Some Tips Directly From Sonia Marsh #GutsystoryAnthology

Remember when I requested you to visit Sonia Marsh's site about my having written a "Gutsy" story?

I won that small competition, but I guess I was in a fog because I never realized until I received an email about book number three coming soon, that my winning story appears in the 2nd anthology.  I just ordered my copy, and I pirated Sonia's suggestions as to how to launch your book with success.  Thought I'd share.  Sonia also has information on her site about how to appear in her next venture, plus she has tips for authors in additional to how to launch your books.  Check her out and view the pictures of her launch for the second anthology.

You can find Sonia Marsh and her "Gutsy" page at:   http://soniamarsh.com.

Tips to a Successful book launch

• Start 3-4 months before
• Offer a panel of speakers to entertain your audience based on your book’s theme
• Have a moderator (locally famous if you can)
• Hire a local publicist to help you get local media attention
• Think outside the box of what organization might be relevant to your book’s topic and invite them to join
• Pick a nice venue
• Offer food and wine
• Charge people for the food and wine, and offer a “free” book to everyone
• Sign up with Eventbrite on FB
• Use the Eventbrite countdown widget on your blog (Contact me if you need help with this or any marketing suggestions)
• Offer great door prizes
• Make each person on your panel speak for 5 minutes or so
• Engage the audience and get the moderator to have Q & A
• Invite everyone to review your book on Amazon 
• Be kind, helpful and chat with everyone

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Welcome Lisabet Sarai to Dishin' It Out

 Warning:  This may be considered a little spicier than most are used to.  After all, Lisabet is the queen of sexy writings, but she does it with such class.

Helping Vampires to Save the World

Let's face it. Vampires are sexy. Something about the undead stirs up our juices. Perhaps it's their irresistible power. Even when we know the danger, we're so very tempted to surrender to their all-consuming lust. Maybe we want to comfort them, to save them a lonely, bloody eternity. Maybe we secretly crave immortality ourselves.

Vampires are frequently portrayed as evil or at least amoral, viewing humanity from the jaded perspective of centuries. Now, though, vampires are doing their part to save the world.

Coming Together: In Vein is a brand new collection of vampire-themed erotica and erotic romance edited by Lisabet Sarai. All sales of this novel-length volume support Doctors Without Borders (Médecins Sans Frontières). MSF works in nearly 70 countries providing medical aid to those most in need regardless of their race, religion, or political affiliation. Right now, despite being barred from the country, MSF doctors and nurses are in Syria, working with patients from both sides of the civil war. They're performing surgery in caves and sneaking into refugee camps to distribute desperately needed medications.

You can help MSF in its life-saving mission, simply by indulging your passion for vampires. Buy a copy of Coming Together: In Vein in ebook, Kindle format, or print. Enjoy! Then help spread the word! Every copy we sell has the potential to save someone's life.

The list of contributors includes many names you'll recognize. Every one of these authors has provided his or her work free of charge, to support the charitable aims of the project. Furthermore, the editor is giving away a free copy of her short story collection Body Electric  to everyone who buys a copy of Coming Together: In Vein. (For details of this offer, click here.)

You'll find an excerpt below – just to whet your appetite.

Sink your teeth into Coming Together: In Vein. Help our vampires save the world. 

Tell me about Barbara,” she asked finally. “The woman in the photos.” As soon as she saw his ravaged face, she was sorry for the question.

“I was stupid, inexperienced. And we were so much in love. When I realized what I had become, I crawled to her on my hands and knees and begged her forgiveness. I was so terribly sorry to have ruined our plans for a life together. Barbara, though, had other ideas. She pointed out that, according to all information, we could now share eternity. All I had to do was turn her, make her into a vampire too.

“I was reluctant, but she convinced me. She was so beautiful, I couldn’t bear the notion that she would eventually age and die while I’d live forever.

“We planned the ritual carefully, almost as if it were our wedding ceremony...”

“The photos–” Lara interrupted.

“Right.” Jim laughed bitterly. “I set up the camera to record it all. The initiation of my beloved into the realm of the undead. But it all went terribly wrong.” He choked back a sob. Lara felt a sympathetic lump in her throat.

“What happened?”

“Everybody knows how you make a new vampire. First you drain the victim’s blood, bringing her close to death. Then you allow her to drink your blood. That’s what we planned. That’s what we did. It was incredible, terrifying and ecstatic.”

“But?”

“But she died. I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t turn her. Since then I’ve learned the truth.”

Lara was silent, waiting.

“To create a new vampire, you must suck the victim’s blood while you’re physically connected. While you’re having sex.”

“You’re joking!”

“No, it’s no joke. That’s why I ended up this way. That girl at the party—all she really wanted was my blood. But one thing led to another, and eventually we were fucking. I don’t think she really understood either.”

No wonder his little demonstration had produced such an intense effect. For him, blood lust and sexual desire were inextricably entwined. The instinctive drive to reproduce, to bring more souls over the boundary of death into the shadowy world that he inhabited, this was something he could not deny, and could only imperfectly control.

Lara knew she should be frightened. She should get out his seductive presence before she made a final, incorrigible mistake. The risk, the pure reality of it, only made her want him more.

 He was watching her. She could feel his eyes on her lips, on her throat, on the rise and fall of her breasts as her breath quickened.

She glanced around the bar, filling up now that it was after five. Donnie’s was not known as a “blood” bar, but still, she noticed half a dozen men wearing capes and pale make up, plus two or three women in slinky black dresses and wigs. It was pathetic, the way they all craved a fleeting taste of inhuman power, a brush with immortality. And here she sat, thigh to thigh with the genuine article.

“I don’t fully understand it,” Jim said, obviously catching  her thoughts once again. “Why would they want to be me? Power’s nice, but overall, I live a pretty lonely and miserable existence.”

“Maybe—maybe I can make you feel less lonely. For a little while.” Lara cradled his cheek for an instant, then pulled his mouth to hers. His lips were soft as any flesh, warm and muscular as they met and molded to her own lips. She tasted the wine he had been drinking, with background flavors of iron and salt. His tongue, too, felt human, jousting against hers, exploring, questioning.

Her rigid nipples pressed rudely through the stretchy fabric of her top, pleading for his attention. Of course he knew what she wanted. Without breaking the kiss, he cupped both breasts, tracing symmetrical circles around the tips. Her pussy clenched. Her thighs opened involuntarily. She rocked back and forth on the bench, rubbing her clit against the hard wood.

“Please,” she moaned against his open mouth, and then was silent, realizing that she did not have to say anything. He broke the kiss to throw a twenty pound note on the table, then pulled her to his chest.

“Imagine your apartment,” he said, close to her ear. “Think about your bedroom. And hold on tight.”


To get your own copy:  http://www.amazon.com/Coming-Together-Vein-Lisabet-Sarai/dp/1479125555

Welcome Kelly A. Harmon

Kelly A. Harmon is a former newspaper reporter and magazine editor, who has since turned to fiction.  Her short-fiction has been published in several anthologies and has been short-listed for the Aeon Award. Her published novella, Blood Soup, is an award-winning story. 

Ms. Harmon teaches writing at the local community college where the number one question she hears these days is, “How do I publish my book?”

So You Want to Publish Your Novel

It used to be that if you wanted to publish your book, you finished it up, mailed it to an agent in New York and crossed your fingers.  If you were lucky, you got a contract with a large New York publisher and an advance on the product, but then you waited anywhere from a year, to maybe two, to see your book in print.

Today, you can type “The End” at the bottom of your manuscript and self-publish it at Amazon within the hour.

There’s a middle ground, too: a small-press publisher (sometimes called an Indie Press), who acts similarly as the New York publishing house (edits your book, gets an artist to draw a cover, distributes your book), but all on a lesser scale.

Which is right for you or your book?

The answer depends on your goals.  There are pros and cons to each of these choices.

New York – “Big Six” – Publishing

Pros:

·      You get an editor dedicated to your book, to make it (and you) sound great. 

·      A professional artist will do the cover of your book. 

·      You’ll get distribution in brick-and-mortar stores, as well as on-line.

·      You get some marketing money (although sometimes the budget is miniscule, especially for new writers).

·      You might get a publicist who will write copy to send to your local newspaper, and line you up for radio shows or TV interviews.

·      Your book has been “vetted” by an acquisitions editor, a copy editor and possible an agent, making it more desirable in the eyes of some of the buying public.

Cons:

·      It takes about 18 months from acceptance to publication.

·      You earn (on average) 10 – 15% of the cover price of the book for each book sold.

·      You’ll probably need to have an agent to get your book read by a large house, and...

·      You have to pay your agent 15% - 20% of your earnings.

·       

Small Press Publishing

Pros:

·      You don’t need an agent.

·      In most cases, it’s easier to get published (and there are more opportunities for publication, for example, in a short story collection or themed anthology).

·      As with New York houses, your book will be professionally edited, but quality varies.

·      Your artwork will be professionally done by the press, or by an artist hired by the press.   You’ll have more of a say here of what your cover looks like than in a big firm, but, again, the quality still varies.

·      The time frame from acceptance to publication is usually shorter, often less than a year.

·      Your book has been “vetted” by at least one editor.

Cons:

·      Most small presses don’t offer advances (though this is changing).

·      Most small press books cannot be found on the shelves in brick-and-mortar stores (although they can be special ordered), thus,

·      Sales tend to be fewer.

·      Advertising and publicity budges will be slim to none.

·      The author is expected to market as much as possible.

Self-Publishing

Pros:

·      You have total control over your book:  the writing, the editing, what the cover looks like, how much it will sell for, how it will be marketed, etc.

·      You can finish your book in the morning, have it published by lunch, and make sales on it the very same day.

·      You keep all the profit (as much as 70% of the cover price) after paying your distributor(s) for each sale.

·      If your book “takes off,” you stand to earn a lot more money than you ever could with a NY or small press publishing deal.

·      High sales could lead to a NY publishing deal.

Cons:

·      You have total control of your book.  You have to write it, edit it, design a cover (or hire an artist), market it, advertise it, etc.

·      The “average” self-publisher will have fewer sales on a single book, than an author who sells a single book to NY or small publisher.

·      “Self-published” books are considered inferior by some readers.  You will sell few, if any, books to this segment of the buying public (no matter how good your cover looks, how well your book is edited, or how professional your marketing is.)

Another thing to consider is the project you plan on publishing.  Some books – like family histories or recipe books, or niche market stories – are eminently suitable for self-publishing. Taking that route from the start will save all kinds of trouble and heartache.

On the other hand, if you have the credentials, non-fiction can be an easier sell to a NY publisher because their sales outpace fiction. With the right pitch, you could have an acceptance within weeks:  and you don’t even have to write the entire book up front.

Learn more about Ms. Harmon at her Web site:  http://kellyaharmon.com.  She can also be found on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/kelly.a.harmon1) and occasionally on Twitter: @kellyaharmon.com.

Her latest short, “On the Path,”--  originally published in the anthology, Triangulation: Dark Glass -- is now available on Amazon Kindle. (http://www.amazon.com/On-the-Path-ebook/dp/B005XOAT9A/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1323136315&sr=1-1)

About On the Path

Tan is just another farmer, following the path, when the seal on his soul-powered plow bursts, causing a mass exodus of ghosts from the reincarnation engine. Instead of being carried off by the wind, these ghosts flee to Tan's tangerine groves, reveling in their freedom.

Tan confronts them only to learn that one of the souls is his deceased uncle, Lau Weng, and he's forced to offer hospitality.

Souls laboring in the reincarnation engines grow more solid as they work off their past live's debts and prepare to be born again. But without the work to sustain them, Lau Weng and his ghostly compatriots rely on Tan and his wife Heng to support them.

Lau Weng was never a favored Uncle, and even less favored as a ghost. Caught between death and re-birth, he'll do anything to remain alive. Tan is honor-bound to abide by the laws of hospitality, yet honor-bound to feed his family, too, and he can do nothing to stop Lau Weng.

But everything changes, once Lau Weng decides he's had enough of his ghostly half-life and takes over Heng's body.

Welcome Sarah J. McNeal

Are you ready for some Christmas?

I’d like to thank  my hostess, Ginger Simpson, for having me on her blog today.  I really appreciate it.

I love to get in the holiday spirit by reading seasonal stories.  I especially enjoy reading anthologies because they give me an opportunity to find new authors.  Because I can get really busy this time of year, I like that I can read a short story in a fair amount of time. 

The holidays are rolling in and it’s a great time to read seasonal stories.  Christmas is the time of year when anything can happen—even miracles.  Have you ever found yourself alone on Christmas?  In my new paranormal Christmas Story, Gifts From The Afterlife, just released in the 2011 Christmas Anthology by Victory Tales Press, I wrote about Lydia Sinclair, a lonely woman who, for the first time in her life, faces spending Christmas alone.

How dark must it get before Lydia sees the light?

Blurb:

Lydia Sinclair’s life has run off the rails.  She has lost everyone she loves and Christmas has lost its meaning.  As Christmas approaches, Lydia wants to go to sleep and never wake up again.  Perhaps an angel, some ghosts and a childhood sweetheart can convince her that life is worth living again.  Can Lydia let go of what once was, renew her joy in Christmas and find the promise of hope for her future? 

Excerpt:

He turned his head to peer back at her. "C'mon, Lydia, hop on. We have a dinner in the oven so time's a wastin'."

Careful not to injure him with her elbows or knees, Lydia flattened her body against Austin's back. He felt warm and her position felt oddly sensual, even though they both wore several layers of clothes. She glanced over the top of the hill where they perched. The bottom seemed like a very long way down. She felt her nerves jangle at the prospect of flying down that hill. "You better not get me hurt."

"That is the last thing I would ever want to do." He glanced back at her. "Hold on tight now."

Next thing she knew, Austin had used his foot to shove them off the top of the hill. They hurtled down the slope at what felt like a hundred miles an hour. The cold wind bit into her cheeks and snow gathered in her hair. Filled with exhilaration, fear, and joy, Lydia clung to Austin like a monkey to its mama. Both of them let out bursts of laughter as they neared the neighbor's fence at the bottom of the knoll.

"We're not going to make it, Austin. We're going too fast." Lydia's heart beat wildly against her ribs. He promised he wouldn't hurt her. He promised.

"Trust me," he said in a calm voice.

She wanted to trust him, she really did, but the fence seemed too close for him to stop. Then, all of a sudden, Austin turned the sled and both of them rolled off. He quickly turned his body to face her and gathered her up close as they rolled several times until they came to a stop in a bank of snow beside the fence.

She still held on to him and clutched at his jacket for a few moments after they stopped. He peered down at her, his eyes darker than before and his expression changed from giddy to intense. She knew he was going to kiss her before his lips touched hers, and she didn't want to stop him.

Included in this anthology are stories by other talented authors: Cheryl Pierson, Kit Prate, Stephanie Burkhart and Christine E. Schultze.

Thank you again for having me at your blog today, Ginger.  I hope everyone has a wonderful holiday season this year no matter what holidays you celebrate.

BUY Links:

Amazon.com

http://www.amazon.com/2011-Christmas-Collection-Sensual-ebook/dp/B005Z8VOVG/

Smashwords Ebook ($3.99)
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/99059

Lulu Ebook ($3.99):
http://www.lulu.com/product/ebook/2011-christmas-collection-sensualspicy/18312218

You can find me in the following places:

Facebook:  http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?&new_box_added_id=7100654162#

Blog:  http://moonlightromanceauthors.blogspot.com/?zx=e8f0512666a5c2c

First Thursday of every month:  http://pasttheprint.blogspot.com/

Twitter:  http://twitter.com/#!/Starcriter

My website: http://www.sarahmcneal.com
 Hey ya'll.  I am giving away a free e-book copy of the 2011 Christmas Anthology from Victory Tales Press.  My short story, Gifts From the Afterlife  (a paranormal Christmas tale) is included in the anthology along with some other very talented writers.  All you have to do to enter is leave a comment and add your email address.

Welcome, Barbara Hodges

Love, one of Webster's definitions is (1): strong affection for another arising out of kinship or personal ties (2): attraction based on sexual desire : affection and tenderness felt by lovers (3): affection based on admiration, benevolence, or common interests b: an assurance of love

My favorite quote about love comes from Jeremy Taylor. "Friendship set on fire."

That's how love entered my life thirty-eight years ago. And when that first flame turns into an ember, the friendship still remains.

My local writers group, The Santa Maria California Word Wizards have a valentine anthology out with Desert Breeze Publishing. Scattered Hearts is dedicated to love, but not only romantic love. Reading these stories and poems by thirteen different authors showed me the many faucets of the emotion.

One story is about a Viet Nam pilot whose connection to love and home is pink, baby bottles with red hearts drawn on them.

Another is a boy's surprising choice for birthday party guests, and still another is the reaction to a grown child's love letter to her parents.

When I was in my early teens I devoured romance novels and dreamed what it would be like when I feel in love...was swept into a man's arms, and carried upstairs, much like Rhett and Scarlet in Gone With The Wind. Smile. I didn't hold it against my husband when our reality wasn't quite as theatrical.

My love-life hasn't been a romance novel, more like a roller coaster ride, and I would buy the ticket again. But that's my take on romantic love. What's yours?

In, A Spiral of Echoes, the paranormal romance that Maggie Pucillo and I wrote together, our main character Isabelle, is burned by an mentally abusive husband. When he dies, she swears she will never allow love into her heart again. Of course the story deals with that being proved a lie. Maggie and I just signed a contract with Chalet Publishers for A Spiral of Echoes and we are looking forward to seeing it in publication. Here is a short excerpt where Isabelle and Cristiano meet for the first time.

Isabelle stopped before the center island. “Would you like something to drink? A beer? Glass of wine?”

“Water will be fine.” He touched a tile on the island with his finger tip. “Very beautiful. Sol y Luna design, is it not?”

She looked down at the dark blue tile with its depicted half moon and half sun. “Yes.”

“In my mother’s house she has some of the same tile. Not on as large an area, of course.”

She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher and poured him a tall glass. “Ice?”

“No, it is fine.” He reached for it and their hands touched. Her eyes opened wide at the instant charge arcing between them. It was as if she touched metal after shuffling across a nylon rug. Their gazes locked. His lips parted and he licked his lips. Isabelle felt a groan begin in her stomach. God. I want him. Right now, on the tiles or on the floor, maybe both.

A disgusted yowl filled the air, followed by a length of blonde fur that landed at Isabelle’s feet.

The connection broken, she released the glass and stepped back. She hadn’t even thought about Longie who would of course been in his favorite sunny spot below the kitchen window. Her feline baby did not respond well to being ignored. “My cat, Longfellow,” she said in a rush.

“Senor Longfellow,” he said, but this time he did not kneel. Instead he waited while the cat stared at him with golden, baleful eyes. Longfellow glided forward and rubbed his body against the man’s legs.

“Well you’ve certainly been honored,” Isabelle said. “Longie doesn’t take much to anybody.”

“Gatos must be given the time and space to come to their own conclusions,” he said and turned to stare at the floor to ceiling windows that flanked the door. “You do not find the area is more difficult to keep cool with all of the glass?”

“My late husband saw it in a magazine and thought it was classy.” Her tone came out acerbic and she saw him raise an eyebrow. “The double-paned glass helps keep things cool." She watched him sweep a glance over the rest of the open floor plan.

“Very comfortable I am sure. It is not often we see a fireplace here in Baja. There isn’t a lot of wood to burn.”

She looked at him sharply. Had that been a mocking undertone she heard? His dark eyes stared back at her in angelic innocence. “How many pesos do you think is fair for the time I’ve kept you from your work?”

“One-hundred,” came the instant reply

She did a quick calculation. The amount was less than ten dollars American. “Are you sure?”

“It will do me fine, senorita.”

“Oh, okay. Then I'll be right back.” She turned and walked from the room, feeling his eyes warm her as she moved away.

In her bedroom she stared at her face in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair, now dry, wild and wind-tossed about her face. She looked like a women who had just been made love to. The thought made her legs quiver. “He’s turned me to jelly. I never felt like this with Donald, never. What would it be like to kiss him?” Her reflection frowned. “No way. Don't you go there. This is my escape from all of that. I don’t need any local romantic entanglements to mess things up.” She smoothed her hair and gripping the pesos walked back toward the kitchen.

The man wasn’t there and her heart did a queer little jump. Then his voice came from the living area. He sat upon the chocolate-leather couch, Sammi-Sue at his feet, Longfellow curled upon his lap. He idly scratched the cat’s ear and hummed softly. A smile tugged at her lips, and then instant panic erased it. Whoa. No. No. No. Times like these fooled you, and before you knew it you were locked in a velvet prison. “Senor,” she said, sharper then she’d intended. “I have your pesos.” She thrust out her hand toward him.

His eyes narrowed before he sat Longfellow aside and stood. “Of course, Senorita.” His voice was cool and remote. “I apologize if I have over-stepped by coming deeper into your life.”

She forced a smile. “I just don’t want to keep you any longer.”

He walked toward her and she stepped back. In front of her he stopped. “I understand quite well. Will you see me to the door?” A mocking smile followed the words.

She felt a rush of anger as she realized what he thought. It wasn’t like that. She wasn’t afraid of him stealing something, but before she could answer Sammi-Sue came between them and butted his hand for a pet.

“Adios Senorita Sammi and Senor Longfellow.” Then without a glance toward her he strode from the room.

Isabelle stood, stiff and mute. When the door closed, a whoosh of breath escaped her.

Longie and Sammie stared at her, and she could have sworn disgust radiated from their eyes. “Hey,” she said in defense. “We don’t need that type of complication anymore. Remember what it was like?”

With a swish of his tail, Longfellow stalked away while Sammi-Sue moved to the couch and lay below the spot the man had vacated.

I never did get his name. Isabelle rubbed her upper arms. It’s as if he removed some of the heat from the day. She grimaced. What a thought. She crossed to the side-table and picked up her sketch pad, there was still enough light to work on the design for her next masterpiece.


To seem more of my published books visit my website.

Who is Esther May Morrow?

If you fancy a time travel treat, here's a short story anthology with a most unique flavour...

Who is Esther May Morrow? Why is it that her strange shop, resembling something out of medieval England, has remained unchanged from the nineteenth to the twenty-third century. What is she selling? And who will come to buy...?

Stories in this collection feature a professional cardsharp with a dark secret; an old man, his dying dog, and a chance for immortality; a vengeful Marine and a special pocket watch; and a celebrated male prostitute and his unrequited love…for Olivia de Havilland!

Eerie, amusing and always original, these stories address the personal journeys of five haunted individuals, for whom quirks of time shed new light on their dilemmas. No one who enters Esther May’s shop is ever the same again.

Here’s a brief excerpt from Miss Olivia:

Reclining, deflating against his stack of pillows after a long day, he smiled as her familiar profile came to life. The backdrop only fidgeted, but Olivia herself, arguably at her most ravishing, began to walk toward him with breathtaking fluidity. She hoisted her dress slightly to prevent it snagging on the uneven ground. She watched her footing over stiff clumps of grass. Her smile bloomed into sweet dimples whenever she looked up. And as Olivia stood within inches of him—the close-up of all close-ups—he turned to walk with her. A beautiful, innocent piece of programming. Courtesy of Sexual Fantasies, Inc.

Rex tapped the pause button with Miss Olivia staring directly at him. What a remarkable technology, he thought, that inks in the pixels to approximate beauty. Her round, angelic face, flush cheeks, big eyes, butter-wouldn’t-melt smile with a hint of naughtiness behind the teeth. The visor had got her exactly right in every detail. Except one.

It wasn’t really Olivia.

And Rex was in love with the real Olivia.

Here’s a brief excerpt from Gin Rummy:

Horace Exeter didn’t like to lose.

From the moment he strolled into the Francis Drake, his waistcoat pocket bulging with wealth that was not his, he set about weighing up the competition. A blurry-eyed threesome emptying a pint apiece near the far window? Heck no, they were far gone, animated only by the cartoon gestures of a giddy colleague. They wouldn’t last two rounds—either beer or cards. A well-dressed couple lost between glances in a silent love charade? Hmm, slim pickings, he thought.

“Anything for you, sir?” asked the barkeep, ever so politely.

“Three gins. Make one a double, and you can point me to the third.”

The barkeep laughed. “Right you are, sir,” he said. “That’s the game just there—that table facin’ the far window. Gins…gin rummy...I’ll ’ave to remember that one.”

“Much obliged,” Horace replied curtly.

Contempt.

He’d always despised the quick-to-make-friends, particularly those with one hand in a till drawer. A smile cost nothing, so why should that suggest it was worth anything? He’d never understood why businessmen were so well-respected in a community. Their sole purpose was to relinquish others of wealth. Any benefit to the community was incidental. They were beneath contempt because they knew not of their crime. Larceny. Purveyors of platitudes, robbers with the law behind them.

At least I know I’m a son of a bitch, he thought, grinning. Time to ply a few platitudes of my own. Here’s to larceny!

With a flick of his chin, he downed the double gin.

Amber light from ship lanterns hanging in each alcove combined well with the varnished mahogany tables and plush maroon carpet to give an authentic period vibe. It was 1899, but to Horace, it felt more like 1599.

Whatever the century, they’re about to be fleeced.

And here’s a quick excerpt from Cretaceous:

“Come with me,” she said, untying her apron and nodding him toward the curtain door. Her small, slim figure and prematurely veined hands suggested to Vincent she’d spent a lifetime washing up, doing housework, being run off her feet.

Very chirpy, though. A lot like my Esther...just not in looks.

Rows of shelves greeted him as he ducked under the low doorframe into the shop. Dozens of wooden shelves, items upon them neatly arranged in a Sunday morning, bric-a-brac sort of way. Without his glasses, he couldn’t see the contents in much detail, but those he could discern—a Bedouin headscarf, a violin bow, a beige fedora hat, an old copy of the Bible, a futuristic-looking crystal clock—tickled his curiosity.

“What business are you in, Esther?” he asked, inhaling a gorgeous smell of fresh pastry from a shelf behind the counter labelled “something...something...Pies.”

“Buy or borrow. I’m in the time business,” she replied.

He leaned in, straining his old eyes for a closer look at the label.

Hmm...Fresh-Baked Pies.

“Buy or borrow? What’s that when it’s at home?” he queried. In seventy years of car boot sales, flea markets, and what have you, he thought he’d seen every kind of money-raising idea known to man. But “buy or borrow”?

Esther smiled and beckoned him over to another shelf set along the back wall, one full of coloured bottles. Vincent thought it resembled something from a Victorian pharmacy or perhaps even older than that, an apothecary’s stash.

“What’s this buy or borrow?” he asked again, softer this time as he stood beside her.

“It’s exactly as it sounds. You say whether you’d like to keep an item or rent it, and then make us an offer. It’s very rare we refuse.”

“Fair enough.” Vincent smiled, instantly dubious of the whole idea.

Esther’s snowy-white skin contrasted with the colours of viscous liquids across three jam-packed rows of glass bottles.

Unlabelled...like her, he thought, glancing approvingly at the woman who’d saved his life.


www.eternalpress.ca/esthermaymorrowborb.html

Thanks to the lovely Ginger for letting me share these stories. Till the next time, keep an eye out when you go shopping...you never know what Esther May Morrow's Buy or Borrow might be selling.

Arthur Everest