Friday Freebits #Frifreebits

Ohhhh....It's Friday the thirteenth.  Hope you don't believe in "bad luck."  I'm forging ahead, and this week,  continuing with six paragraphs from The Well.  Hope you enjoy my offering:  Note:  Harlee sure isn't having a very good time..maybe it's the thirteenth in Oklahoma.  :)

Time ticked by and she (Harlee) grew weary. Her elbow, evidently skinned during the fall, joined the dull ache in her head, and her knees begged her to sit. The blue sky above darkened with the approaching nighttime, and Harlee sagged into the water letting it lap to her chin while she rested against the stony interior. Why hadn’t someone come to look for her? Especially her impatient little sister? 

Despite her discomfort, Harlee slept and woke with a crick in her neck and fingers wrinkled from being under water. She glanced up, praying to see someone peering back, but strangely, no longer saw the sky. Could it still be nighttime? Straining her eyes, she noted light leaking around what appeared to be a cover. Her mind whirred. Was this all a bad dream? The fact that she sat in water, confined in a stone prison confirmed the truth. But why hadn’t someone missed her, and why did they cover the well unless her family thought her dead? 

With a hoarse voice, she shouted as loud as she could, but still no one responded. Trying to find a bright spot, she remembered the circling vultures. “At least I cheated those gluttonous birds out of a meal,” she muttered as tears plunked into the water, barely making a ripple. Death would surely claim her anyhow. Maybe the grim reaper already had and she didn’t realize she’d passed. Resting a hand on her bosom, she searched for a heartbeat. 

* * * 

By Harlee’s estimation and the glimpses of light around whatever covered the well, she’d been imprisoned for at least three days. Her head still hurt and she shivered, although the shallow water wasn’t cold. She wasn’t dead…at least not yet, but with each passing moment, she grew weaker and weaker. For part of the day, she forced herself to run in place, splashing around in what little water remained, fighting the numbness in her legs from continued wetness. Now, after having no food, hunger rumbled her stomach. She stopped sloshing around and grasped the rocky wall, intending to try once again to climb out. Between weakness and the slipperiness of each stone, she made only small progress before she crashed back to the bottom further jarring her insides and scraping her hands and legs.

Her soaked dress cloaked her like a second skin, and the slime from the well’s bottom coated her skinned palms. She crinkled her nose at the musty smell and kept assuring herself help would come, but her weak cries bounced off the walls and went unanswered. 

Harlee’s strength waned more and more by the morning of the fourth day, and she prepared to die. Her measure of time came by means of daylight filtering around the well’s sealed edges, and she no longer had hope of rescue. After wanting water so badly, she hadn’t even sated her thirst, and now dreamed of Ma’s buttermilk biscuits. An imaginary aroma masked the musk and hung teasingly in the air.

Cover by Charlene Raddon

Available on my Amazon page.  This is my first self-published novel.

Friday Freebits with Ginger Simpson #frifreebits #blogshare

Howdy.  It's Friday and time for another six from Discovery.  Remember, that's my collection of short stories in which every character discovers something they didn't know before?  This week, I'm sharing from

Joy's Revelation

The scenery whizzed by as Joy sped toward the bridal shop.  She kept her eyes on the road while driving, but her mind drifted to unpleasant places.  How could she marry Scott now?  Her knuckles whitened on the steering wheel.  Didn't he deserve to know everything about the person he was about to wed? How would she tell him, and worse, how would he react?

Hard to believe that for twenty-four years her parents had kept such an important secret from her.  More so, why?  She'd heard about babies born with the genitalia of both genders...hermaphrodites, she thought they were called, but...her?

Tears blurred her eyes.  She steered the car to the side of the road and stopped.  With the gearshift in park, she dipped her chin and massaged the tension headache growing between her eyes.  How could this be?  She'd always felt like a girl, and in her memory, had always been a girl.  In fact, people always commented on how feminine and delicate she was as a child. Evidently the doctor didn't see it that way when they filled out her birth certificate.

Lost in a sea of emotion, she wondered what to do.  Starting marriage with a lie...especially one this big, was not her choice.  She'd rather lose Scott than dishonor him.  Fishing in her purse for her cellphone, she found it and dialed the number for the bridal shop.

"Yes, this is Joy Garett.  I have an appointment with you today,but I'm not going to be able to keep it.  I'm sorry."

"Would you like to reschedule," a voice on the other end of the line asked?

So...does she reschedule...is she right?  Guess you'll have to read the rest of the story to find out.  Discovery is available on my amazon page.

Now, it's time to visit my fellow bloggers and see what exciting things they're sharing:

Jamie Hill
Tricia McGill
Juliet Waldron
Taryn Raye
Kathy Fischer-Brown
Rhobin Lee Courtright
Margaret Tanner

Friday Freebits with Ginger - #frifreebits

I'm currently sharing six paragraphs from White Heart, Lakota Spirit, a work I hope to re-acquire some day so I can add in all the little rules I've learned since I first wrote the book and make it a better read. As is, I still think it's a "bang for your bucks."

 For the present, I'm not at all happy with the "snarky" reviews I've gotten on Amazon, so if you like what you're reading and decide you'd like to review my book, I would greatly appreciate something favorable and TRUE.  I'm amazed that readers don't know that frequently women were taken hostage and choose to remain with their captors, whether out of an formed relationship or fear of how they would be treated after being a captive.  It's history, people!  In my FICTIONAL story, my heroine decided where her heart truly belonged.

 I also detest that someone felt the need to "tear down" the image my cover portrays, saying it smacked ofporn and Victoria Secret. Of course then someone else followed the leader.  Actually, Dawne Dominque captured the essence of the story with her creativity, and given all the practically nude and suggestive photos used on covers, I have no idea why someone felt a need to be so unkind. Judge for yourselves.  A young blonde woman is captured by the Lakota...does the image work?  I loved it!

 Oh well...on with my six paragraphs...

***********************

 Kev and I will finish our temporary shelter, so we can spread out

a bit.”

No more climbing in and out of a wagon to sleep. Grace clapped.

“Oh, Papa, that sounds so good.”

She sobered and flashed the look that always won him over…the half-pout, wistful gaze. “When we finally settle in our real house, it will be near a town, won’t it? Otherwise, how do you expect

me to be courted out here in the middle of nowhere?”

“I’m not so sure I want you to be cour...” He jerked around and looked over his shoulder. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Kevin asked.

“I hear it, Papa,” Grace chimed in. “Sounds like yelling.”

Her father stood and scanned the horizon. He pointed. “Look. There!”

***********************

If you'd like to check out the reviews or purchase your own copy, you can find White Heart, Lakota Spirit on my Amazon page.

Now hop on over to the other Friday Freebitters and see what they are offering up.  Bet you'll love it!

Jamie Hill
Tricia McGill
Juliet Waldron
Taryn Raye
Kathy Fischer-Brown
Rhobin Lee Courtright
Margaret Tanner

Friday Freebits with Ginger - #frifreebits #blogshare

Here's my continuation of La Vida Loca in a book I'm reworking.  Hope you enjoy and visit the links at the bottom.  We love comments (hint hint).

Okay, so I'm not a love machine, but I have had sex quite a few times in my life, and I can't recall ever mouthing even a fraction of the phrases I've read in some of the steamy books I read.  But, I labored over the keyboard, trying to writing something stimulating and exciting, yet with a story.  I just couldn't connect one sex scene with another, there had to be a plot other than intimacy.  Writing like that isn't realistic, and get's boring very fast.

Do you personally know someone who's admitted to having sex on the kitchen table.  How about while sitting on the john, or even operating a motor vehicle?  Actually, strike the last one...I do know someone who's done that and I'm still trying to figure out how.

I agonized over the verbiage.  Should you really put the word, vagina, with descriptive terms like wet, dripping and moist?  Visions of feminine hygiene products ran through my mind.  And how can one make oral sex visually appealing in the minds of their readers?  I guess some authors can, but I just couldn't find the appeal in anything hot and sticky unless it was a Cinnabon...you know those delicious cinnamon rolls sold in mall and airports that smell so heavenly?

I forced my imagination to run wild...as wild as possible given the hindrances I was under, and came up with the most outrageous terms I could to finish the story.  Remember, I said I don't have much experience on which to draw, but I was pleased with the final outcome.  Why then did I feel the need to shop it under an alias?  Most erotic writers do use pseudonyms...not because they aren't proud of their work, but because they don't want their friends to think them kinky.   Yes...that must be my reason...I didn't want to smear my sweet romance reputation.  Of course, I think adding a link to the book on my author's website might have been a big clue to my real self, but I wasn't about to pay for a whole other site for one story.

The first publisher I queried is a hot bed of Erotica, but shall remain nameless.  They print everything from masochism, bondage, sex in various openings, positions and places, alien sex, and pert near everything...except my submission.  Searchers was rejected because my heroine had an affair.  GASP!  My rejection letter read, "Many women will be offended by the plot of your story."  Really?  I guess being tied up, gagged with a sock, having sex with a being from another planet in an "exit only" orifice is less insulting than what happens in the real world.  I didn't get it, but I submitted elsewhere and got a contract.  I've since re-worked the story, re-named it Beaches, republished elsewhere with a new cover, and claimed it as my own.  I describe it as my debut/swan song into the genre, because I'm sticking with historical and contemporary romance.  The research is much easier on me.

Oh, I've tried being a sexual being.  Even went as far as having Bioidentical Hormone Pellets injected, and although the results made my husband happy, he now has to cling to those memories...at least that's what I tell him whenever he brings up the topic of sex.  I never should have married a man ten years my junior.  What was I thinking?

That concludes this week's installment.  Hurry on over to my pal's cites and see what's up with them today.

Jamie Hill
Tricia McGill
Juliet Waldron
Taryn Raye
Kathy Fischer-Brown
Rhobin Lee Courtright

Friday Freebits with Ginger - #frifeebits #blogshare

Welcome back to another week of shared work among the participating authors.  I'm carrying on with my chapter, Strangers in the Night, from Life is a Bowl of Toilet and I Clean Them

.My gradual loss of vision coincided with the spouting of hairs on my new, china and a few on my upper lip.  What's that all about?  I had a hysterectomy, took hormone replacement pills daily, but I still grew whiskers.  I don't know about you, but I'm under the firm assumption that my husband should be the only one in the house sporting a beard or moustache.  It's yet another humiliating experience when I'm forced to ask my husband to "groom" me since I can't see well enough to handle the tweezers myself.  I wish the hair on my head grew as fast as those on other parts of me.

At the same time, I entertained the thought of becoming the circus' bearded lady, I noticed the slowed growth of hair on my legs and underarms.  Maybe the phenomena was caused by the minimization is a repercussion of accelerated growth elsewhere.  Who knows?  But, on a good note, having my moustache waxed on a monthly basis at my local salon did take a few pleats out of my lips.

Speaking of waxing.  I recall when I first heard the term "bikini wax."  At first I had no idea what it was, but then asked.  Since I've never had a "bathing suit" body, a few stray public hairs were the least of my concern back then.  Oh, like everyone else, in my younger years, I did do a little trimming just so those little curly hairs didn't peek out of my undies, but I sure as heck wasn't going to let a complete stranger take care of the problem for me.  Isn't life humiliating enough?

I realize this is a very sensitive topic, but I do feel it my duty to warn that you won't always have an overgrowth problem.  You see, one of life's best kept secrets is that the hairs on your head aren't the only ones that turn gray...and even worse, not only men develop male-pattern baldness.  A baby girl may look cute out of her diaper, but there's nothing attractive about a graying, balding who-who.  If you're like me, you won't have to worry as you age about that particular problem.  My boobs will eventually hide both problems...as long as I don't lay down.

Here are things you count on as you reach fifty and beyond:

Time may be a great healer but it's also a lousy beautician.
There are three signs of old age...the first is your memory loss, the other two...I forget.
Your mind not only wanders; sometimes it leaves completely.
You're getting old when the same sensation from a rocking chair compares to one you once experienced on a roller coaster.
Never read the small print; there ain't no way you're gonna like it.
If you let a smile be your umbrella, you'll most likely walk around soaking wet.
The only two things you'll do with greater frequency in your senior years is urinate and attend funerals.
After a certain age, if you don't wake up aching in every joint, you're most likely dead!

Next week, I'll continue with another new chapter...Always Something There to Remind Me!  Hope you'll join me, but in the meantime, hop on over to the following links and see what my pals are sharing todays:

Jamie Hill
Roseanne Dowell
Tricia McGill
Juliet Waldron
Sydell Voeller
Taryn Raye
Kathy Fischer-Brown
Rhobin Lee Courtright

Friday Freebits with Ginger - #frifreebits #blogshare

It's time again to share six paragraphs with you.  I've been sharing a chapter from Life is a Bowl of Toilets and I Clean Them, but I've ended that one and will now move on to another.  I'm hoping to re-work this book and have it published, so I'll count on your comments to tell me if you think it's worthwhile.  Today, I'm starting, Strangers in the Night.  You might notice that all my chapters are named after songs.

Sharing:

Did I say memory?  I wish I had still had one, but unfortunately that convenience is one of the first things to leave when you get older.  One day, you're heading down the hallway and suddenly realize you have no idea why...or even of your destination.  The first time you suffer from the sudden amnesia bout, you experience a little bit of terror, but when forgetting becomes commonplace, you have no choice but to rearrange your life to accommodate your shortcomings.  Example?  Sure!  I now use a checklist before leaving home to make sure I don't burn the house down by forgetting to turn off a critical appliance.  I have lots of time to make sure I'd crossed everything off the list because I'm usually looking for car keys that I've put somewhere I can't recall.

One of the most annoying parts of having no memory is running into people you don't remember--especially when they know your name.  Embarrassing, to say the least, to hem and haw around and hope you get a clue, even if it comes through divine intervention.  Usually it doesn't.  If the person is my age, there probably isn't any use in asking for clues on how they remember me, but then I probably wouldn't remember what they said anyhow.  I think everyone over the age of fifty should have their named embroidered on their clothing in a highly visible area...and in large letters for those of us who put our glasses somewhere and can't find them.

This reminded me of a joke: (these paragraphs don't count)

Two elderly women were out driving in a large car--both could barely see over the dashboard.  As they cruised along, they came to an intersection where the traffic light was red.  Instead of stopping, the driver went right on through.

The woman in the passenger seat was horrified.  She turned to her friend.  "I must be losing it.  I could swear the light was red."  The driver said nothing.

After a few more minutes, they came to another intersection and red light, and again the car sped through.  A little further down the street, it happens again.

Now the woman passenger is beginning to panic, but before she can mention anything, the driver runs another light.  Fearing for her life, the passenger turns to her friend.  "Mildred, do you realize you've been running every red light?  You are going to get us both killed."

Mildred turns wide eyes on the passenger.  "Oh crap!  Am I driving?"

Now that you've had a chuckle, let's discuss your eyesight.  It goes bye-bye along with your memory.  God was kind here because most people over the age of fifty have lost some degree of their vision.  I figure he planned the loss to balance the shock of the body changes we experience. If we wore our corrective lenses to bed, senior sex would come to an immediate halt.  Seeing each other with 20/20 accuracy would most likely make celibacy an option, even at our age.

Senior sex you say?  Studies show that most adults remain sexually active well into their golden years and actually enjoy intercourse more than when they were young.  Really?  I might admit I'm trying to be one of those people, only because I hear sex prolongs ones' life.  I view bedroom intimacy as my monthly dose of exercise.  Why jog every day when I can make my heart race three times faster by just assuming some of the positions I favored in my younger years?  At present, the 'missionary' is my favorite since I spend most of the time praying for the torture to end. Oh, and I've come to the conclusion that the aforementioned study might have been based solely on bedroom noises.  Who can decipher with any degree of accuracy between someone lost in the throes of ecstasy and someone with the sudden onset of leg cramps.  Face it, at fifty and over, most of us just aren't as agile as we used to be.

****
Okay, I cheated a bit this week by adding the joke, so I'll stop for now and invite you to visit my friends and see what tidbits they're sharing:

Jamie Hill
Roseanne Dowell
Tricia McGill
Juliet Waldron
Taryn Raye
Kathy Fischer-Brown
Rhobin Lee Courtright
Sydell Voeller

Ginger's Sneak-Peek-Sunday #SPeekSunday.

Welcome to Sneak-Peek-Sunday.  If you want to join in the fun, the rules are simple:

1. Sign up in the Linky List on the hosting site by clicking the banner.. The Linky List will go live 12:01AM Monday and will close at 11:59PM Saturday night every week.
2. Post 6 paragraphs (no more, no less) from either a WIP or a published work. The post must be live by 9:00AM Sunday.
3. Open to both un-published and published authors.
4. Post the link back to Sneak Peek Sunday so that others can hop along.
5. HAVE FUN!!

This week I'm sharing six paragraphs from Sarah's Heart, the predecessor to Sarah's Passion.  This is the main story and one I loved creating.  The ending, although typical for the time and era, escaped the imagination of those who only enjoy happily-ever-afters, so I wrote Sarah's Passion to tie everything together in one neat little bow.
There is no need to set up the story as I'm sharing from the opening scene.  Hope you'll want to read more:

Sarah Collins struggled to open her eyes against the glare, but the pounding pain in her head urged he to keep them closed. She swept the tip of her tongue across cracked lips, her mouth as dry as the feathers in her pillow—yet she felt no downy softness beneath her, only an uncomfortable jabbing in her back. Her palms groped along something gritty. Where was she? 

Suddenly patchy memories flooded back. The taste of bile filled her throat. She struggled to sit, groaning as she pushed herself up from the dusty ground and the offending stone stabbing at her spine. Her eyes misted with tears, and fear clutched at her chest as she surveyed what remained of the wagon train. 

Grasping her constricting throat, Sarah stood, scanning the eerie site. The bodies of her new friends lay scattered amongst the smoking ruins, some oddly contorted and others positioned just as they’d fallen. Her heart ached for the mother who sat propped against a wagon wheel, clutching her baby to her breast—both obviously dead. Sarah covered her mouth to stifle a scream. Oh sweet Jesus, why kill a defenseless infant? 

Was she the only survivor? As evidenced by an attacker’s body lying a few feet from her, someone had interceded and saved her life. There had to be someone else alive. There had to be! The hair on the back of her neck bristled. 

If not for the carnage, the day would be beautiful—wispy clouds floated in a powder blue sky, and an endless sea of waving prairie grass announced the arrival of spring. The only sound came from water bubbling in the nearby stream as it traveled over a rocky bed. 

Sarah remembered everything now. They had just made camp when war cries sliced the air. A few hours of daylight remained, but one family’s illness prompted the wagon master to halt travel for the day. Supper fires hadn’t even been lit when a band of whooping Indians with painted faces stormed the group. There must have been twenty or more on horseback. The last thing Sarah recalled was running to fetch her rifle. 

******************************

Now, click on the Sneak-Peek Banner and go back to find other links to more exciting sixes.

Sneak-Peek-Sunday with Ginger #snkpkSunday

The rules are simple if you want to play:

1. Sign up in the Linky List on the hosting site. The Linky List will go live 12:01AM Monday and will close at 11:59PM Saturday night every week.
2. Post 6 paragraphs (no more, no less) from either a WIP or a published work. The post must be live by 9:00AM Sunday.
3. Open to both un-published and published authors.
4. Post the link back to Sneak Peek Sunday so that others can hop along.
5. HAVE FUN!!

This week, my six paragraphs are from Odessa, my western historical romance.

Set Up:  Odessa started a trip with her father to Phoenix and along the way their wagon flipped, pinning and killing her father.  Zach Johnson finds her collapsed in the middle of the trail and delays his important plans to rescue her.  They've just encountered three suspicious-looking drifters, and...

As soon as the three riders moved back onto the trail, Zach placed his booted foot in the stirrup, mounted, then pulled Odessa up behind him.  She quickly tugged her dress down over her bared legs and swallowed hard.  She’d feel better as soon as some miles separated them from this mean-looking bunch.  A horrible thought jumped into her head.  What if they’d been the ones to find her rather than Zach?  Her stomach knotted.

Zach nudged Storm forward before Odessa had a chance to settle herself, and she almost slid off.  Gaining balance, she wrapped her arms around his waist and held on for dear life.  “Next time, warn me,” she hissed.

He headed his horse back the way they’d come.  “Don’t look back.” His voice drifted over his shoulder, but he kept his gaze forward.  “My gut tells me not to trust ‘em.”

Odessa’s mouth went dry.  “Mine, too.  They looked at me liked buzzards viewing their prey.”

“I noticed. But I was outnumbered. We’ll just ride away and hope they don’t follow.”

“What if they do?”

If I've whet your appetite for more, you can find this an all my books available on my Amazon Author's Page.  Now, click on the banner at the top of the page and scoot back to Sneak-Peek Sunday for more samples.  Have fun!