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Become a better writer today! Today? Yes, today! How? By reading my book full of writing tips and tricks. Get your copy. My best to...

Monday, January 1, 2018

Happy 2018!

You've heard of fairytale endings. What about fairytale beginnings? Grab your FREE copy of The Power of a Dream, book one in the While Aurora Slept (Sleeping Beauty retelling) trilogy to start 2018 with a dusting of sparkle. (January 1-2 only!)

Have a marvelous 2018!! May it be full of love, joy, peace, happiness, good health, good cheer, friends, family, prosperity, and of course many fabulous books!

My best to you all,

Friday, December 22, 2017

Over 50% on Amazon for paperbacks of my first three novels!

Great news! My first three novels: Flight Before Dawn, What Edward Heard, and North Star Home are currently more than half off in paperback on Amazon

Monday, December 11, 2017

Have a Fairytale Perfect Holiday Season!

Make Christmas a little more magical this year...

While Aurora Slept, the best-selling ebook trilogy, is now available as a single bound volume in hardcover and paperback! 

Aurora and her sister are inseparable, until dreams divide them. Literally.

"On the night of my sixteenth birthday, I fell asleep. When morning came, I didn't wake up. It's been a month and I'm still sleeping, but this isn't the story that you think it is." -Aurora

"People think my name is Maleficent but that isn't true. And as for crimes, all that I am guilty of is loving my sister. My sister is the dawn, Aurora." - Midnight 

On Aurora's sixteenth birthday, she makes a selfless wish to save her sister, Midnight, from a curse that began in their childhood. Aurora falls asleep, but she doesn't wake up. Months later, she's still asleep. Now the sisters must find their way back to each other. What good is sleeping peacefully, when Midnight's days without her beloved sister have become a nightmare?

Barnes & Noble
Books are available via Ingram and are coming to more retailers soon.

(And, of course, the trilogy is available in ebook still at Amazon, where you can read it for free with Kindle Unlimited or Amazon Prime through the lending library.)

My best to you all,

Tuesday, December 5, 2017

Great News! What Edward Heard is now available in Audio Book!


I'm very excited to share with you something that has been in the works over the past few months...

My narrator Robert Anderson has done a marvelous job of bringing the story to life!

My best to you all,

Tuesday, November 21, 2017

It's launch day!

It's launch day for my 7th historical novel today: The Collectors!

The Collectors begins in 1872 and, in a way, it's my love letter to London. I love London, the museums, the thrill of the city, the history. There is so much to London, so many moments of courage and mystery. Some of those secrets are held by the Collectors. The story is fiction, but the backdrop is historic and rooted in reality. The streets of London that they walk and the sights that they see could really have been visited by Victorian Londoners. 

Here is chapter one:

November 1, 1872 

Revenge was sealed in a red-stamped envelope. It festered there, like the piles of molding cheeses— Roqueforts and Stilton, which the cook sealed away into the basement pantry. The delicate preserve of curds and whey were secure there, for the expansive shadows and clambering spiders kept out unwanted passersby, keen to procure a wedge for their own savoring. Surveying the cheeses, like a ship-master at the helm, the cook smiled. 

Upstairs, paintings clustered as watchful guardians of the Borchardts' domestic events. There was Uncle Bartholomew, framed in oak, and looking even sterner than his name sounded. Prudence, a grandmother of several greats, looked on in earnest, her nose pinched as though she were just about to sneeze. Whether anyone would bless her if she did so was beyond the knowledge of the maid. She had only to contend with the gatherings of dust, accumulating in the corners, keen on collecting themselves into unwanted heaps.

Across town, Madam Hidgens would just be opening the millinery shop. She expected a quiet morning after last night's festivities. Hats and feathered masks had been hoarded by the town for weeks, the especially fine ones tucked away behind displays by the younger clientele until enough tuppence had been collected to purchase them. The Halloween masquerade was beloved, a height of fashion and of society that would not be matched again until the heads were bedecked in their Christmas finery. With a little sigh of relief, she relaxed into the prospect of a slower month ahead and turned her attention to the memories of last night. Truth be told, Madam Hidgens had preferred watching her hats dance across the ballroom last night, the crowning jewels atop the shimmering silks and taffeta that waltzed over the floor, to taking her own turn with a partner. There had been several gentleman kind enough to offer, not merely out of polite London manners, but because even at forty, Madam Hidgens turned more heads than a girl half her age. Those who were jealous might have suggested that it had more to do with her bank account, burgeoning under the benefit of society's well-dressed always looking their finest. To say so, though, would have been more than unkind and far from true. And as for Madam Hidgens herself, she always spoke the truth. It was more than could be said for some people.

George Patrick for one. He was young, walked with his hands in his pockets as though always clutching his money, and had the faint aroma of cornbread on him. He must have eaten pounds of it when he'd lived in America, for his pores still clung to it, emanating his roots. But, perhaps, that was only Madam Hidgens's uncharitable opinion, for George Patrick was fond only of his hat that he brought from home and never had occasion to dally in her shop looking for a companion for it or, at the very least, a replacement. It was with a sort of begrudging reluctance that she admired the craftsmanship of his hat. Just how had the silk managed to retain its rigidity for all of these years? It was five at least. Yes, she first remembered seeing him arrive in London five years ago. Even if his hat had been perfectly new then, it still seemed an oddity that he'd not had occasion to frequent her shop. And what was more, it hadn't been new. For, Madam Hidgens, to her chagrin, remembered when she'd first seen that hat and she noted that it'd looked a bit tired. A tingle of excitement thrilled through her at the thought of a new hat, for she loved to see a new hat on another's head even better than on her own. He'd not entered her store though, not on any occasion, for these past five years and he'd been to no other milliner either. George Patrick was a traitor to her cause. With time, there had been no new hats and, if anything, with age it had improved. 

Millicent Brown would appreciate that. Her cheeses were the finest, the ones that the Borchardts' cook so admired and stored with such precision. Cooks who bustled through the fully-stocked shop, their lists so long they nearly trailed behind them, were welcomed of course. But, Millicent delighted in the picnickers. If there were one thing that years of sales had taught her it was that everything, especially cheese, tasted a hundred times better when eaten outside in the fresh air. Elias Penbrooke, in particular, consumed the Brie and Camembert, alongside the Wensleydale and Cheddar in epic proportions certain to be memorialized in the great works of Chaucer, Shakespeare or the more contemporary Dickens. Elias would chuckle prodigiously at Millicent’s insistence of the cheddar sonnet now, if not for one simple fact. Elias Penbrooke was not at the corner store on that morning. He was with the lions.

Continue reading.

My best to you all,

Wednesday, November 15, 2017

Introducing... The Collectors


I'm thrilled to say that my seventh historical novel, The Collectors, debuts on November 21st!
Here's the trailer:

About the Book:
Inheriting a secret was just the beginning... 

In London in 1872, Amelia Borchardt inherits a seat among a secret society. They call themselves "The Collectors". 

For centuries, they have kept secrets to protect their way of life, their ideals, and England itself. Now someone is watching them, an interloper rises from among the group and Amelia's life is thrown into chaos when everything she thought she knew is challenged and secrets are exposed, which she never knew she held. 

As Amelia spends time with her inherited collection of friends, she learns all is not as it seems and that even united guardians of secrets withhold the past from each other. 

Where did Madam Hidgens disappear to for years? Centuries ago revenge was sealed into a letter, but by whom? And more importantly, how does this affect the Collectors? Amelia must fight for the truth or the Collectors, and all that she thinks is true, will evaporate.

It's now available for pre-order on Amazon. It will also be available in print, in paperback and hardcover. 

I can't wait to share the secrets of the The Collectors with you!

My best to you all,

Friday, November 10, 2017

Veterans Day: Dealing with the Return


Veterans day: A day to remember those who fought. It comes with yellow ribbons, free menu items, a lot of "thank you for your service" mentions. At least in the USA, it does. In the UK, it's poppies pressed into buttonholes by news' presenters and laying of wreaths to honor the sacrifices. In Ireland, it's --like so much of Irish history-- a complicated mix of acknowledging those who fought, while also recognizing that Irish men were called up to serve the British Empire right in the midst of renewed hopes for home rule. That war that interrupted millions of lives also paused Irish home rule. It was supposed to be enacted at the beginning of the war, but it was suspended until the end of the war. In a way, it was like the colonists wanting representation and the right to govern themselves during the American Revolution. In fact, in the late 1700s, Ireland did attempt to gain its independence, inspired by the American Revolution and French Revolution. In the midst of war, in 1916, the Easter Uprising forever changed Irish history.

1916 is also the year in which What Edward Heard, my second historical novel, begins.

The ebook cover reflects the beginnings of the book's setting: Venice.

The printed covers, though, depict the silhouette of soldiers. It's purposeful in that it shows the lingering shadow of war on veterans, especially Edward in this instance. I once heard someone say, "thank you for your service" is the end of a conversation, when it should be the beginning. There are many stages of returning to normal life and grief that accompany the soldier's journey. That return to normal life, when nothing is normal any longer is part of the story of What Edward Heard. He's trying to be strong for those around him, while crumbling on the inside. A moment of that is captured in this passage:

Agnes, haunted by her own ghosts of war, born of her suppositions and worries rather than experience as Edward's were, attempted to draw him from his solitude whenever possible.
“Let's go to the pictures,” she had suggested one recent Saturday afternoon. The suggestion caught Edward off guard and no reason to decline was readily forthcoming, so he had no choice but to oblige her. As they sat there side-by-side, newsreels began to flash onto the screen. Music played somberly in accompaniment from the young girl seated at the piano, as Edward sat transfixed by the sterile black and white of war. Many in the audience gasped in horror, but for Edward it was merely a shadow of truth like Plato's in the allegorical cave. The public had first been exposed to such images this past summer during the earliest weeks of Edward's own Battle of the Somme.
Agnes reached across to slip her small ivory hand into his larger calloused hand.
“Is that how it is?” she whispered, not wanting to arouse pain but unable to silence her internal screams and pleadings for information on George and John.
No, it's a hundred thousand times worse. Everything is in color—vital red turned to deathly crimson, blue skies turned to impending gray. No melodic notes accompany the scene, only the piercing cries, agonizing screams, and thunderous explosions. The air does not smell of the delicate rosewater worn by the women around you. It reeks of mud, mold, and putrid flesh. And it's personal, so painfully heart-wrenchingly personal. They are not strangers; they are the men you eat with, sleep with, fight with. They are James. 
The thoughts erupted in his head like molten lava, which had bubbled uneasily to the top, but Edward, stoic and steady, swallowed them all, dismissing them from duty and from reality.
“Yes, it's like that,” he said, simply.
Agnes's fingers clenched around his own, as she squeezed his hand, half to comfort him and half to console herself. She reached into her pocket and retrieved a lace-edged handkerchief to dab at her moistening eyes. For her, this version of reality, diluted and cheapened, was difficult enough to bear.
(Chapter 6, What Edward Heard)

My best to you all,