Just Another Paranormal Monday!!

Yay… I’m a guest on Just another Paranormal Monday today!!! How exciting!!

Contest #1 for today…

Leave a comment of your favorite Goddess… that’s it!!


click meet the Goddesses

come back here and leave a comment!

You’ll win a free copy of Divine Touch When it’s released and an extra special prize from me!!!



Ch1sc1 – rewrite… Remeet Elle!!

Elle rinsed her coffee mug under the small stream of lukewarm water and placed it in the strainer. She glanced around the house once more, turned the timer for the lights on, and checked her reflection in the mirror to ensure her ears were tucked in the headband she wore. With a quick glance at her watch, she smiled for the first time that morning. She always smiled when she knew that she’d see Blake Christianson soon. Her days revolved around mooning over her boss, and hoped to one day work up the courage to ask him out. She’d envisioned their first date more times than she cared to think about. Today… Today would be the day she asked him out!

Eleanor Smith grabbed her key ring out of the porcelain dish that rested beside her front door and left the house to go to work. More out of habit than any real need, she locked both locks on her front door, and walked over toward her pride and joy. The green pick-up truck that her father had custom built for her to ensure she’d never require assistance for all of her gardening needs. She missed him more and more each day, even though her shrink swore that time would heal her grieving heart. Elle shrugged off the wave of melancholy that always came with thoughts of her deceased father. He wouldn’t want her to live her life in a permanent mourning state.

As she slid behind the wheel of her green machine that ran on nothing but electricity and recycled oils, she renewed her vow. Today she would ask out her boss of five years, and nothing would stand in her way. She deserved to know if she’d tortured herself endlessly with thought of him, or if he had thoughts of her beyond work as well. She glanced at her face in the rearview mirror and saw a pair of mocking green eyes staring back. Elle prayed for courage as she put the truck in drive and headed out of her horseshoe drive away to the back roads of coastal North Carolina.

Though the freeway would take off about twenty minutes to her drive, she preferred the rural roads due to her complete hatred of traffic and other drivers who had to get to the same red-light at least three seconds before the person that had been in front of them. At that time of the morning, she had to pass the occasional piece of farming equipment but in five years hadn’t had to experience one moment of road rage. Just thinking of tractors and plows made her check the mirror once more. Just to prove her wrong stood a bright and shining example of mankind’s worst road worthy vehicles. The giant black ominous SUV took up the entire lane as it edged closer to back of her truck.

“Go around,” she said and made no attempt to move even one digit above the posted speed limit. If they wanted to drive sixty-five instead of forty-five they should have driven on the freeway like everyone else. Elle took a few deep breaths to keep her annoyance at bay.

Instead of going around the SUV bore down on her with a persistence that surprised her. The vehicle kept an even pace with her truck for a few miles. Elle tried to tell herself that perhaps their speedometer had broken and they were using her vehicle to tell the speed limit. The lame thought did little to appease her sense of caution. The SUV edged closer, she could no longer see the front if it in her mirrors. She kept her truck at a steady speed. She glanced around to her surrounds and saw nothing but dense forest. It dawned on her that she should have pulled off earlier when there were still side roads.

The SUV had pulled back; Elle released a sigh of relief. She laughed more out of a nervous reaction than any humor in the situation. She allowed herself to be wound up because a dark car had followed her on a road that few traveled on. What a neurotic fool she was!

Then she heard spinning tired and the roar of an engine. Her eyes flew to the rear view mirror just in time to see the SUV bursting toward her like a locomotive going full steam ahead. She jerked the wheel and tried to move the truck out of the crazed SUV’s way, but only succeeded in causing the other vehicle to hit the back corner of her beautiful green truck. The sound of metal caving against a stronger force filled her ears as her forehead smacked against the steering wheel she tried desperately to hold on to. The truck spun when she slammed on her brakes. The out of control, surreal feeling took hold of her and she fought hard to stop the wayward truck. What was going on? Why did that truck hit her?

Adrenaline rushed through her veins. Her heart thumped against her ribcage and threatened to burst from her chest as her panic rose. When the truck finally came to a stop she could smell the scent of burning rubber from the squealing tires. With a quick glance around she realized that her truck rested in the middle of the road, the dotted yellow line against the black pavement all but running through the center, with her truck sideways. She looked down to where the SUV had hit her.

Once again it came toward her at a speed that terrified her. She tried to undo her seatbelt, her fingers shook and she couldn’t seem to undo the belt. With a cry of frustration and panic she pulled at it and slid the chest strap over her head. Her plan had been to scoot through the lap belt, but time had worked against her. The SUV rammed into the stopped truck and Elle’s head hit the driver side window with a force so strong that it broke the tempered glass. The tired dragged against the asphalt until it finally gave and rolled onto the side. Elle heard the SUV back up and she did what she could to prepare for a second impact. All her movements seemed to play in slow motion.

The SUV hit once more and pain exploded as Elle’s body flung between the door and dash like a limp ragdoll. She tried to clear her thoughts enough to focus but couldn’t, her eyes fluttered closed despite her efforts otherwise. She would not die like some random statistic! Her breath began to slow as her pain faded. Elle struggled to remain conscious because she feared that she’d never regain it if she didn’t. Someone out there tried to kill her. If she gave up, they’d succeed. This couldn’t be happening. Her body reacted in ways that defied all of her motivations. Though she could still feel the dull pain throughout her entire body, it felt more like an annoyance than the wreck inducing injuries she’d just experienced. Her heartbeat scared her most of all. She couldn’t feel it. If she’d of been able to take a deep breath, she would have panicked, but her breath had all but stopped as well.

Could she be dead, and her brain not know it yet? The foul stench of cigarette smoke drifted toward her and brought a wave of nausea from her stomach. Well, she doubted she could throw up while dead, so something still worked in her battered and bruised body. Out of nowhere fingers grabbed her face an forced her head to the right. She’d never heard anyone enter the truck. She didn’t even know what position the truck rested on.

“Damn, dead,” a raspy voice uttered.

I’m not dead! I’m not! Her voice screamed inside her head, but she never uttered a sound. She heard the tale tell sound of a lighter being flicked and prayed he wouldn’t kill her by doing something stupid like lighting the truck on fire. A horn blasted from a distance and the presence in the truck with her disappeared. She had never heard him enter, she’d never heard him leave. She couldn’t explain any of it.

_Sleep now child, help is on it’s way._

I don’t want to die, she cried out, though again just in her mind.

_No further harm will come to you._

For some reason the voice comforted her, she let go and drifted toward the welcoming darkness.

Single Parent Diary – Absolute Authority

The greatest thing about being a single parent is the absolute authority. There is no one to share the decision making with. There is no one to offer their opinions of how something should, or should not be accomplished.

No… instead I have four. Four unique and willful minds that ultimately feel they have an equal say in everything around them. There is the older, more responsible one, who truly believes that it is perfectly acceptable to wear clothes that add ten years to her age.

Ah, then there is the older middle child. Now this one usually has wonderful insight on how she should be raised. What type of toys should be purchased, what type of food is healthy or unhealthy. Even what type of music is best for the growing mind of a child. I really should to listen to this one occasionally.

The greatest advice though, usually comes from my oldest son. He has taught me so many lessons in life. I don’t know how I survived so far without them. His gems of wayward opinions usually range from which video games are better than others. He also offers insightful wisdom on which delivery place can reach our house faster.  Of course, this is the same child who stole from his mother’s wallet to give to charity. He also called every single person on my caller id list, to tell them I was in the shower. I probably shouldn’t listen to him as much.

I believe the child I listen to the least is that of my youngest son. The baby of my family. Although, to be fair, I don’t think I accept his thoughts of equality because he doesn’t actually believe he has an equal standing with that of his mother. No, not at all. This young willful child believes he’s superior to that of his lowly mother and siblings. He rules supreme in his universe.

Sometimes I often wish I had a two parent household. Lets go beyond the obvious reasons of having a second income, someone to help pay for the damages, someone else to drive all over gods creation for this or that, someone to hold the child’s head while I clean up the remnants of dinner, someone to actually raise there hand and vote with me when I’m more right than the four united little minds.

Someone to remind me that I’m in charge. I’m the boss. I’m the rule making decision maker.

Now that I’m finished dreaming I think I’ll have a cup of coffee.

Write with childlike wonderment.

Yesterday I experienced something that I can’t recall ever doing before. I went to the circus. The whole experience was something that I’ll cherish forever. Watching the faces of my sons light up when the women twirled, the clowns danced and the men bounced on the tightrope, made it a profound experience. Having my four children, sister and one niece sit quietly for two hours… absolutely the best experience I’ve had in a long time.

What is it about places like the circus that capture and hold ones attention so vividly. Is it that first initial hook? In this case the swirling motor bikes in a giant metal ball cage. When my sons saw that, they were stoked and didn’t look away for a moment. Then followed by a man in a hamster wheel that swung around the span of the tent, floor to ceiling. The constant fast beat of the music, his daring, the danger. Every bit was like a choreographed dance until the very end when they shot the man out of a cannon.

That is how I strive to be with my writing. I want to have that level of ability to bring out a childlike wonder in the imagination of the reader. I want to tickle their funny bone and engage them in my world. There are so many wonderful authors out there that do profound, I’m more apt to make you chuckle than think about global warming. And that’s ok. I’ve come to believe that doesn’t mean I’m wasting my talent, it means that I’m using my talent in the way I want to.


So, now I want to run away and join the circus. If you don’t hear from me for a while, call Cole Bros Circus.


Publishers, Editors, Agents… oh my!!

I don’t think I ever truly realized the depth of research that had to be done *after* the book was written. I’ve made and developed a network of supportive people with a great deal of advice to offer on any aspect of publication. The problem with that is the conflicting advice. It seems everyone has an opinion on every publisher, every editor, every agent.

The thing to do with advice is take it into consideration and discard it completely. A smart friend of mine said submitting is like shoe shopping. (An metaphor that I can really relate to) Why would you shop in the size three aisle when you wear a size 7?) Finding the right fit for your books is vital. It’s a waste of time otherwise, yours and theirs.

For the paranormal romance, I have three books. One completed, One half way finished, and one started. They are all part of the Goddess series that I’ve been working on. They aren’t all that dark, while they find themselves in dangerous situations, they aren’t dangerous. I use a great deal of comic relief and my characters are larger than life… on purpose.

My inspirational writing is more serious, overcoming obstacles to remain true to faith and heart. The short story has found a home, and I couldn’t be more delighted. We’ll see how it does in the coming months. I enjoy the balance writing both creates in me.

When I find a home for the books I will be equally delighted, and quite possibly exhausted. I have researched epublishers, small press publishers, large publishers. I’ve spoken with agents and editors and fellow authors. I’ve read submission pages, and what they were looking for. I’ve spent months researching and keeping notes, reading books by those publishers.

Here’s what I learned:

In the immortal words of Salt n Peppa…

“Opinions are like *ahem* everybody’s got one”

All the research in the world doesn’t take the place of selling a good product. I can’t recommend programs like IWW (Internet Writing Workshop) enough. Get your work critiqued, commented on, read by someone other than your mother.

Google it, you know you want to.

So, I’ve done my research, I’ve read my books, I’ve written and polished, and here I am, writing a blog about it. To let you know the depth of my neurosis, I have 218 book marked publishers, 75 bookmarked agents, and over 1000 networked authors between myspace facebook and twitter.

And I don’t even have a book out  yet.


I can too!

It seems as though everyone is writing a book these days. Former President George W Bush thinks that people want to know about his decision making processes. Brett Michaels, you know that rock singer and horrid reality show guy, yes, him. He is going to write about his time with Poison (When he was relevant). The Octomom has a book deal I believe. The hero Pilot guy, Chesley Sullenberger… ok so I actually want to read his book, I won’t use him in this example.

The reality is that anyone can write a book. If you want instant backing, find your fifteen minutes of fame. Wrestlers have written them, sports legends, actors, musicians, politicians, murderers, anyone who has been in the limelight apparently has a get out of slush free card.

I read gossip rags like there’s no tomorrow, I soak up the lives of our rich and infamous. Though, now that I’ve written a novel, I’m seeing things through a different set of eyes. Which isn’t to say that I think those above shouldn’t be writing novels, I just think they are already legends in their own fields, it makes it that much harder to become one in mine. This Literary Goddess (Ha! still can’t) doesn’t want to have to go up against Brett Michaels on the NY Best Sellers List.

Someone wake me up, I’m dreaming again.

I digress, I think I’ve strayed from the point I had. You know whose book I’d like to read? My 12th grade English Teacher, Mrs. Hatch, I can’t think of a person who had a bigger impact on my literary life because she believed in me. To a screwed up teenager, someone genuinely believing in them is a pretty big deal.

I want to read a book about the 68 year old Fireman who retired after saving countless lives, but only remembers the ones he couldn’t save.

We’re flooded with infamy, bad decisions, drugs and sex… Why can’t we write about the Goodness that exists every day? Leave a comment with someone you’d like to see with a book of their life out.

I’ll be at BnN picking up a book that has infamy, bad decisions, drugs and sex, but with a happy ending!


Impatiently learning to be patient.

My book is done, it’s book one of a tentative series I called the Divine Ones. The Divine Ones are six Goddess’s who have children that must pass three Trials of Humanity to live as a deity among human mortals. The book I just finished took me six long months to write. To some of you, this isn’t all that long, to others still its. To me, six months is an eternity.

My short story is done, the revisions are done. This short story took me four years to write. I started it one night, so long ago, when I’d just moved into government housing in PA and at a low point when I no longer believed in happily ever after. I wrote it to give one married couple a happy ending, because I just didn’t know any.

It was one year ago today that I got the air mail from Harlequin saying that I didn’t win the contest but that my writing showed promise and that I should submit something more suited to their line. Well, Mills and Boon, not Harlequin. It’s always been my dream to write for Harlequin, not going to lie, I still have that letter framed just because they said my work showed promise. Who frames things like that?

So, now I have a query at Harlequin, revisions at Highland Press, and I’ve thoroughly outlined the second book of the Divine Ones. Then, out of nowhere, comes an idea of four short stories, linked by a disaster (thanks to someone on Facebook), all struggling in their marriage, thinking they need a divorce. The general idea is to write four separate shorts, perhaps having them all go to the same church.

When I get an idea, I can’t think of anything else. I have to think it to death to move on. Life is amusing, just when I think I couldn’t possibly be any more impatient, I find myself consumed with a new tale to tell. When I think of how much time I waste, I need to learn to look at how much I’ve accomplished. In a year’s time, I’ve become a co-host of The Haunt @ PNR (www.paranormalromance.org) I’m a reviewer for the same place. I’ve built my own website, have two blogs, wrote one novel and two short stories (the second one sucked, that’s why it’s not mentioned here)

All this, while being a mother of four rambunctious children and working 48 hour weeks. Just imagine what i could do if I stayed *off* Facebook, myspace, twitter, dlisted, perez and any other time waster that I have.

And yet, as I sit here writing this pat myself on the back blog, I realize that I’m wasting time because I still need to finish 3 reviews, critique a chapter for one person, 3 other’s for another, not to mention that I need to keep up with my word count of 2500 (ha! see previous post)

It’s exhausting being patient!!!



The ability to waste time.

As writers, we know that our daily goal should be something like 2500 words. Those of us who graduated from the school of NaNoWriMo know that you need 1666 words a day to reach 50k in a month.

According to Write or Die I can write 1700 words in about 45 minutes. So theoretically, to keep in line with a writers daily goal, I should be able to write 2500 words in a little over one hour. That’s it… one hour.

Now, I allot myself four hours a day for writing. Heck, I should be turning out 10,000 words a day. Instead I think I use 3 of house hours on facebook, myspace, the internet, chatting on IM, browsing dating sites because God knows, I need to find a man *insert eye roll here* and now I’m on twitter too!? Those three hours can easily turn to like six, and I’ll find myself staying up late, and waking up early. For what? So people I don’t know can fill me in details of their lives that will ultimately never effect mine.

And I soak it up like a sponge buddy. Tell me your details, let me share your life, so that mine is ‘that much more’ entertaining. For a minute it will make me remember that I don’t have much of one on my own.

Yesterday I wrote 164 words. The day before, I thought I was a super-writer because I wrote 6k ish. I guess if you balance the two together, I’m meeting some type of goal, except I’ll go a week and not write a single word.

For my ‘job’, I’m never late, I don’t shirk my duties, I never call in sick, internet connections and acts of God are the only reason I’ll not be there. And I’ll never get anywhere with this job. It is what it is.

Writing is fun, it’s something I ‘want’ to do. Never mind that I could eventually make more money than being a chat host. I’m learning, I’m goofing off, I’m playing around, and in the end, I’m wasting my time because I’m not being productive. See, I need an old Catholic school Nun editor to smack my hand with a ruler each time I go online when I’m writing.

Actually, all she’d have to do is look at me, I’m a wuss. I’m so non confrontational that I think I’ve never called off work, not because I haven’t needed, or wanted, to, but because I’m scared of my boss.

There you have it, my ability to waste time… How are your time keeping skills?


Magazines, shmagazines.

I’ll admit to being young enough to claim the internet era as my own. Just yesterday, I was asked about reading magazines as a means to find out information for new books.

Wait… What? You can find book information from magazines? People do that? What on earth for, when the Internet is at your fingertips. And you paid for this information?? Your mama should have taught you better.

Then my attention was brought toward the closing of a once popular magazine that helped propel the very genre I write for. Another magazine was mentioned as well but I just wasn’t interest. I didn’t even look it up, I’m that lazy.

I don’t know if it’s a personal interest, and that I just don’t like magazines, or if it’s a generational thing and that I’m just missing the appeal of glossy pages with limited information and a bunch of ads that I’ll never care about. I wonder how many people out there would share my opinion on the subject?

“In depth author interviews”

are online.

“Book Reviews”

are online.

“Ratings and excerpts”

are online.

While, I’m sad to see any type of business close down, I don’t see it so much a sign of the economy, as a sign of the times. I doubt my four children have ever read a magazine, but they can google like little champs. No, that’s not true. Every year, at Christmas time, Toys R Us send out their annual toy catalogue, they read that faithfully and circle what they want, namely everything.

I think my overall point is that I’m so used to the instant gratification of the internet, that I can’t imagine having the patience to wait for a magazines publication date, or for it to arrive on my doorstep.