnished reputation, but finds herself in the middle of murder and mayhem instead.

Though author Lora Lee insists the series isn’t about her in any way, shape or form, she does admit to being a real-life P.K. (that’s preacher’s kid, in case you didn’t know.) She was born in Texas and her Southern blood runs deep. Her daddy told her any place below the Mason-Dixon line was part of the South, including the Lone Star State.

Since living in West Michigan most of her married life, she’s lost some of her Texas twang, but once in awhile, a might could and a y’all or two slips into her conversation with her critique partners. They love her, anyway. So does her husband of fifty-plus years and their children. With a current family count of twenty-three, get-togethers often resemble an old time revival when they all gather for fun and food.

Lora Lee is a member of Romance Writer’s of America, Mid-Michigan RWA, Sisters-in-Crime, RWA’s specialty chapter Kiss of Death and is currently published in contemporary romance. She is also a proud graduate of the Grand Rapids Citizens Police Academy.

When not writing or trying to keep up with her ever-growing family, she enjoys reading, music and travel.

The Giveaway

For months, the Continent has been mired in a devastating war: artillery barrages lasting days, the death rattle of machine guns, toxic chemical gas, futile charges across no-man’s-land toward  enemy trenches. Caryn Hallom, the Foreign Minister of the Republic of Deugan and the first woman to have achieved such a powerful position in the fledgling democracy, is horrified that she failed to prevent the war from breaking out on her watch.

When Caryn finds herself trapped together with Michael Ravencliffe, a member of the royal family of Deugan’s main enemy in the war, she seizes on the opportunity to try to negotiate an end to the fighting. Little does she know that a new faction is about to enter the conflict, armed with a frightening magical weapon … or that it will be led by the one person on the Continent who knows the truth about Caryn’s past.

Gateways has been described as a fantasy novel that reads like historical fiction. Set in an alternate world that resembles Europe during the First World War, the novel combines geopolitics with plots, counterplots and magic, and ultimately asks the question: how far are we prepared to go for peace?

The Book Excerpt

About Brian Gottheil

I’ve been writing as a hobby since, at the age of four, I penned an epic about my then-favourite sport, the charmingly mis-spelled “baceball.” I’m more of a basketball fan these days, but I have kept up my love for writing throughout.

I live in Toronto, Canada, or as we Torontonians like to call it, “the centre of the universe.” I’m just joking about that … mostly. I’m writing a novel at the moment in which the main character hates Toronto, so that’s been a bit of a challenge. At one point she describes it as a “frenetic smogscape.” To each her own, I suppose.

In my day job, I work as a labour and employment lawyer with Bernardi Human Resource Law (visit us atwww.hrlawyers.ca). I practice labour and employment law, which I think is fascinating and covers everything from union certifications to human rights issues, employment contracts to severance packages, and court and tribunal work to harassment investigations.

Outside of work, while I’m less enamoured than I once was with “baceball,” I’ve replaced it with a hobby and passion that I find even more creative, exciting, and easy to spell: swing dancing.

The Giveaway

It sure feels like Fall outside Time to start thinking about raking leaves, color tours and Halloween. To get us in the mood, I’m sharing Melt-in-Your-Mouth Pumpkin Cookies and one of my short stories – Enjoy:

Instructions:

Amazon | Barnes & Noble
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Release Date: September 15, 2013
Length: 356 Pages

An inhuman agenda…

In 1982, Annette Pretorius lives a life of privilege afforded to those of European descent in South Africa, but when her husband is murdered, she discovers a shattering secret: he’d been commissioned by the whites-only South African government to develop a lethal virus aimed at controlling the growth of the black population–already oppressed under the cruel system of apartheid.

A clandestine organization…

The murder came with a warning to Annette from a secretive organization: keep our secrets or you too will die. Captain Trevor Watson, Annette’s former boyfriend, is appointed to lead the investigation. Watson’s loyalty is tested as the evidence stacks against his high school sweetheart.

And the killing isn’t over yet…

When the investigation points in a terrifying direction, Annette and Watson face a wrenching choice: protect those they love or sacrifice all to save innocents from racial extermination.

Praise for Operation: Genocide

Diabolical motives and charismatic characters populate Yvonne Walus’ breath-stealing adventure, Operation: Genocide. – Dr. Allen Wyler

About Yvonne Walus

Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

By trying to portray what South Africa was like at the height of its apartheid era, by inspecting both sides of the coin, I’m sure I’ve managed to offend all parties. Still, I’m not sorry.

South Africa means a lot of things to a lot of people: lions in long yellow grass, diamond mines, apartheid, Nelson Mandela, rugby. All of those images are right, yet none of them – in my opinion – are representative of the misunderstood country or its people. None of them describe what it’s like to live in South Africa, both in the 1980s and today. I’d like my readers to smell the red dust of the continent and to fall in love with Africa the way I did when I first set foot there as an impressionable teenager, a refugee from communism and the bitter cold of Poland. I left my heart in Africa, and I invite you to do the same.

The Giveaway

$5 Amazon or B&N Gift Card

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Thanks for stopping by! I’m participating in Week #3 of the Feature Friday Block Party Blog Hop, which is co-hosted this week with author MJ Schiller. You can #FF us on Twitter with @JolanaMalkston and @MJSchiller. I’ve brought Crab Rollup Appetizers and some info on ONE RED SHOE written by my bestie Diane Burton (don’t forget to #FF Diane at @dmburton72) to the party – Enjoy!

Ingredients:

• 2 packages (8oz.) cream cheese, softened
• 1 cup sharp cheddar cheese, shredded
• 1/3 cup mayonnaise [not Miracle Whip]
• 1 oz. can of crabmeat, drained
• 1 Tbsp. green onion, finely chopped
• 1/4 cup red bell pepper, finely chopped
• Flour tortillas

Directions:

1. Mix first six ingredients well.
2. Spread one tablespoon of crab and cheese mixture on each soft flour tortilla, roll up, cover and refrigerate.
3. Chill well before slicing into one-inch wheels.
4. Secure wheels with decorative toothpicks.

One Red Shoe

Amazon | Barnes & Noble

Skylights, dirty like the rest of the windows in the building, let in enough light to see. Good. He didn’t want to risk turning on a light that would shine under the door. Around a corner, hidden from the door, he found a long counter with a row of sinks and a mirror above. All the better to examine the damage done by that trigger-happy fool.

Sam unzipped his jeans and worked down his briefs to expose his hip. What a mess. Not for the first time, he cursed Grashenko for showing up in that hotel room in Smolensk. Sam’s hasty departure, with Yuri and Korioff on his tail, meant leaving behind his gear. His clothes, sunglasses, and emergency medical supplies would bring top dollar on the Russian black market. He would have to make do with what he had. Carefully, he turned a faucet to wet his handkerchief. He blew out a breath in relief the plumbing still worked and was used on a regular basis. No air hissed or sputtered, which would’ve brought Grashenko and Korioff back in a hurry.

With much twisting to see, Sam wiped away the worst of the blood. Amazed that there were paper towels in a dispenser, he folded several and stuffed them inside his briefs. He tried to zip his jeans but the bulge in back pressed on his raw flesh. Hell, he’d zip up when he was done.

When he bent to check his calf, he nearly keeled over from dizziness. He grabbed the counter. His shoe had absorbed the blood. None on the floor, thank God. No trail. Sam patted his shirt pocket and took out his agency cell phone. He needed to find out where the hell Teller was. That idiot better have a damn good reason for doing a no-show. Didn’t he realize the consequences? Didn’t he realize how little time they had to—

The air moved—his only warning that the door to the restroom had opened. A whirlwind in beige blasted past him. In that split second Sam instinctively cataloged the intruder. Female, five-ten, weight uncertain due to voluminous coat, late twenties, long dark single braid, penny loafers. And a large button clipped to her purse. Shit. More dangerous than a Russian Mafia hit man. A wide-eyed innocent. The kind he’d sworn to protect. And here he was bleeding like a stuck pig, so dizzy he was going to fall flat on his face.

For more info and excerpts from her books or to connect with Diane, visit her at:

Website | Blog | Twitter | Facebook |  | Pinterest

Thanks for stopping by! I’m participating in Week #2 of the Feature Friday Block Party Blog Hop, which is co-hosted this week with author MJ Schiller. You can #FF us on Twitter with @JolanaMalkston and @MJSchiller. I’ve brought Old Settlers’ Baked Beans to the party – Enjoy!

Ingredients:

1 pound of bacon, cut up
1 pound of lean ground beef
1 large onion, chopped (1 cup)
2/3 cup of brown sugar
¼ cup catsup
¼ cup BBQ sauce (any brand)
2 Tb. prepared mustard (spicy brown)
1 Tb. apple cider vinegar
2 Tb. molasses
1 tsp. chili powder
1 tsp. salt
¼ tsp. black pepper
1 1-pound can dark red kidney beans, drained
1 1-pound can butter beans, drained
2 1-pound cans pork and beans

Directions:

Brown the bacon and remove from the pan with a slotted spoon.  Sauté the onions in the bacon grease until translucent and then remove with a slotted spoon and add to the bacon pieces.  Drain drippings from the pan; blot with a paper towel if necessary. Brown the ground beef, removing the fat as it cooks out.  Mix all the ingredients together, adding the beans last.  Pour the mixture into a large casserole dish or 9” x 13” baking pan.  Bake uncovered at 350° for one hour.

Serious Whimsy

The Camp Grandma Chronicles

Camp Grandma II is over. The campers, namely three of my grandchildren, have gone home. The house is now as quiet as the eye of a storm after the worst passed over. Macho Guy likes it that way.

For five days, I managed to keep up with a three-year-old, a five-year-old, and a seven-year-old. What little energy I have left, I’m using to write this post.

Oh. I must have dozed off for a bit. Where was I?

Right. Camp Grandma. We swam in our lake, we fished, we built sandcastles, we did arts and crafts, we read stories, we played games on Grandma’s Wii, and we had two movie and popcorn nights.

Macho Guy and I took our three little campers on a field trip on one of the five camp days. We visited a dairy farm to watch automated cow milking, we went to a cider mill that had a children’s playground, and we went to a local ice cream shop for a treat. The little campers had a blast jumping on a bounce pillow at the playground, but the highlight of the day was when they watched one of the dairy cows poop. The cow’s hind end was turned toward us, so the campers had an unobstructed view of the massive amount of poop exiting the cow’s derriere. Macho Guy explained that the poop was called cow pie. They giggled and pointed, and they went into hysterics every time Macho Guy said cow pie and I said poop. Kids. The things that amuse them. Seriously.

A few years earlier, during the first Camp Grandma, I had only two campers to stay ahead of—a two-year-old and a four-year-old. They visited after their new baby brother was born. Their harried mom and dad told them they were going on vacation by themselves to Camp Grandma on the Lake.

Yay! They were so excited they couldn’t wait to leave home. They woke their dad at six in the morning on the day of departure. Daddy opened his eyes, astonished to see that the four-year-old had dressed his two-year-old brother and had already filled both their little backpacks with their favorite toys. Nope, they weren’t too anxious to go on vacation to Camp Grandma.

They were pretty well behaved most of the time, but our camping fun was interrupted once by some very naughty hijinks. I told the boys they couldn’t do anything at Camp Grandma that they weren’t allowed to do back home. The four-year-old, who may someday have a successful career in politics, assured me without batting an eye that their parents had no rules.

No rules. Sure. Uh-Huh. I managed to keep a straight face and told him that Grandma did have rules and that Grandma expected them to obey those rules—or else.

Shortly after Camp Grandma was over and the boys were once again at home with their mom and dad, I got a phone call from their dad. He was finding it hard to keep from laughing. It seemed the boys got into trouble and the four-year-old made an interesting claim when his mom and dad disciplined him. He told them that he and his brother didn’t want to live with them anymore. They wanted to live with Grandma. When asked why, the little scamp said, “Because Grandma doesn’t have any rules.”

I laughed so hard I almost dropped the phone. That little stinker! It didn’t take him long to learn how to play one against the other.

Look out, Washington, DC; here he comes—for sure.

Let’s go see what everyone else brought!

After a childhood spent drifting between foster homes, the desire for love and stability becomes both a propelling force and a tender, vacant space in Easton McNeil’s life. But the man who keeps moving forward in search of the ‘beautiful ordinary’ finds himself confronted by unexpected curves. He’s a virgin who becomes a father. A humanistic dreamer who becomes a business journalist. A practical man who ends up leaving his stable career for a gig as a sidekick to the notorious shock jock, Cooper Ross.

Encouraged by Ross’s oddball fans, Easton plans a cross-country road trip to interview them. Now an empty-nester, the man who’s always loved the idea of home sells his and embarks on a wholehearted mission to say yes—to broader horizons, new experiences, and wherever the road might lead him—or at least that’s what he believes.

The mission becomes more complicated when he meets the enigmatic Eleanor Conley. Suddenly, the tender, vacant space that he’s spent years trying to mitigate becomes an all-out hunger that sends Easton careening forward for the sake of love. But are he and Eleanor meant to be together, or are they meant to be each other’s catalysts on the way to somewhere else?

Bright Lines is the story of an unusually hopeful man and his lifelong search for love, family and connection.

On sale via Kindle Countdown beginning April 5. The sale will continue until April 11.

Amazon

Genre: Contemporary Fiction

Length: 333 Pages

Release Date: March 5, 2014

~The Book Excerpt~

Until I lied skin-to-skin with Eleanor, I didn’t fully appreciate the crushing weight of the stone in my spirit or the toll it had taken. The years of forced indifference, and the futile struggle to quash the wants when the ache became too scraping. The persistence of one-day dreams, no matter how unyielding the reality. My stubborn refusal to cave into hopelessness, or to graciously accept a fate that felt inhuman. The desperate way I held onto the steadfast belief that nothing was impossible, even when all that was possible was to guard against despair and apathy. All of it left a mark.

Sometimes, the if only’s of love felt so close, so utterly possible in my imagination, yet remained so distant that they may as well have been a piece of sky or a star. Still, my compulsion was to reach, to wish, to plead. Over the years, there had even been times that I stood under the vast night sky, dry, thirsty and wanting, with my arms outstretched and my mouth open in a humble, desperate prayer.

A lack of mercy is to sense that you’ve been heard, but left unanswered.

I would not have thought that decades later, Mercy would finally arrive to wash away the stone, bringing with her not a few words, not a chisel, but a whole river that she opened to me, as if it were always meant to be mine.

Eleanor, my river, my mountain, my sun. My long-awaited and most tender mercy.

We said yes together on a gray April day in San Diego, with a hazy fog rolling over the Pacific coast and a light mist in the air. We stood together in the warm, clean white of a hotel room, my frayed bag thrown on a chair, her neat luggage on a rack, two travelers who had decided to take shelter in each other.

“I want to,” Eleanor said. A three word answer to those years of prayers. I placed my hand on her pale neck and drew her close for a kiss, but then I paused, searching her eyes for any sign of withdrawal. Finding none, I traced the outline of her face with my fingertips, needing to remember always this moment. What if it was the only moment we would ever have? What if her river of want suddenly closed, dammed by her conscience of 19 years?

I’m an essayist and author presently living in Phoenix, AZ with my beloved sidekick, Annie, who I probably talk about far too much. What can I say? I’m a dog person.