 I’m thrilled to welcome friend and sister Wild Rose Press author Susie Black, whose latest book in her Holly Swimsuit Mystery Series launched August 2nd! Susie, congratulations on Death by Cutting Table! Sooo exciting! We have an interview with the author, an excerpt from the book, all the links you need for more. But first, we have a beautiful guest post from Susie. Guest Post: Nana the Great Communicator by Susie Black If there is an inheritable gene for story-telling, mine came from my mother’s mother. My nana should have been a writer. No one could tell a story like her. She was the eldest of six children of a modest immigrant family from Eastern Europe that settled in Boston at the turn of the century. My great-grandfather was a tailor who managed to clothe, feed, and shelter his children, but there was precious little left over for extravagances like a day at the cinema for one child, let alone for six. Nana had a cousin Jenny who played piano at the local silent-movie house and she was able to get a free pass for relatives. Nana and her next oldest sibling traded off weeks going to the serialized show every Saturday afternoon and then came home to tell the story to all the other kids. The other kids hated it when it was my great-aunt’s turn because she gave a short synopsis and called it a day. They were thrilled when it was Nana’s turn. She set up two rows of chairs in the parlor like in the movie house, served popcorn, dimmed the lights, and played background music on the victrola as she recounted the episode of the serial. Nana would take her time, slowly build up to the cliffhanger and stop talking right before the finale. Nana would wait until my great uncle Murray would yell, “Go on Rae, go on!” before she’d finish telling the story. Talk about pacing and how to build tension in the finale. Nana had it down pat. Like many families, once my nana’s siblings grew up and left home, they scattered across the country. Nana knew the importance of keeping her family together no matter how many miles separated them. Since a phone was not an option, as the oldest child, Nana was chosen to write letters to family members living far from home. With the same level of dedication as the postman; come rain, sleet, or snow, war or peace, prosperous times or the depths of a national depression, my blind-as-a-bat without her coke bottle-thick glasses nana sat every Monday night at her dining room table and wrote a letter to each of her siblings. Her letters sewed the thread that kept our close-knit tribe connected. When I was in my sophomore year of college my family moved from Los Angeles to Miami. Despite their valiant attempts to persuade me to join them, I wasn’t interested in relocating to “God’s waiting room,” and remained out west. The good news was that Nana added me to her list of weekly letter-writing recipients. Lonesome for my family, Nana’s weekly letter was an eagerly-anticipated lifeline to my family’s heart and soul. For all of us, that letter was the glue that kept our family bound together no matter how far from home one of us wandered. The designated town crier, Nana’s letters were more like a newsletter. A date with her friends at the movies? After reading her letter, I was in the seat next to her. She reported who went, what they wore if they were late or early; where they sat if they had a snack, what the snack was, editorials on how much the snacks and the movie tickets cost, and every detail of the movie that was so complete, the recipient of her letter could write a decent review based on Nana’s commentary. If she described what an attendee was wearing, I could close my eyes and picture the outfit perfectly. Her descriptions were so detailed and rich, that if she was describing a meal, I could smell the wafting aroma and taste the food. Out of sentimentality or maybe a sixth sense that someday I’d need them, I kept every one of those letters. Like Nana, they were strong-willed and hearty; surviving dogs, a child, countless moves, several major earthquakes, and a devastating house fire. I had no formal creative writing training when I decided to write my first manuscript. I had a story to tell, but no clue how to tell it. I instinctively pulled the carefully wrapped packets of letters out of the storage box and re-read every one of them. I could picture Nana at the dining room table writing the letters. I heard her voice inside my head speaking to me. My long-gone, full-service Nana had given me all the tools I needed. I re-packed the letters, started to write, and thanks to Nana, I never stopped. My debut humorous cozy mystery Death by Sample Size was published in 2021, and by the end of this year, I will have a total of five books published. I kept Nana’s communication skills and distinctive voice in mind while writing Death by Sample Size. Somewhere in the great beyond, Nana is smiling with approval.  Susie's mom and Nana Such a wonderful post. Thank you for sharing it with us, Susie. And now, let's learn a bit more about the prolific author Susie Black. 1) What sort of books did you enjoy reading as a child? Did you have a favorite book or series? SUSIE: As a young child I was given the Mary Jane series and The Five Little Peppers and How They Grew series from my mother-these were her books when she was a child, so they were of course, quite special to me. When I was older, hands down, the Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys series were my favorites. I also loved the biography of Amelia Earhart. 2) What sort of books do you enjoy reading nowadays? SUSIE: I enjoy reading books in the mystery genre in general but gravitate towards the same type of books I write-humorous cozy mysteries. 3)Around what age did you realize that you liked to write? SUSIE: Actually, it was at a rather young age. I can remember writing short stories in the third grade. In junior high, high school, and college, I was a reporter and wrote for the school newspapers. I was ultimately made the Editor-in-Chief of all three. I am not in the least surprised you were made Editor-in-Chief!  And when did you know that you wanted to write books? SUSIE: While writing the daily journal entries that chronicled the interesting people I encountered and the crazy things I got myself into and out of during my career as a ladies’ apparel sales exec was when I knew I wanted to turn my experiences into books. 4) What’s the first thing you wrote that you remember being proud of? SUSIE: My first column as the Editor-in-Chief of my high school newspaper. You must have been so very proud!  5) Tell us about the creative force within you. SUSIE: The creative force within me is how I see the world. That is why I write in the first person. So, it is my voice that the readers hear in their heads when they read my books. What inspires you to write, to create? SUSIE: I am a people person. People are utterly fascinating and are my inspiration to write and create. I can sit for an hour in the mall food court or an airport departure lounge and people watch and come up with hundreds of stories about the folks I observe. 6) What’s your writing space like? SUSIE: I have commandeered our family room as my writing space. I have a large-screen computer on a computer desk adjacent to a copier, a TV, and a stereo. If the writing is going well, I listen to either jazz or rock N’ roll oldies. But if I am struggling, I find music a distraction and turn it off. We live in the southern California desert on a golf course. I can look out the window onto the fairway and watch the hapless duffers whack away or observe the ducks and geese in the water hazard lounging around for comic relief. It is a very peaceful atmosphere and always gets my creative juices flowing. 7) Do you have a favorite time of day to write? SUSIE: I don’t have a set daily schedule or a set number of hours a day to write. I try hard to write at least something every day, but candidly, life often gets in the way of the best-laid plans…That said, I can tell you that I rarely write in the morning. I am a night owl and often do my most productive writing late into the wee hours. Any habits or little rituals that put you in a writing mindset? SUSIE: Before I sit down to write, I make sure there is a full pot of fresh coffee brewed and keep a jar of mixed nuts next to the computer. When I am plotting, I step away from the computer and walk. Some people do their best thinking in the shower or the car. I do my best thinking while walking. 8) Time to talk about your latest release (rubbing hands together)! But first, how did you come up with the idea for the Holly Swimsuit Mystery series? SUSIE: I came up with the idea for the series based on my career. My protagonist’s name is Holly and she is a successful ladies’ swimwear sales exec in the Los Angeles area and an amateur sleuth. Holly is the me I always wanted to be. My journal is the source of all my writing. All my characters are based on real people I have crossed paths within my apparel career.  Are there any interesting tidbits you’d care to share with us? SUSIE: I inherited my maternal grandmother’s love of perfume, jewelry, taking chances, speaking my mind, a wicked sense of humor, and regrettably, her fear of death that we both nervously compensated with by laughing whenever we heard someone died. I incorporated this weird trait into my Holly Swimsuit Mystery series by giving Holly Schlivnik, the protagonist, the same affliction and response to death. 9) Now let’s hear about Death by Cutting Table! SUSIE: Death by Cutting Table tells the story of the ultimate price one unscrupulous, power-hungry man paid for destroying a swimwear company by stealing it blind. For the record, I did not just squeal and clap my hands! That sounds fab! I can hardly wait to read of Holly's new adventures! 10) I comprehend that you’ve just recently published a book. I know what that takes. Still, I can’t help but ask – do you have anything waiting in the wings? SUSIE: I do. After Death by Cutting Table is released, I have one more, new book that will be published this coming November 15th. I also have one half-completed manuscript that candidly should have been finished long ago but kept getting pushed to the back of the “to do” pile. I have vowed to finish writing this one and submit it to my editor by the end of this summer. YAHOOO! Looking forward to your upcoming books! 11) Is there anything else you’d like to share with us? SUSIE: First, I want to thank you for hosting me on your blog and giving me the opportunity to introduce myself and my books to your followers. Second, on behalf of all authors, I’d like to ask your readers to please consider writing and posting a review for the books they read. Reviews are the life blood of all authors. Word of mouth is the most effective way to have the light of approval shined on our works. If readers aren’t quite sure how to write a review, I have a terrific guide to point everyone in the right direction. E-mail me at: [email protected] and I’ll gladly send out a copy. Third, as a swimwear fit expert, I have created a Swimwear Fit Guide that I am offering FREE to your readers. Click the link and grab your copy: Swimwear Fit Guide  I wholeheartedly agree about the reviews! Susie, thank you for the swimsuit guide and for giving me a chance to share your work with my readers. Congratulations again! And now, Death by Pins and Needles!  Rock, paper, scissors…and you die. There wasn’t an honest bone in Mermaid Swimwear CEO Butch Oldham’s body. He was an equal opportunity scoundrel who screwed anyone and everyone in his wake. So, the question wasn’t who wanted the bastard dead. The question was, who didn’t? After Mermaid Swimwear sales exec Holly Schlivnik finds colleague Queenie Levine standing over Oldham’s bloody corpse nailed to a fabric cutting table with a big honkin’ pair of cutting shears plunged deep into his chest, the cops soon find Queenie’s hidden blood-soaked sweater, discover her stormy relationship with the victim, and her public threats to make Butch pay for destroying Mermaid by stealing it blind. When Queenie is arrested for Butch’s murder, the wise-cracking, irreverent amateur sleuth jumps into action to flesh out the real killer. But the trail has more twists and turns than a slinky, and nothing turns out the way Holly thinks it will as she tangles with a clever killer hellbent for revenge. Excerpt from Death by Cutting Table I cracked open the forward door and stuck my head out. I scoped a one-eighty around the dock. The street lights were on, as well as the lights at the top of the gangplank. A half-dozen apartments were also lit. A single light shined inside a cabin cruiser two boats from mine. My boat seemed to be the only thing in the marina with no power. This isn’t the first time I’d been the only one with no power. When I first bought the boat, I learned the hard way don’t let the coffee maker, microwave oven, and television run at the same time or the circuits overload. But in the middle of the night with no appliances running or an electrical storm to cause a power outage? The blood froze in my veins. The answer isn’t inside the boat. I hoisted myself over the forward deck onto the dock with my heart in my throat. A faint hint of smoke wafted from the breaker box and power outlet as I reached the end of the dock. I yanked the damaged plug out of the outlet and threw it in the water. I blasted the dock power outlet and breaker box with the fire extinguisher and pulled the other end of the power cord out of my boat power outlet. Eight minutes after my nine-one-one call, the cavalry arrived in force and all hell broke loose.  About the Author Named Best US Author of the Year by N. N. Lights Book Heaven, award-winning cozy mystery author Susie Black was born in the Big Apple but now calls sunny Southern California home. Like the protagonist in her Holly Swimsuit Mystery Series, Susie is a successful apparel sales executive. Susie began telling stories as soon as she learned to talk. Now she’s telling all the stories from her garment industry experiences in humorous mysteries. She reads, writes, and speaks Spanish, albeit with an accent that sounds like Mildred from Michigan went on a Mexican vacation and is trying to fit in with the locals. Since life without pizza and ice cream as her core food groups wouldn’t be worth living, she’s a dedicated walker to keep her girlish figure. A voracious reader, she’s also an avid stamp collector. Susie lives with a highly intelligent man and has one incredibly brainy but smart-aleck adult son who inexplicably blames his sarcasm on an inherited genetic defect.
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 I am thrilled, delighted, and utterly pleased to be celebrating with my friend, the talented Mary Morgan. This month has marked her ten-year anniversary with The Wild Rose Press and the birth of her spectacular series, Order of the Dragon Knights. I have all of her books in kindle and Audible versions, read or listen to them every year (sometimes both), and fall in love all over again every time. Today, she is sharing her playlist for the series. So gorgeous! Be sure to check out links to the Dragon Knights' trailer and their farewell song. Congratulations, Mary, and welcome! Hello Anastasia! Delighted to be on your lovely blog to celebrate my 10-year anniversary with The Wild Rose Press! What an amazing adventure since signing that first contract for Dragon Knight’s Sword (Order of the Dragon Knights, Book 1). I’d like to share a collection of songs I listened to while writing all the Dragon Knights’ stories. I’ve often said music feeds my soul for creativity. It stirs the muse and my writing soars. Writing each story in the Order of the Dragon Knights was emotional for me. The MacKay brothers were damaged and haunted by grief. Therefore, I required instrumental music to dig deep within the well of emotions for each brother. I had to search for unique melodies—ones that would be epic. Here are a few of the songs from my playlist for the Order of the Dragon Knights ~ 1. “The Quest of Culwch” by David Arkenstone, from the album Celtic Book of Days. The power in this melody says it all. Perfect for the intense scene where Duncan sets out to rescue Brigid from the evil druid Lachlan. (Dragon Knight’s Sword) 2. “Heart of Spring” by David Arkenstone, from the album Celtic Book of Days. A beautiful song that set the tone for Stephen and Aileen’s love scene on Beltaine. (Dragon Knight’s Medallion) 3. "Destiny" by Marc Streitenfeld from the Robin Hood soundtrack (2010). When Fiona first sets her gaze on Alastair "Beast" MacKay at a slave market in medieval Ireland. To her horror, he barters with others to purchase her. (Dragon Knight’s Axe) 4. “Lament” by Ronan Hardiman from Michael Flatley's Lord of the Dance. A haunting melody that was perfect for a certain scene with Duncan. I won’t give any spoilers for those who have not read the book. But I will say this scene brought this powerful Dragon Knight to his knees with grief. (Dragon Knight’s Sword) 5. “Stolen Kiss” and “Gypsy” by Ronan Hardiman from Michael Flatley's Lord of the Dance. A song for the marriage between Angus and Deirdre. The four MacKay brothers had returned to Urquhart Castle, and this was a celebratory event. (Dragon Knight’s Shield) 6. “Warriors” by Ronan Hardiman from Michael Flatley’s Lord of the Dance. This song resonated deeply while I was writing the scene where Alastair turns his back on his brothers, Fiona, and his powers. His journey leads him to the Great Dragon who is not pleased with him. (Dragon Knight’s Axe) 7. "Nightmare" by Ronan Hardiman from Michael Flatley's Lord of the Dance. The battle between Angus, the Fire Dragon, and Lachlan. Powerful, epic, and both will never be the same again. (Dragon Knight’s Shield) 8. "Celtic Treasures" by Joemy Wilson from Celtic Treasures, Music of Ireland. Loved this song! Perfect for the tender reunion of Stephen and Aileen after being separated for a long time. (Dragon Knight’s Medallion) 9. “The Quest of Culwch” by David Arkenstone, from the album The Celtic Book of Days. I used several songs for the final battle, but constantly played this one until I knew I had poured out every detail in the final battle between the Dragon Knights and Lachlan. (Dragon Knight’s Ring) 10. “Ceridwen—The Potion of Knowledge” by Peter Gundry, from the album The Dream Weaver. My farewell song to the Dragon Knights. It starts slowly and then builds to this powerful ending. Did I cry writing this ending? Aye! I sobbed buckets! The Dragon Knights had dwelled within me for sixteen long years by the time Dragon Knight’s Ring was published. Currently, the Wolves of Clan Sutherland dominate most of the time and my thoughts. Usually, I turn to YouTube for a selection of Nordic and Viking music. We won’t discuss how intense these men are until I’ve finished the series. Thank you, Anastasia, for letting me share a huge part of my writing inspiration with your readers. Book Trailer for Dragon Knights: https://youtu.be/iEruV9P6PtU And if you have a moment, check out the farewell song to the Dragon Knights here: “Ceridwen—The Potion of Knowledge” below: https://youtu.be/eFKGvn7Z5pQ All I can say is... "swoon!" Thank you for sharing your time, inspiration, and Dragon Knights with us, Mary. We eagerly await your next in series!  Order of the Dragon Knights They were an ancient order, descended from the great Tuatha Dé Danann, the Sidhe, or in simpler terms: the Fae. Half-human and half-fae, each knight blessed with mystical powers. Given to them were holy relics from the Fae and guardianship over their Dragons. They were known as the Dragon Knights. However, some believed the Order had too much power and they tried to possess it for themselves. They were evil and twisted, and their plan succeeded one fateful night. The brothers of the Clan MacKay—Dragon Knights, fought a battle. Blood spilled onto holy ground, bringing forth the wrath of the Fae. Their relics were taken, and the Order was banished—each name stricken from the hallowed halls of the Fae. The Clan MacKay is no longer. The Dragon Knights have scattered across the land. Yet out of the darkness, they will each fight for redemption, and the women they love. Available at AMAZON (https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07F7QR2T3 )  About the Author
Multi award-winning romance author, Mary Morgan resides in Northern California with her own knight in shining armor. However, during her travels to Scotland, England, and Ireland, she left a part of her soul in one of these countries and vows to return. Mary's passion for books started at an early age along with an overactive imagination. Inspired by her love for history and ancient Celtic and Norse mythology, her tales are filled with powerful warriors, brave women, magic, and romance. Now, the worlds she created in her mind are coming to life within her stories. If you enjoy history, tortured heroes, and a wee bit of fantasy, then travel back in time within the pages of her books. I'm pleased to welcome Darlene Fredette, whose latest book Trickster launched just launched a week ago. It looks like a fabulous story, as do the rest of the books in the Mortar and Pestle series. Paranormal romance, anyone? Yesss! Those are some talented ladies. Congratulations, Darlene! Cheers to you and your fellow authors!  The Color Behind the Covers The Mortar and Pestle series took a lot of planning. Once we decided on the design of the cover - I’m inserting a shout-out to group member Sydney Winward for the awesome design – we thought each cover should be a different color and somehow reflect the story. Here’s how we selected our cover color. Selkie - Sydney Winward: “I chose the color silver for Selkie because it reminded me of metal. Shields, weapons, ruthlessness, and strength. I thought it was a good color and texture to portray, especially on the cover, to add to the aesthetic of the book.” Seeker - Jean Grant: “Purple immediately came to mind because of purple thistles which are found throughout the Scottish Highlands, and the thistle is a symbol of Scotland. Then, I soon discovered that the Montgomerie clan tartan is purple.” Quartermaster - Marilyn Barr: “My heroine’s eye color is gold. ‘Blimey, I say, with my fists clenched at my sides so I don’t touch her again. Those large, sandy brown eyes hold me captive as the fear drains from them. On some level, she must trust me.’” Sea Hunter - D.V. Stone: “I wanted my cover to reflect the colors of the ocean. There are so many variables from steely gray to blues and greens.” Revamped - Shirley Goldberg: “I wanted orange because Dante loves oranges. When he’s transitioning to real food instead of sucking up energy, oranges are one of his go-to foods. He eats several daily.” Trickster - Darlene Fredette: “Jade, the heroine in Trickster, has eyes the color of jade stones, so it only made sense to choose that shade of green.” Artist - Ginny Frost: “My book features a meadow full of fireflies at the artist retreat. It inspires both my female characters.”  Can she heal the trickster before he breaks her heart? Working for a top modeling agency is Jade Parsons’s dream job until her boss suffers a heart attack, and his son temporarily fills his position. Eric’s push-pull approach fuels her frustration. While anticipating the troublemaker’s imminent departure, Jade’s destiny is revealed through a magical mortar and pestle, leaving her heart tormented by whispers of a different fate. World-renowned photographer Eric Martini returns home to restore his relationship with his estranged father, but wounds from the past haunt him. Enchanted by his father’s feisty assistant, he masks his heart and refuses to give in to desire. Convinced his destined future is already written in the stars—and doesn’t include Jade, Eric’s only choice is to walk away. Will Jade and Eric find the courage to trust the mythical and smokey signs before their paths are severed forever? Excerpt Two weeks ago, Eric had aired his family’s dirty laundry. Probably unintentional on his part, but he revealed the reason behind his frustration toward his father, and Jade gave her unwelcomed input. Today she exposed her secret, which felt exhilarating. “I only wanted you to understand you have to let go of the past to be present in the future.” “And I’m trying. My father and I are on a good path to rebuilding our relationship and for that, I thank you. You forced me to see the error of my ways. I’m sorry for taking out my problems on you. You didn’t deserve my grouchy moods. I was rude and obnoxious.” He raised a brow. “Can you forgive me? Can we start over?” Smiling, she squinted. “Who are you?” He strode forward and held out a hand. “I’m Eric Martini. Nice to meet you.” “No.” Jade pointed a finger. “You, sir, are a trickster.” “Excuse me?” “A trickster is someone who has many sides. Disruptive and helpful, troublemaker and hero. I know the man in the office. But I don’t know the man standing in front of me.” She clasped his hand, and a flurry of tingles surged the length of her arm. Warmth flushed her cheeks. Without thinking, she leaned up on her toes and kissed Eric’s cheek. “Thank you for being my hero today.” Trickster on Amazon.  About the Author Darlene resides on the Atlantic Coast of Canada where the summers are too short, and the winters are too long. Retired from a career as Director of Administration and Marketing, she now has eleven published contemporary romance books and is an artist at heart. When she isn’t researching her next book or having a pencil, paintbrush, or a cup of hot chocolate in her hand, she’s with her husband, daughter, and one-hundred-pound yellow Labrador. But wait! There’s more! I’m giving away a free PDF copy of The Mortar and Pestle Preview. This preview document is similar to the free prequel offered in Book Funnel, but the preview has tons of additional fun stuff – more graphics, book teasers, an inside look at how the series came to life, and much more! To get this free preview, pop over to my author website http://darlenefredette.blogspot.com/ and send me a note using the Contact Form on the left sidebar. No rafflecopter, no contest, and no drawing of names. Just send me a note through the secure Contact Form. It’s that easy!   Can love break through their firewalls? I'm delighted to host author Jennifer Wilck, who recently released the second book in her Scarred Hearts series. I highly recommend reading the excerpt. Swoon! I can hardly wait to read the rest! Welcome, Jennifer! Thank you so much, Anastasia, for hosting me today. I am so excited to share my latest contemporary romance with you. Unlock My Heart is a standalone romance but is the second book in my Scarred Hearts series. And it combines two of my favorite things—wounded heroes and brilliant heroines. Ted, the hero, is the billionaire founder and CEO of his computer security firm, Sentec. He’s hard of hearing and goes to great lengths to keep people from treating him any differently than anyone else. So of course, the first time Abby, my heroine meets him, she stares at his hearing aids! That’s only one of several reasons why he doesn’t want to hire her—the second reason being that she’s gorgeous and he’s lusting after her—but since she’s by far the most qualified for the job, she joins his company anyway. Despite the rocky start, he recognizes her talent, enjoys her company, and loves how she accepts his hearing loss. Abby, the heroine, has risen above her poverty-stricken childhood by learning computer coding and is now one of the best in her field. She values her independence—especially her financial independence—more than anything and doesn’t want to depend on a man for anything. Especially when that man is her boss and could crush her career. But the longer she’s around Ted, and the more she gets to know him, the easier it is to fall for him. I love writing wounded heroes because it gives me a chance to show their vulnerable side. That vulnerability adds dimension, while also giving them motivation for the things they do—both good and bad. And it gives me a chance to explore the psychology behind the behavior, which I think is fascinating. Brilliant heroines are a no-brainer (ha!). I can’t stand the “stupid female” trope and want to smack some of these characters when I read about the idiotic things they do. That’s not the kind of heroine I want to read or to write. Love is important, but it shouldn’t be what makes the character. It might polish her. It might add to her happiness. But I want her to be complete without a man. I hope you enjoy reading about Ted and Abby in Unlock My Heart. If you’re interested in the rest of the series, you can also read A Reckless Heart, as well. Please let me know how you like them! Excerpt: They walked with care up the icy steps, Ted taking Abby’s arm. His concern for her touched her. Desire flared. At the top of the steps, she leaned against one of the gray stone columns and caught her breath, but he joined her, arms on either side of her, his body shielding her from the few brave tourists who entered or left. This close to him, his eyelashes provided a dark outline to his eyes, his cheeks were ruddy from the cold, and his minty breath warmed her face. Out of reflex, she curled her hands around his hard biceps. His jeans brushed against hers, an invisible string tangled between the two of them, pulled her toward him. The air crackled. She blinked. His lips were parted, pale, and looked like silk. She wondered what they’d feel like against hers, her neck, her...with a huge effort, she dragged her gaze away from his lips. His neck enticed her more. The skin was a bit rough, and right below his Adam’s apple was the hollow she wanted to touch. More than anything, right now, she wanted to touch it. She lifted her hand off his arm and stopped in midair as he swallowed. Was he as turned on right now as she was? His pupils dilated until they were outlined in electric blue. He tipped toward her, his nose brushed against hers, and he paused. He was going to kiss her. One of his hands moved to her cheek, stroked it, and sent shivers down her neck. He brushed a strand of escaped hair and hooked it behind her ear. She whimpered at the touch of his fingertip on her earlobe and turned her face into his hand. Cupping her neck, he drew her closer to him, angling his face as he brought his lips toward hers... “Oh, excuse me.” Someone knocked into them, waving an apology as they continued down the stairs. He pulled away, and she rested her head against the stone pillar, gulping great amounts of cold air. “What are we doing here?” Ted jammed his hands into his pockets. There were many ways to answer his question, and they all depended on her bravery. “It’s supposed to be a beautiful building. I thought we’d go inside where it’s quiet and explore.” He stared at her for several beats of her heart. She couldn’t read his expression. Did he not understand her? Did he wish she’d talked about their almost kiss? Did he admire the stonework behind her? Without a sound, he took her hand in his and led her into the library. His stride was longer than hers, and she raced to keep pace with him. They’d never held hands while they walked, and all the while she jogged next to him she thought about his palm touching hers. It was maybe thirty degrees outside, yet his bare hand warmed hers. And the other parts of her he’d light on fire with his touch. He pulled her through the main lobby, up the stairs, and to the left, giving her no time to admire anything. They raced along the long hallway and stopped outside of one of the rooms. It was empty. He opened the door and pulled her inside. Finding an out-of-the-way nook, he led her over and leaned her against the wall. Determination and desire burned as he lowered his mouth and claimed her lips for his own. One hand cradled the back of her head, the other rested on her waist. He pulled her closer. Finally. His mouth was soft and firm and sure. She whimpered against his lips, and he pulled away. “Did you say something?” She bit her lip. “Don’t stop.” His nostrils flared, and he covered her mouth again with his own, tasting, nipping, licking, until she parted her lips, and he thrust his tongue into her mouth. He was minty and warm, and she was going to turn into a puddle. She moaned. Relief and desire mingled together, filled her with a need strong enough her knees wobbled. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she held on, stroked the soft skin below his ear, and ran her hands through his hair. His body against hers formed a wall of solid muscle. She was safe and warm. When he pulled away, hours or days could have passed. Foreheads touching, they both panted and neither one let go. “Wow,” she said. Ted pulled back, took his finger, and pressed it against her mouth. He pulled her against him and wrapped his arms around her. They were like bands of steel, and she burrowed into him. “Don’t talk,” he whispered. “I don’t want to hear you say this won’t work. I want to hold you against my heart. Feel how hard it beats? That’s you. I’ve wanted you for so long.” Her eyes prickled at the emotion in his voice, and she gripped him tighter. It wouldn’t work. She couldn’t be this lucky, but she’d never felt this way, and she’d denied her attraction for so long... She would give anything to try. When she thought she could control her voice, she tapped him on the back. With a sigh, he pulled away. “I won’t say it,” she said. He closed his eyes as her hand touched him, and he kept them closed until she reached his jaw. “I want you too.”  Jennifer started telling herself stories as a little girl when she couldn’t fall asleep at night. Pretty soon, her head was filled with these stories and the characters that populated them. Even as an adult, she thinks about the characters and stories at night before she falls asleep or walking the dog. Eventually, she started writing them down. Her favorite stories to write are those with smart, sassy, independent heroines; handsome, strong and slightly vulnerable heroes; and her stories always end with happily ever after. In the real world, she’s the mother of two amazing daughters and wife of one of the smartest men she knows. She believes humor is the only way to get through the day and does not believe in sharing her chocolate. Jennifer Wilck is an award-winning contemporary romance author for readers who are passionate about love, laughter, and happily ever after. Known for writing both Jewish and non-Jewish romances, her books feature damaged heroes, sassy and independent heroines, witty banter and hot chemistry. Jennifer’s ability to transport the reader into the scene, create characters the reader will fall in love with, and evoke a roller coaster of emotions, will hook you from the first page. You can find her books at all major online retailers in a variety of formats. I'm so pleased to welcome author Margot Johnson, who is going to tell us about her new holiday romance. She's also sharing an excerpt from the book and a wonderful Christmas cookie recipe. I have to say, it's put me in a festive mood! Enjoy!  Margot Johnson grew up in a family of writers and has always loved books and writing. She is the author of two, sweet romance novels--LOVE TAKES FLIGHT and LOVE LEADS THE WAY and the Christmas novella LET IT SNOWBALL. Her characters can't possibly find their happy endings...or can they? Before turning her focus to the fun writing life, Margot held leadership roles in human resources and communications. Her motto is "Dream big and work hard." When not writing, she loves to connect with family and friends, volunteer with SK Writers Guild, and walk at least 10,000 steps a day (except when it's minus 40!) She lives in the Canadian prairies with her amazing husband and beloved golden retriever. From the Author My writing tip: Don’t wait for the perfect idea or ideal moment. Just sit at your keyboard and write! Inspiration for this story: I live in a place where winter storms and frigid weather are common. I also love Christmas. Last year during lockdown, my husband and I couldn’t visit friends and family in person, so we delivered Christmas light necklaces to their doors and then connected online. We also bundled up for a walk on a minus forty degree day. I can imagine my characters Merilee and Ross sharing similar adventures. One wish: I love hearing feedback from readers. I wish everyone who reads Let it Snowball would post a review. I write feel-good stories about women who chase their dreams and bump into romance along the way. They live in small communities near my home in the Canadian prairies, and they count on an eclectic mix of family and friends to make their lives interesting and fun. My new release is available as an eBook on Amazon and major online bookstores. I hope you agree it’s a fun way to celebrate the Christmas season! In my story, the heroine, Merilee, shares her famous cookie recipe for chocolate snowballs – see below). Maybe you’ll want to add it to your Christmas baking list. Website: margotjohnson.ca Facebook: MargotJohnsonAuthor Twitter: @AuthorMargot  Christmas tours brim with lights, cookies, and…unexpected romance? Divorced, empty nester Merilee is on a roll. Filled with scrumptious cookies and old-fashioned fun, her Christmas bus tours aim to add festive spirit to her hometown and new meaning to her lackluster life. Too bad her reserved driver slams the brakes on fun. Widowed farmer Ross needs a little joy to combat his December blues. Behind the wheel, he wears a Santa suit but can't muster a convincing ho-ho-ho. Too many memories block his road to happiness…until irrepressible Merilee sparks a snowstorm of unexpected feelings. In two weeks of holiday tours, Ross might drive Merilee crazy…or will romance snowball inside their lonely hearts?  Excerpt from Let it Snowball After a short drive, the busload arrived at their first stop. “You’re in for a treat.” Merilee leapt up, leaned over, and gave directions on where to park. Absorbing Ross’s delicious scent, clean like snow infused with a trace of peppermint, she jerked back and steadied her breath. Sudden, shocking warmth flooded her insides. Now where was she? She paused to gather her wayward thoughts. “These rules apply for each stop so we can all enjoy the goodies inside and still keep the tour on schedule. You are free to choose from several platters of cookies. If you would like to sample other kinds or take some home, you can purchase as many as you’d like. We’ll stay for thirty minutes, and then I’ll jingle.” She demonstrated with a string of bells. “Last one back on the bus has to tell a joke or lead a song. If you agree, shout snowball.” “Snowball.” In a chorus of voices, the group hollered back the right answer. She lowered the mic. “What about you, Santa?” He shifted the gear into Park. “Nobody’s going anywhere without me.” He straightened his hat and quirked a fluffy eyebrow. She smiled, folded her arms, and tapped a foot. Her boots were pretty eye-catching covered in green and red toppers with bells on the toes. Maybe she could cajole him into some good-natured joking. “Santa, you know what happens to kids who don’t behave. You don’t want to end up on the Naughty List, do you?” “Snowball.” He kept a straight face. To purchase: Let it Snowball Love Takes Flight Love Leads the Way  Merilee’s Famous Chocolate Snowballs Ingredients: 3/4 cup butter, softened 3/4 cup packed brown sugar 1 large egg, room temperature 1/4 cup 2% or whole milk 1 teaspoon vanilla extract 2 cups all-purpose flour 1/2 cup baking cocoa 1 teaspoon baking powder 1/2 teaspoon salt 1/4 teaspoon baking soda Icing sugar Directions: Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In a large bowl, cream butter and brown sugar until light and fluffy. Add egg, milk, and vanilla and mix well. Combine flour, cocoa, baking powder, salt, and baking soda. Gradually add to creamed mixture. Cover and refrigerate overnight. Shape into 1 inch balls. Place 2 inches apart on ungreased baking sheets and bake until tops crackle (7-8 minutes). Remove to wire racks and cool. Roll in icing sugar. Enjoy!  A remarkable post from author Anna M. Taylor. Welcome, Anna!  The Past Is Always With Us One of the last times I was able to visit New York, I stood on the Brooklyn Promenade and gazed across the East River to where the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center once stood. As I did, a line from William Faulkner’s Requiem for A Nun struck me: “The past isn’t dead. It isn’t even past.” As a lover of history I've always known this to be true. The question is what effect should it have on the present? On that same trip I visited the African Burial Ground National Monument and Federal Hall National Memorial in lower Manhattan. This is history which people took the time to erect solid reminders to so the past would be with us in a concrete way. But I also did a walking tour of African and African-American historical sites in the area which don't even have a plaque to mark the spot where that history happened. Spots like the corner of Ann & William Streets where nothing remains of the African Free School founded in 1787 for forty boys and girls. Not even a plaque. For years I had walked those streets surrounded by the ghosts of that history and the unsung stories of others who inhabited those streets long before I did. What would I be sensitive to if I had walked those streets to and from work aware of the ghosts who still lingered there? Would my outlook on life be different? In Requiem For A Nun one character tries to escape her past by claiming she’s no longer the person she was. But the lawyer who speaks the line is telling her you can’t escape the past. It’s always present. For my mind that’s not always bad. Energy from the past can be used for good or ill; which one depends on your level of awareness. It’s no wonder then that as Anna M. Taylor I enjoy writing stories dealing with spirits or supernatural energy to be more accurate. Humans enter a situation, oblivious to or in denial about the past that is not dead, that is not past. Their level of awareness, i.e. ability to accept that alternate and concurrent reality, determines if things are going to end up good for them or ill. That level of awareness or denial is what I write about in my Haunted Harlem series. Having been a minister I’m already predisposed to accept realities that go beyond the five senses. After all, the core belief of my religion is that over 2000 years ago a man named Jesus was crucified, died and was buried only to live again. It’s not just the knowledge of that sacrifice that gives the Christian power, but the belief that the energy released through that act reaches through time and enables me to heal through the laying on of hands or cast out demons by invoking Jesus’ name. It’s as if a nuclear bomb had been set off 2,000 years ago and the aftershocks from the blast are still being experienced. The energy of unrequited love leaves its own aftershocks that only love fulfilled can dissipate. I bring this view on the world to bear in my ghost story/romances because I believe only actions motivated by love have the power to right all wrongs, see justice is done no matter how long it has been denied. I know that’s also why second chance is my favorite romance trope and shows up in all my stories. In coming back, repenting, forgiving, trying again we harness the energy of that past and can affect positive change in the present. The past is always with us, but I hope you agree with me and my romances that doesn't have to be a bad thing. In fact it can be a mighty force for good.  Only love can face down those things not dreamt of in our philosophies Ten years ago no one -- not even the man who said he loved her -- believed Sankofa Lawford's claim that she had been brutally attacked by a ghost. Ten years later an assault on a new victim brings her back to Harlem to a mother going mad, a brother at his wits’ end and a former love who wants a second chance. Sankofa longs for her family to be whole again, for love to be hers again, but not if she must relive the emotional pain created by memories of that night. Mitchell Emerson is convinced science and reason can account for the ghostly happenings at Umoja House. He resolves to find an explanation that will not only satisfy him but earn back Sankofa’s trust and love. Instead, his own beliefs are shaken when he sees the ghost for himself. Now reluctant allies, Mitchell and Sankofa learn her family was more than a little in love with death. Their search for the ghost draws them together but discovering sixty years of lies and secrets pulls them apart. As their hopes for happily ever after and dispersing the evil stalking Umoja House slip beyond their grasp, Mitchell and Sankofa find an unexpected source of help: the ghost itself. Available at Amazon.  Excerpt: A Little in Love with Death by Anna M. Taylor “Mitchell!” They all jumped at Wanda Lawford’s high pitched squeal. He strode in and pulled up a chair. “Good afternoon, Wanda. It’s so good to see you.” She clasped his hand against her cheek. Her rocking stilled and calm descended. She stroked his hand and repeated his name with each stroke. “Mitchell,” she purred. He gentled her into a hug as he glanced toward the open door. Relief registered on Langston’s face; shock on Sankofa’s. He eased back and placed a hand on Wanda’s shoulder. “Now, what’s this I hear about you not wanting to take your medicine?” “Can’t…mustn’t.” She closed her eyes and snuggled against his chest. “Have to be awake, have to be ready.” She sat up suddenly and stared at him. “Are my pastor now?” “No, Wanda. Still awaiting my lay pastor commissioning.” She teared. “But, soon?” Her voice quivered. “Very soon.” “Good. Can’t trust my memory sometimes.” She surveyed the room. “This isn’t my room.” “Not your bedroom, no. Wanda, we want you to come home. Don’t you want to come home?” She shook her head. “No. Can’t go home…don’t want to go home. Only death there. Only death. I’m not in love with death anymore. Not even a little.” She clutched his lapel and pointed a shaky finger at Sankofa. “Keep her safe, Mitchell. Only you can keep her safe.” Mitchell glanced at Sankofa. Tears he longed to wipe away shone in her eyes. Wanda clutched his hands, shook them until she had his attention. “Promise, Mitchell. Promise me.” “I promise.” “Good. Good.” Wanda laid her head against his chest and sighed. “Sankofa still loves you. I know it. I know it. I know—” She stiffened, then cupped his face in her hands and pinned him with her gaze. “Them that tell don’t know and them that know don’t tell.” Sankofa sobbed and hurried from the room. Mitchell laid his cheek against the top of Wanda’s head. Her scented talc took him back to Easter hugs and Christmas kisses that made the holidays of his youth bearable. He lowered his voice. “Wanda, I’ve got a secret to share with you. Can I?” She nodded and pulled him closer. Mischief twinkled where madness once gleamed. He cupped his hand so it sheltered her ear. “I love Sankofa, too.” “But you left her.” A frown distended her lips. She gripped his arms so tightly he cringed. “You left her.” “And have regretted that decision every day since.” He swallowed, the truth of his betrayal still bitter. Wanda’s frown transformed into a teary smile. “But you came back. The others didn’t return, but you did. You did. I knew you would.” She searched his face then nodded for emphasis. “I knew you would.” He looked to the nurse who held the pill cup and water to her. “Here, Wanda.” He pointed to the pill cup. “Won’t you take them for me?” She sniffed at the cup, eyed the nurse with a frown but took the pills. One by one she swallowed each capsule with a sip of water. “Thank you.” Mitchell kissed her forehead. “They’ll help you rest. We can talk some more after you’ve rested.” He helped her lay down on the bed. She sighed then smiled. “Mitchell. You marry Sankofa. Married to you, she’ll be safe. Promise me. Promise.” He held her hand. “There’s nothing I’d like better, Wanda. But that’s not up to me.” Displeasure lined her tiny face. “She won’t be protected without marriage, Mitchell. I know. Marry her. Marry her...” The repeated phrase faded to a whisper then ceased when she fell asleep. He eased his hand from hers and stood. How many times had she comforted him during his troubled teen years? He smoothed the sheet around her, grateful to be able to return the favor. Langston stood at the door but didn’t enter. “Now I know she’s crazy.” Mitchell started, angered by the look of contempt on Langston’s face. “Don’t talk about your mother like that.” Langston ignored him. “No way in hell Sankofa would have you now. Not after what you put her through.” Mitchell let off an unsteady breath then moved so he and Langston stood nose to nose. “After what I put Sankofa through, there’s no way I’d let her, even if she wanted to.” Available at Amazon.  About the Author
A native New Yorker now a relocated-to-the-Southwest romance-writing retired minister. I came across a saying which I’ve framed: do more of what makes you happy. That’s writing. I write in three romance subgenres: as Anna Taylor I write Christian inspirational, as Anna M. Taylor I write gothic and as Michal Scott I write erotic (mainly historical). I’ve had nine works published since I debuted with Through A Glass Darkly, my first Christian inspirational in 2008. Last year I dove into the self-publishing waters with my Haunted Harlem novella series. This year I’ve participated in Falling Hard, my second Passionate Ink anthology and Cowboys, my third Delilah Devlin Boy’s Behaving Badly anthology. Anna M. Taylor website Anna M. Taylor Amazon Author Page Anna M. Taylor FB Author Page I've been going on and on about how cozy mysteries have joined ranks with my all time favorite genre, romance! But this is the first time I've ever hosted an actual cozy mystery writer on my blog -- so exciting! Following her very fun and interesting post, you'll find an excerpt from her book Death by Sample Size, as well as a link for a very useful swimsuit fitting guide. Enjoy! Susie Black, thank you. The post is yours!  How I Became a Cozy Mystery Writer by Susie Black As a newbie author, I was advised by those far more experienced than me that the best way to build a following is to develop a relationship with readers by sharing personal things about myself with them and let them get to know me. The marketing webinars all preached show your vulnerability, your humanity, who you are, and the readers will lap it up. Truthfully, I didn’t see why anyone would be all that interested in my bio. Trust me, other than the possible exception of my mother who was compelled to find my life story fascinating or risk admitting she had been a failure by having raised a bore, even I didn’t find it particularly riveting. But enough colleagues I respect all suggested I do the same thing, so when people began asking how I became a writer, I realized I’d been wrong. I would be foolish not to put myself out there, right? What’s the worst that could happen? Ok, maybe we won’t go down that rabbit hole. This is it, so buckle up; it’s gonna be a heck of a ride. Like most journeys of mine, this one’s a bit convoluted; sort of like going to Cleveland by way of Cairo. That said, I hope you enjoy the ride. With its ups and downs, hills, valleys, and sometimes unexpected curves, life itself is the ultimate story. What makes us all storytellers stirring the stew in the cauldron, is a point of view. Life is all around us. Sit in the food court at the mall and pay attention to the crowd. In the time it takes to order and consume a burger and soda, an observant people watcher will have enough subject matter to write a series. Like the protagonist in my Holly Swimsuit murder mystery series, I am a ladies’ apparel sales exec. From the start of my career, I have kept a daily journal that chronicles the quirky, interesting, and often challenging people I’ve encountered as well as the crazy situations I’ve gotten myself into and out of. The journal entries are the foundation of all my writing. The most critically important skill a sales exec must have in order to succeed is to be a good storyteller. Fortunately, I’ve been telling stories since I learned how to talk. Since I’d never written a novel before, the only thing I knew to do was to apply the same story-telling skills I’d successfully used hawking bikinis to writing a tale. So, where did my story ideas come from? My mother didn’t raise stupid children. I paid attention to the mantra. Write what you know. With a dollop of imagination, a pinch of angst, and a decades-long career chocked to the gills with juicy characters, I had more stories itching to be told in my daily journal than time to write them. One thing I’d been told over and over as a sales exec was to know your product inside out. I heard the same thing when I started writing cozy mysteries: write what you know. If you don’t know it, either do the research and learn it, or don’t dare to write it. Whether you’re an author or a sales exec, you’re selling yourself, and readers, like buyers, can sniff out a phony in a heartbeat, and then you and whatever kind of story you’re telling are toast. I came to write in the cozy mystery genre because I love solving puzzles. My parents would certainly confirm I have always asked a lot of questions, and I am naturally curious (some narrow-minded people say I am nosy…go figure…LOL). So, writing mysteries was the natural next step for me to take. Who could push a sales exec to dream of murder and mayhem? Who else but a buyer? After completing a rather challenging conversation with an important, but difficult account, I imagined how good it would feel with my hands around her scrawny neck, squeezing the life out of her. While the notion of knocking off my annoying customers was wildly appealing, a horizontally striped prison uniform making my four-foot, nine-inch body look like a barbershop pole and a fire hydrant had a child wasn’t a pretty sight. The viable alternative? Writing humorous murder mysteries set in the Los Angeles garment center. Brilliant and cathartic! In one fell swoop, eliminate a pain- in- the- patootie buyer, avoid life in prison and still get the order. It doesn’t get any better than that.   About the Author Born in the Big Apple, Susie Black now calls sunny Southern California home. Like the protagonist in her Holly Swimsuit Mystery Series, Susie is a successful apparel sales executive. Susie began telling stories as soon as she learned to talk. Now she’s telling all the stories from her garment industry experiences in humorous mysteries. She reads, writes, and speaks Spanish, albeit with an accent that sounds like Mildred from Michigan went on a Mexican vacation and is trying to fit in with the locals. Since life without pizza and ice cream as her core food groups wouldn’t be worth living, she’s a dedicated walker to keep her girlish figure. A voracious reader, she’s also an avid stamp collector. Susie lives with a highly intelligent man and has one incredibly brainy but smart-aleck adult son who inexplicably blames his sarcasm on an inherited genetic defect. Looking for more? Reach her at [email protected] To connect with Susie: Instagram  Everyone wanted her dead…but who actually killed her? “The last thing swimwear sales exec Holly Schlivnik expected was to discover ruthless buying office big wig Bunny Frank’s corpse trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey with a bikini stuffed down her throat. When Holly’s colleague is arrested for Bunny’s murder, the wise-cracking, irreverent amateur sleuth jumps into action to find the real killer. Nothing turns out the way Holly thinks it will as she matches wits with a wily killer hellbent on revenge. Get ready to laugh out loud as Susie Black’s Death by Sample Size takes you on a rollicking adventure ride through the Los Angeles apparel industry.” Excerpt from Death by Sample Size Angela Wellborn and I nodded politely to one another as we entered A Jolt of Java together the next morning. I cautiously wished her a good morning and took it as a good sign when Angela told me to have a nice day. With any luck, maybe I’d save the account. I worked my way around the table distributing the group’s coffees. When I handed Sonia her cup, the good vibe I had from Angela quickly disappeared. Sonia’s complexion was gray as day-old oatmeal. Her red-rimmed eyes said it all. I squeezed her arm. “What happened?” Sonia’s eyes filled. “I didn’t get it.” “Did they tell you why?” Sonia twisted her lips into a bitter smile. “My references didn’t pan out.” Bunny Frank sat at a table across from us sipping a latte and reading the West Coast Apparel News. Sonia walked the short distance to Bunny’s table. Bunny folded the paper and gave Sonia a shit-eating grin. Sonia growled, “You’re a miserable excuse for a human being. You couldn’t bring yourself to do the right thing for once in your life. You had to lie and destroy a fabulous opportunity because you could.” Bunny drew a circle in the air and put her index finger through it. “Bullseye, Wilson.” She wiggled her thumb and flashed an evil smile. “Gotcha right under here and I always will.” Sonia grabbed the latte out of Bunny’s hand and poured the drink over Bunny’s head. The concoction flowed slowly like lava down Bunny’s face and meandered into her cleavage. Too stunned to react, Bunny sat still as a statue as the foam seeped from her décolletage and stained her white knit top. Sonia crushed the empty paper cup and threw it on the table. The crowded room was silent as a tomb as all eyes swiveled to Bunny’s table. Not a soul missed Sonia snarl, “I promise I’ll get even with you. I will make you pay if it takes me forever.” Sonia spun on her heel and stomped back to our table. She pointed to the barista’s station. “Anyone for a refill? This round is on me.”  A Gift from Susie: Choosing the Right Swimsuit
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