Her good friend, surely she could be trusted. “I won’t tell a soul,” she’d said crossing her heart. It was in the whispers, the pin drop silence around the water cooler. Lesson learned, Kate thought, who the fuck still crosses her heart?
Twenty gates shot open on a crisp morning. Dirt slapped at thunderous legs and her mouth foamed. The roar of lofty hats grew louder. She was close, wanted to please, but pain followed a snap and her shoulder hit the ground first.
She had never wanted to grow up, but it happened without her permission. She was tradition, roots, a tender, the oldest, she was calm. Life moved along and as society would dictate, she tried to keep up, be the person she was supposed to be. She ran faster, pushed up, made up, drank up and somewhere along the…
Why are most of the heroes in romance lately either billionaires, small town guys, bad boy alphas or not human? What about the guy in the third cubicle on the left or the second chair violin player in the local symphony? Those guys can be sexy too. They have stories and deserve to kiss in the rain. The…
The British Museum is following me on Twitter. I realize this is of little importance to most people. They do follow 38,600 tweeters, so I understand the lack of enthusiasm. For me though, this is sort of like, oh I don’t know, Queen Elizabeth, the first one, showing up at my door and telling me she,…
I am usually a hand person. I like rough hands, callus, classic working hands. It’s often the first physical thing I notice about a man, even before the obvious eyes, lips or arms. My body part observations vary based my mood, or where I’m at in the story I am writing. I’m into necks lately.…
She didn’t know what to say. There were really no words, at least none came to mind in the moment. Her soul was torn, bleeding. Disappointment washed over her like a huge unexpected wave destroying an otherwise sunny day. Sure there were a few clouds in the sky. There would always be clouds, but this,…
She stumbled out of the bar, as she had seamless nights before. Mouth like cotton, the dull streetlights again swirled dizzy. Beers to shots by midnight and a bouncer’s grip by two. Slouched in a taxi, she wondered where she was heading.
A couple of months ago, Barb, aka Book Club Mom, interviewed me and asked about my experience finding an agent. At the time of the interview I had not yet looked for an agent. I have spent the past few weeks in that process and I feel a metaphor coming on. Finding an agent is…