Web Blog of Connie Vines, author or multi-genre fiction. Awards: H.O.L.T. Medallion (Honoring Outstanding Literary Talent), Orange Rose, Award of Excellence--Contemporary Romance; Independent eBook Award, Dream Realm Award. National Book Award and Frankfurt Book Award, nominee--YA Historical Fiction. Blog includes guest bloggers and snippets of WIP.
When I solicited guests to fill in the slots for the week, I had no idea what kind of stuff I'd be getting, but I did have faith that it would be awesome because I know my friends and their talents. What I didn't expect was what I'm posting here today, although with "heated cheeks because I can't believe someone I admire so much has such glowing words to say about me:
Here's her response to my email: And if you decide to run it, please don't delete anything, but you can correct any errors! Love ya, h
Here's the surprise post:
Ode to Ginger Simpson
everyone! She knows nothing about this, but I’m doing this tribute anyway. And
Ginger, you’d better print this or heads will roll!!
Ginger only a relatively short time, but I’ve been kicking around the planet
for enough decades to know the goods when I see it. Ginger is one talented
cookie and a helluva diverse writer, as well. Just check her author page on
importantly for me, Ginger is a loyal pal, honest, and steadfast when it’s at
its most needed. It shows in her writing. I haven’t read all her works….yet.
But I plan to. She brings to her writing the lessons she’s learned in life, her
compassion, and her overall feelings of good will. She wants the world to be
happy and if you pay attention to her stuff, you can see some methods to
accomplish this in her books.
and I have in common, I hope, is our positive outlook on life. Life can (and
will) cosh you over the head when least expected, but by gawd, you’re going to
get up, take it on, and turn everything around. And for people like Ginger and
me, you’ll throw in a joke while you’re at it.
hip, hip, hurrah for Ginger Simpson, a fine writer and an even finer human
being. And no. No money has exchanged hands for this salute. Although, when I
get to Tennessee one of these days to see my pal in person, I do expect a big
hug. Hugs from people like Ginger mean a lot.
way, I’m a writer, too. See below:
Lee Alvarez’ ex-husband, Nick -- a man she divorced with joy
in her heart and a gun in her hand – sprints back in her life only to disappear
again. She’d love to leave it at that, but could he be responsible for the
recent death of her cousin, who keeled over at the finish line of a
half-marathon in front of hundreds of spectators? As PI for the family run
business, Discretionary Inquiries, Lee follows the clues to Vegas, where she
joins forces with Shoshone PI, Flint Tall Trees.Together they uncover a multi-million dollar betting
syndicate, a tacky lounge lizard act, and a list of past but very dead runners,
plus future ones to off. At the top of the ‘future’ list is the love of her
life, Gurn Hanson. Hoping to force the culprits out in the open, Gurn and Lee’s
brother, Richard, vow to run San Francisco’s famous Palace to Palace footrace in
only a few days. Can Lee keep the two men she loves from hitting the finish
line as dead as her cousin? With more at stake than she ever dreamed possible,
Lee is in a battle against time to stop the Alvarez Family’s 12K race with
Buy page for Death Runs in the Family: http://tinyurl.com/87fbjn3
conversation, we jostled Nick out of the room and down the stairs. As a
precaution, we used the back exit, Flint flinging boxes of DVDs every which way
so fast, the clerk only managed one “hey” before we were out the door. The exit
led to a narrow back alley filled with garbage, trash, and more small scurrying
animals that should be calling the SPCA to complain about the conditions under
which they’re forced to live.
While Flint went
to bring the car to the side of the alley, I waited in the shadows next to Nick
and pulled out the Glock. The irony of the situation hit me like a double
charge on a credit card bill for shoes not only too tight to wear but last
On the left, a
disgusting dumpster; on the right, an even more disgusting ex-husband. And me
stuck in the middle as usual—a reluctant PI if ever there was one.
inhaling the stench of fly-ridden garbage, I’d really rather be sniffing out
dastardly doings of computer sabotage or thievery, in particular, long after
said dastardly deeds have gone down. It’s my idea of a good job, especially
when I get to zip off whenever I want and have a great lunch.
The part I like
best—besides the food—is sitting at a highly polished, recently vacated
mahogany desk in an air-conditioned office, sifting through the rubble of
high-tech deceit and betrayal. I like gathering enough evidence to point a
manicured fingernail at the culprit and shout j'accuse! Backlit by enough briefs, memos, emails, and other telltale
papers, the culprit is mine. That is a real high.
This was a real
low. But I had to think about Stephen. My cousin was dead, and Nick knew
something about it. Hell, maybe he even had something to do with it. And, of
course, there were the cats. If Nick was in any way responsible, I might do him
in myself and save whatever goons there may be the trouble.
All these things
were flitting through my mind when Nick—the stupid idiot—made a lunge for my
gun, muttering he could take better care of himself than I could. Sometimes an
ex-marine, like an ex-husband, needs to get over himself.
One of the first
lessons you learn as a PI is to not to carry a gun if you’re going to let
anybody take it away from you. All the years I’ve been carrying, ten to be
exact, people have taken all sorts of things from me—including my virtue—but
never my gun.
So when Nick came
at me, my knee went up fast, strong, and accurate. Ex dropped to the ground in
a fetal position. God only knows what else was lying there with him, but I left
him on the dirt, anyway. He was busy moaning while I cocked the Glock and gave
a 360-degree spin, prepared to do whatever was necessary to keep the jerk safe.
At least, for the moment.
no one showed up except a passing rat or two, excluding the one I stood over.
After what felt like a lifetime, I saw Flint’s headlights, although I’m sure it
didn’t take him more than three minutes to get there. I helped Nick up. He
limped to the car, and Flint, bless him, raised an eyebrow over Nick’s
condition but didn’t say a word. What a guy.
Note from Ginger: Even if Heather hadn't said such wonderful things about me, I would have added my endorsement for her Alvarez Series. I've read all of them and loved each. She's on my favorite author list, and it has nothing to be with anything but her ability to keep me fascinated with her wonderful stories.