Welcome, Diane Scott Lewis

Ginger, I’m so thrilled you invited me to post on your blog. I’ve been writing since a small child and have worked as an editor for The Wild Rose Press. I recently received a contract for my debut historical novel, The False Light. I anticipate starting edits any day now as the book will release in April from Eternal Press.

I’ve researched the eighteenth century for several years, even poring over old texts in the Library of Congress, to get my history correct.

Here’s the gist of my story:

“Fleeing the French Revolution, Bettina Jonquiere struggles to survive in a remote Cornish village, discover the secret behind her father's death, while attracted to a man who may have murdered his wife.” The novel is full of adventure, intrigue and romance.

Below is an UNEDITED excerpt.

Lisbette de Jonquiere crushed the small bundle to her chest and hurried across the main square of Boulogne’s Haute Ville. She glanced back at the townhouse. A place where she’d resented being sequestered this last week, yet it was preferable to the night’s shadows. Blinking drizzle from her eyelashes, she glared at the elderly man walking beside her. His lantern pushed a small pool of light before them. “If I must sail, why can’t I travel as a passenger on a packet boat?”
“There is…no time to obtain a passport.” Armand rasped this out, ending in a cough. He moved closer and hooked his arm with hers as if they led a nocturnal dance. “When you arrive in Dover catch the first coach to Bath.”
They passed the cathedral and the pink-bricked Town Hall. Around a corner, Lisbette started when a figure emerged from an alley and blocked their path. Armand halted, twitching his shoulders before the huge man who trudged into their lantern’s glow. Lisbette cringed at his filthy clothes. His face looked as if someone had tried to carve their initials into his cheeks. A stench rolled off him, like the slime washed up from beneath the sea.
“So, this is the one?” The giant tugged a frayed hat low on his forehead. Water dripping off the roof behind him smacked the cobbles and stirred the mist around his bulky frame.
“Certainement. This is she, and please be gentle.” Armand glanced at her, his eyes droopy above gaunt cheeks, sadder than she’d ever seen them. “Is it quiet down there, at the harbor?”
“Quiet enough for what we need. Only one from customs. I’ll be there.” The man turned around and in a splat of footfalls the gloom swallowed him up once more.
Lisbette shivered and bunched together the edges of her cloak, already damp from the increasing rain. “Who is that dirty man, Armand? I still don’t understand why you insist on sending me off at this hour and with no decent companion.”
“I’ve explained that it’s too late to engage anyone. But I promised your mother I’d keep you from harm.” He averted his eyes when he mentioned her mother, then coughed into his hand. “Let’s keep walking, my dear.”
“Maman will not approve of this. We should go back to the house. You’re ill. I feel the heat in your arm.” Lisbette wondered if his fever had confused him. The shock of being dragged from bed, her interrupted sleep, scrambled for reason in her head. But the cold air sharpened her fears like a needle. “Ma foi, why is my leaving so urgent?”

I hope you will visit my website to find out more about me and my novels in progress:
dianescottlewis.com



Note from Ginger: I'm honored that Diane shared an Advanced Reading Copy of The False Light with me, and I'll be reviewing this exciting novel soon on my new Examiner.com site: E-Book Reviews.

If You Could Make Someone's Dream Come True...What Would It Be?

That's an easy question for me. My hubby has sacrificed so much for us. When I met him, he had a beautiful 1956 Mercury that he had restored himself. There's so much pride in doing the work and being able to say you didn't have to pay someone to create a thing of beauty. Because of his child support obligation and the fact that his ex-wife left him with a house with no equity, he had to donate his Merv to a charitable organization so we could have a tax write-off. He didn't let on how crushed he was, but I knew if he wasn't a man, he would have sobbed.

Later, he found a deal on a old Plymouth. He brought it home, rebuilt it, and made it another thing of beauty. But, in his heart, he always wanted a pre-49 car. This was another 1956, but with the beautiful Jalapeno green paint job, beautiful flames, and a killer sound system, I was proud as punch.

But, then one day, he went to a swap meet and came home with that pre-49 he'd always dreamed of. I was shocked that he traded our beautiful Plymouth for an old Pontiac that was plain and boring. I've never been able to visualize like he has. I see junk...he's sees beauty. Guess that's why he married me. *lol*

Anyhow, he transformed that car into the likes I'd never seen. He painted a ghost image of Marilyn Monroe on the trunk, and put ghost flames on the sides and hood. The car sizzled with his little trademark additions, and I was elated to see him happy again.

But, somewhere along the line, the bottom fell out of our finances and we had to return to California. Kelly sold his dream car so we could make the trip. He doesn't complain, but I know in his heart he wants another custom car. If I had the money, I'd make his dream come true. Damn, Jay Leno owns a ton...you think he could spare one...the cheapskate. *lol*

Maybe someday I can put the sparkle back in Kelly's eyes. Anyone got an old car they want to get rid of? Somewhere between Free and a dollar is about what I can afford. *big grin*

A Private Matter by Kathleen O'Connor

Synopsis

Mitch Gallagher is obsessed with finding the killer of David Forjane. The young detective believes the murder’s proximity to the victim’s workplace is the key clue. Tess McConnell, a new hire, at the same corporation complicates the detective’s job though.

Unaware Gallagher is a recent widower, she comes on too strong and then feels terribly rejected when the grieving detective doesn’t respond. To get even, she ignores Gallagher and initiates some amateur sleuthing of her own. The detective suffers during this ‘cold shoulder’ treatment and eventually discovers he is more ready for a relationship than he realized. And it will take the efforts of both these characters to solve a murder where the killer left no clues.

Excerpt

David Forjane threw his briefcase in the back seat of his new red Saturn. It was a sporty enough car, but did not quite make the statement he desired. He was two years away from the blue BMW. Life was always a waiting game.

He peeled out of the garage anxious to get a mile away from the concrete fortress that was the Rayex Chemical Company. Something about the building affected radio reception, and he was now ready to hear the silky-voiced Samantha of WKAC. Always his companion for the commute home, she spun records for the heartsick and lovesick. He enjoyed their dim patter. Yesterday he heard his girlfriend call in and request a tune for David; a song called Gone. He could not quite believe it. It was his Peggy, of the repetitive conversation and robotic sex, doing something interesting and original. When Marta Johns serenaded him with, I’m beginning to see you’re growing bored with me, David answered, “Oh Peggy, I’ve been bored with you for a long time.”

He looked into the rear view mirror and was surprised to see the departmental loaner car barreling up behind. He thought he recognized the driver, but not the passenger. The twosome was going like hell and about to pass on the left. David reached down to turn on the radio.

A single bullet slammed through his brain before his hand reached the dial.


BIOGRAPHY: Kathleen O’Connor is a graduate of the Iowa Writer’s Workshop and recipient of a James Michener Fellowship. She is the author of four novels and her short stories and articles have appeared in Good Housekeeping, Liguorian, St. Anthony Messenger, Redbook, Seventeen and Woman’s World.


HOME PAGE: http://www.gottawritenetwork.com/kathleenoconnor.html

Pred & Ed

Yep...it's that time of year again. The holidays are over, the stockings are empty, the trees dead, the weather sucks and everyone has the after-Christmas blues. You know, the kind you get when the bills start to pour in?

So to fight off the crappy feeling, the yearly Preditor and Editor polls are open for nominations and voting. There are numerous categories, so make someone's day.

Of course, you realize this, like so many others, becomes a popularity contest, but I'm all for anything that helps an author feel recognized and appreciated. Writing is hard work, despite what some may think. If you've ever written a book, then you know, each and every one becomes your "special baby" and you never want anyone to say, "what an ugly kid."

So...have some spare time? Visit the polls and vote your choice. Like I said, be prepared to peruse, as there as many categories offered. Don't see who you like? Be the one to nominate them.

Click here and I'll whisk you right to the poll page :)

New Moon, New Year

You'll find Jim Whitaker's book "Hill of Beans" available at whiskeycreekpress.com and barnesandnoble.com.



December 2009, the conclusion to an often blue decade, could have been a bluebell month or a blueberry month or a Bluebeard month or a bluebook month or a blue-chip month. It's a blue moon month.
We could have had four blue Mondays. We could have taken blue pills and been stuck at home all weekend (a side effect of many blue pills – just check your PDR). We could have fallen off a ladder, startled by blue bird and collected on our Blue Cross. We could have won a first-place blue ribbon in the Christmas lights contest while the other guy collected green cash. We could've gone hiking high in the Blue Mountains and come back with blue ankles and a bluenose and all blue from the lack of oxygen. We could have sold our cobalt blue car at less than Blue Book. We could have heard "Blue Christmas" just … one …more … time.
I could go on.
I don't hear anybody out there encouraging me.
December was one of those rarities when the full moon rises twice before you have a chance to flip the calendar page in the kitchen. (Unless your kitchen calendar is like ours and you haven't turned it for a little while. I could’ve sworn Monday the 21st was the first day of spring.)
The blue moon happens in the night sky about every 2.7142857143 years on average. (Sorry for the lack of preciseness. The calculator is busted.) But it can happen just months apart.
Even though the rare blue moon happens at least once in a blue moon, there are occurrences that just don’t take place even once in a blue moon (no matter how long you hold your breath and turn, well, you get it by now):
• the coffee machine delivers five fully filled cups of steaming, delicious brew in a row without cheating you out of your dollar;
• meaningful tax cuts from the feds, the state, the county and the city;
• February 30;
• a still-wet sock doesn’t fall to the floor when you’re unloading the dryer you thought was finished;
• that full-amount-you-expect pay raise you know you absolutely deserve without question;
• your husband cleans out his pockets before the pants reach the washing machine;
• provisions of major legislation opposed by a majority of the public and affecting every American profoundly is developed and debated in the open and not hidden from the people by Congress and the president, despite the chief executive's cheap promise of transparency;
• your husband volunteers to do the laundry and actually separates the whites and the reds (that baseball analogy you used to explain why the reds and the whites need to be segregated finally soaked in);
• your child forgets to ask you for a twenty to buy a soda;
• the boss asks your opinion and follows every single recommendation you make without revision;
• you win back at least 10 percent of the money you've spent on lottery tickets over the past seven years;
• the government forgets to threaten us with a non-election-year hike in the gasoline tax;
• a big chocolate chip cookie has bigger chips than a little chocolate chip cookie and tastes better at the same time;
• a product won’t be “improved” by adding Spanish to its label;
• and… well I could go on.
I don't hear anybody out there encouraging me.
In addition to December being a blue mooner, the month of double moonshine ushers in a new year, brightly illuminating a time for second chances – time for renewal and forgiveness and regeneration.
However, best of all, when you forget to leave the porch light on and you come home late from New Year's Eve and you drop your house keys in the snow while you're fumbling at the front door … you'll have that big bright smilin' moon so you can see how to break into the bedroom window.
Have a Non-Blue New Year!