Writing is a solitary endeavor. I knew that—was resigned to it. So imagine my surprise and excitement when I discovered there's a huge community of authors out there all willing to welcome one another and network.

I've connected with some incredible people. Even though I've yet to meet them face to face, I still consider a number of them among the best friends I've ever had. They've got my back and I've got theirs. We all know, intimately, how difficult the business is. It humbles, scars, and defeats so many hopefuls. None of us get through the trials unscathed. I'd assumed I would be treading those choppy, chilly waters on my own but found a chain of linked hands reaching out to me instead. Now I'm part of that chain. It's already stretched farther than I can see in the distance beyond me. We are not alone after all. I can't tell you how reassuring that is.

This beautiful community of writers lifts and supports one another like the prettiest bra. It holds us in, holds us up, yet allows for movement and adjusts for comfort. What a wonderful thing. They promote and encourage each other, weigh in on important questions, and readily share the knowledge they've gleaned along the way with no strings. It's the most unselfish amazing group of people I've ever seen.

I love being part of the writing community.


*This post originally shared on my old site 4/13/2014.​ 

Every writer knows the tension and anxiety that comes with getting reviews. Just reaching that stage is an exercise in rejection.

You have your beta readers and critique partners telling you when something isn't working. Then, there's the submission process. Hello disappointment!  If you're fortunate enough, someone will offer you a contract. In truth, that happy little bubble of validation is a delicate thing. One prick, and poof, it's gone.

Our literary creations are as close to our hearts as our children or treasured pets. We put a lot of thought, time, energy, ourselves, into them. We bleed, cry, laugh, and bond with our characters. But there comes a day when we have to gather up those pages and send them out into the world without us. It's a lot like seeing your child onto the school bus for the first time. Scary, and for some, a little traumatic.

Will people be kind to your brainchild? Will they treat it gently, understand why it developed this way rather than that? There are so many variables to take into account. Some people prefer plot-driven over character-driven stories. Others might be sensitive to certain points-of-view. Sentence structure and flow can be wrong for the reader, so a writer's voice will bother them.

Waiting for feedback, knowing how varied opinions and tastes are, can be downright nerve-wracking for a writer. We clutch those positive responses to our chests and let out the shaky breath we'd been holding. But what about those sharp critiques that cut us to the bone? What about those dismal stars with no explanations whatsoever? 

We're told even negative reviews are still good because most people understand tastes really do vary. Our friends and supporters encourage us to shrug them off, ignore them. You'll never please everybody. All true. But even thick skin isn't impervious to abrasions. 

This is why I want dragon scales. Something lovely, iridescent, and hard to penetrate. Wouldn't that be great? Since I'm at it, maybe I'll throw some wings into the fantasy, too. I'll swoop out of the clouds and chase down those nasty negatives and with a delicate, modest little belch of flame, turn them to ashes that disintegrate on the wind as my wings sweep me up into the deep blue sky once again. 

Oh sure, there will still be arrows turned in my direction, but they'll bounce off my diamond hard armor and find no purchase in the tender flesh beneath. I'm thinking blue scales. I could disappear against the sky and ride my fantasy like a wind current. 

Who wants to join me in a free spirited frolic? What color scales would you choose?


​
*This post originally shared on my old blog 2/16/2013.

​It happened again. I was at a dinner party several days ago and the woman sitting next to me, having heard I'm a writer, asked what I write. I answered romance.

At seeing the change in her face, my husband instantly jumped to my defense, completely offended by her unchecked disdain. I love him for his noble reaction and pride in me. What I don't understand is why it would ever be necessary.

Everyone knows there are crap books out there. Hack writers abound in every form of fiction and non-fiction alike. These days, with vanity presses and self-publishing, there seem to be even more. Smart readers take the time to look at the sample of the writing provided before hitting the Buy/Add to my Cart button.

So why is romance viewed so differently? Why do romance writers tend to lose some of the cachet other writers enjoy? There seems to be an unspoken assumption that writers separate out according to ability. Like cream, if you will. We all end up where we belong, based on aptitude. 

Bull.

I enjoy writing all kinds of things, most writers do, but I made a choice to focus on romance. Why? Because, like so many other women, I was once a little girl who loved reading fairy tales. I enjoyed stories with happily-ever-afters and romantic endings. They weren't simple or stupid. They taught love, sacrifice, noble actions, risks, and sometimes even death. Who wouldn't get excited about all that?

Romance is a broad label encompassing all of these things and more—updated for grownups. These stories touch on human frailties and strengths, kindness and cruelty. Within the various genres under the heading of romance are mysteries, suspense, ghost stories, and thrillers. You'll find historicals and sci-fi. There are badass warriors and wrenching death scenes, characters with pure hearts or evil intentions. Some stories will be filled with fantasy, others grounded in reality and utterly recognizable to the reader. There may even be sex. 

So what sets romance apart from other forms of fiction? Their focus on relationships and a happily-ever-after. Love isn't shoved into a closet, downplayed, glossed over, or ignored outright. Why should it be? What are we embarrassed about? That we might possibly discover we care? That these characters might form a bond before our eyes and...oh no, pair up? Heavens! 
  
I'm making light of people's discomfort with their emotions. Why? Maybe because acknowledging and embracing them takes courage. After all, we're at our most vulnerable when we take our emotions out of our drawstring bag and let someone else play with them. But denigrating love and romance because it makes you uncomfortable is a shabby thing to do, especially if you've never read one. So give them a fair shake before casting judgment on the quality of an entire genre and the writers who've chosen to create these works.

You might be surprised.


This post was originally published on my old website on November 4, 2013

Friends and Lovers - A relationship fifteen years in the making could be unmade in one terrifying afternoon.

Shadows and Doubts - When her latest case puts an attorney in the crosshairs, her best defense is a cop with personal demons of his own.

Sweetest Taboo just got a fresh new look and blurb this week. To celebrate, I'm sharing an excerpt too.

As if secretly loving one woman isn't complicated enough.

Best friends for years, Lance is the first person Kavita thinks of, the one person she and Angie can always call for anything, so buying the little beach house next to his when it becomes available is a great idea. Only, the open-door policy between the new neighbors brings a level of intimacy none of them anticipate, laying bare secrets and sentiments on all sides.

Is there such a thing as being too close, and can their friendship survive if they redefine what they mean to one another and take their relationship to the next level?

Read this unconventional story that challenges the limits we place on romantic love and the very personal meaning of commitment.

Now How about that hot and spicy peek?

Angie rose and held out the nearly empty bottle. “Finish your wine first. I want to pop another bottle.”

Lance drained his glass and held it out to her. Kavita followed suit.

“Be right back.” Angie blew a saucy air kiss over her shoulder then sauntered into the house.

He grinned at Kavita. “She’s a flirty thing. I didn’t know that.” Wandering over to the railing, he leaned against it and sipped what Angie had poured him.

She laughed. “There’s a lot you don’t know about Angie.”

Intrigued, he simply studied the beautiful woman watching him. The expression in her eyes beguiled him. The temptress was out tonight.

Angie rejoined them, holding the next bottle. “Who’s first?” She looked equally wicked, or playful. Could she be both? He wondered.

“I’ll probably regret it…hit me.” Kavita held out her glass and Angie filled it halfway. Then Kavita cast a challenging glance his way. “Lance?”

“What the hell?” He offered his own glass and received an equal pour.

All three stood there in the waning light, contemplating one another while the steady sound of the waves rising then retreating filled the quiet gulf between them. He was getting the strangest vibe off of them tonight.

Kavita turned to Angie and asked, quite seriously this time, “I know we talked and talked about it, but now I’m having second thoughts. What do you think?”

The manner with which Angie quietly studied him made Lance swallow—hard. Then she nodded to Kavita. “Me too. We have to know. Go ahead.”

He drew back, suddenly wary. “What’s going on?” Growing more paranoid by the second, he felt a little like an explorer who’d just strayed into a band of cannibals.

“Nothing.” Kavita stalked slowly toward him. “Yet.”

He gave an uncomfortable laugh and looked over at Angie. “You can tell me. It’s okay.”

Kavita stopped right in front of him, her bare toes touching the tips of his. He felt the brush of her gorgeous breasts against his shirt. God, she was beautiful.

“Tell me something.” Her voice was in a seductive register. The musician, and the man in him, responded. He couldn’t look away from her dark eyes. They owned him. “Why aren’t you seeing anyone?”

His mind scrambled to find an acceptable answer for her. He swallowed again and said, “Not interested.”

“Uh huh.” She cast a look over her shoulder at Angie and they smiled at one another. Angie gave her a nod.

Turning back to him, Kavita set her glass of wine on the railing behind him then gently lifted his out of his hand. She set that glass beside her own. He was frozen, waiting, wondering, hoping, terrified to hope. What the hell was going on?

Then she rose up on her toes, leaning her body full against his, and slid her hand up his chest and around the back of his neck. He didn’t resist. He thought he should. Felt he should, but couldn’t. He’d wanted this for too long.

Their lips brushed, caressed then devoured. He wanted to gulp her down, consume her, yet he forced himself to keep his hands on her hips and not take over. What he couldn’t control was the long hidden secret spilling from his tongue to hers as they kissed.

Kavita eased back with a sad, sober smile and touched two fingers to her lips. “I thought so.”

He dropped his hands, ashamed of himself.

“Lance, are you in love with me?” she asked.

Knowing the truth was out now, it was pointless to deny it. “Yes,” he whispered. He looked toward Angie, silently begging her forgiveness, but she looked back at him with the same understanding smile.

“And Angie?” Kavita asked softly, bringing his attention back to her. “Do you love her too?”

Ah fuck. “There’s a distinct probability,” he replied, even more ashamed.

Kavita turned and held out her hand to Angie. “Come here. You have to try this. It’s nice.”

Drawing Angie forward, Kavita stepped aside and suddenly he was looking into Angie’s luminous face. Her eyes were a dark, midnight blue in this light and her slender body had less give than Kavita’s, but it was still soft and felt wonderful against him. She slid both hands up and behind him and he took hold of her slim hips as she drew him down.

The technique between the women varied, but he liked both kisses equally. Where tender Kavita gave and shared, Angie took. She was assertive, aggressive, and she made soft growling sounds deep in her throat as their hungry mouths mashed together. Those base sounds shot straight to his groin.

Then she drew back, stroking his face just before she broke contact with him.

“Very nice,” she agreed with a smile for Kavita.

“I told you.”

They considered him thoughtfully then both dropped their eyes down his body to the incriminating bulge in his shorts.

Angie turned to Kavita, her smile deepening, and said, “Something tells me it’s time we talked.”
​
Read this unconventional love story today.

I'm not sure why taverns seem to be the launch pad of choice for so many adventures and quests, but there's a tavern in mine too. This one is run by Charley's brother, Dink. Enjoy this scene.

Heidi put her camera away. “It’ll probably be a few days before I can get those prints to you, is that okay?”

“No hurry.”

Drake lifted his glass to his lips and glanced over at Charley for the twelfth time. He loved looking at her, and when he was standing behind her a few minutes ago, it took every ounce of self-control he had not to reach for that sleek fall of hair like a drowning man.

Heidi laughed at him. “A little distracted there, Drake? Why don’t you just invite her to join us?”

He slowly brought his gaze around and gave Heidi a cockeyed smile. “Because I’m having way too much fun figuring her out from a distance.”

“What? I don’t get it.”

He shot another quick look at Charley and got a frosty glare in return before she spun on her seat. Her pointed snub amused him.

Chuckling, he confided in an undertone, “Charley likes to pretend I’m totally irrelevant and she’s not the least bit interested. She needs to work on her poker face.” His eyes strayed back to her and he burst out laughing because it didn’t take an ornithologist to recognize the bird she showed him.

Heidi looked over to see what was so funny but Charley had already turned away. “Why?”

“I’m not sure, but I can’t wait to see how this plays out.”

Heidi considered Charley sympathetically over the rim of her glass. “She’s not happy we’re sitting together.” She fell silent for a moment before musing aloud, “I wonder if she’s ever had a girlfriend. She’s actually quite pretty.”

“She’s not a lesbian,” Drake murmured, his focus fixed on the cute tomboy.

Heidi snorted into her beer, barely holding it together. “I know that. What I meant was a girl friend, someone to soften her rough edges, initiate her into the sisterhood.”

He sighed. “Doubtful. From what I understand, she only hangs out with guys. It’s strictly platonic.”

Heidi studied Charley long and hard. “I can already visualize her swan-like transformation. That would be so—” She laughed and snapped her fingers under Drake’s nose, bringing his eyes back to
her. “I was talking to you. Oh, forget it. She’s doing just fine without the Eliza Doolittle treatment.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Heidi smiled at him. “She doesn’t need the trappings. She’s got your attention without them.”

***Read the Full Story today. ***
​

Can she ever forgive herself? Will she ever forget him? Enjoy this scene from Intimate Strangers. 

“That Margarite is wearing me out. She might not have to juggle two jobs, but I do. I can’t keep going over there after Skipper’s closes. It’s tough enough getting up to go out with you bright and early after bartending the night before. I have to catch some sleep sometime,” Hero told Brady a week later as he reached for an orange off the counter.

“Uh huh.” Brady barely heard him, his attention fixed on a long list of old e-mails. He kept all of his reservations and records for tax purposes. “Damn it. Where the hell is it?”

“What are you lookin’ for?” Hero bounced the orange off his curled bicep and caught it. Kids.

“A name,” he told him, eyes scrolling down his screen.

“Oh.” His curiosity satisfied, Hero began to peel his orange, meticulously removing the oddly shaped rinds and dropping them into the open compost canister in front of him. It was annoyingly distracting.

Calming himself, Brady spoke up. “Hey, could you go and flush out the live well?”

“Now? Sure, I guess.”

“Thank you.”

As soon as Hero wandered out, Brady clicked on a potential message, dated six months prior. His heart sped at what he found. Though the e-mail address wasn’t remotely familiar, once opened, it was clear it originated from Mac’s law firm. Reading through the message, Brady found Mac’s personal e-mail address and contact info at the bottom of the page.

A little more reading, a bit of finessing, and he had Mac’s full name, obituary, home city, and…Kate’s last name. She never gave it to him.

Katherine Hayley Foster.

Foster. If she married him her initials would stay the same.

“Marry me?” Brady laughed at himself and ruffled his shaggy hair with both hands. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

He did a Google search for her and learned even more. Kicking back in his chair, he smiled at her college graduation photo, the tip of his finger tracing down her lovely cheek. He’d missed this face. He’d missed this woman.

“Coming soon to a city near you,” he murmured. His chair creaked when he suddenly sat up, struck with an idea. “Hey! Hero! Come here a minute.”

Hero popped his head in the open doorway. “What’s up?”

“If I want to find someone, find their home address, how would I do that exactly? Do you know?”

“Sure.” He shrugged. “It’s easy. If it doesn’t come up through normal channels, there’s usually another way. Course, if you have to, you can always tap into utility records, that sort of thing. Why?”

Brady stared at him, amazed. “Do you know how to do that?”

“Dude. That kind of shit is illegal.” Hero gave him a slow grin and cracked his knuckles. “Get your ass out of that chair. You didn’t learn any of this from me.”

Enjoy this provocative novella full of twists, turns, and explosive sexual tension today.