Are you ready to WIN?

Are you ready to win an ebook reader? Or downloads of fantastic romances, including a copy of Prophecy of Vithan? Have you wanted to buy some romances from Cerridwen Press, but haven't got around to it.

Now all you have to do is participate in a scavenger hunt and you will be eligible to win downloads of romances from Cerridwen Press.

Starting March 1 through March 15 you will have the opportunity to hunt for a tree icon and for secret words.

Go to www.charleneleatherman.com and check out the rules.

Be a winner in the First Annual Cerridwen Spring Giveaway.

Awesome End of February

This week I signed a contract with Total E Bound , a Britsh based publisher, for Fate Unbound, a Greek God time travel I orginally published with Venus Press. (Yes, that Venus Press. Nuf said.) My story will be in an anthology titled Nectar of the Gods, September 2008. Love that title, very sexy, I think.

Over the next couple weeks I'll be adding a new ending and expanding a couple scenes. Very fun - more of the good stuff.

The premise of the book - is - for lack of a better word - different. It came from the female character who was accustomed to getting any man she wanted whenever she wanted him. She really needed to learn a lesson.

Curious?

Here's an excerpt:

The man, not much more than a boy really, was swaying as he leaned back, trying to get a look at Taryn's ass.

Brown hair hung across his face, hiding one of a pair of bright blue eyes. His jaw was pleasantly square, his skin nicely tanned and contrasting well with the casual, soft brown sweater clinging to his lean muscles. Denim pants hung low on his hips, showing off a small slice of his strong midsection.

He certainly wasn’t puny, or unattractive, but he wasn’t up to her usual standards either. He had no sword, or markings of battle, and his face was fresh with the enthusiasm of youth.

She preferred her men strong and experienced. Vigorous. Capable. In Kate’s words–edgy.

But, she reflected ruefully, always getting what she wanted was the problem.

Or had been.

The newcomer set his hand on her waist, gripping it firmly, and leaned in. The bristled shadow of his facial hair brushed across her cheek as he spoke, his hot breath blowing across her neck. “I come here all the time. Want me to show you around?”

She shook her head, easily meeting his gaze because he wasn’t more than a few inches taller than she. “I’m meeting someone.”

Still holding her waist, he angled back, his gaze darting across the mass of people before coming back to her. “Another girl?”

Girl?

Did she look like an unripe, inexperienced girl?

Taryn straightened, looking down her nose at him, but because his attention had dropped to the swells of her breasts her disdain went unnoticed.

She set her hand on his to pull it away, but he gripped hers tightly and smiled, his vivid gaze coming back to her face. His grin was sweet, his azure eyes glowing brightly under the shaggy locks falling across his forehead.

A mature man would’ve been subtle, and realized the importance of anticipation. This boy’s inexperience was well balanced by drunken confidence. “We can wait for her,” he replied, stretching to the bar to discard his empty beer bottle, intentionally letting his arm brush across the side of her breast. “Then I’ll show you both around.” Moving his gaze to the dusting of glitter she skimmed between her breasts, he added, “This is a big place, you need to know where to go to get what you want.”

He seemed harmless enough, but Taryn wanted to end things quickly, before he made the one offer she was forbidden to refuse.

Vials of Aquilonia

Right now I am working on Vials of Aquilonia. So that is my wip (work in progress). I have a contract for Stone of Cruento which I haven't seen a cover for, or even got the final edits for yet. My first book Prophecy of Vithan is the only book on the market so far.

My future work will consist of novels placed around the Twin Planet System. Each with a heroic woman, a handsome and capable man who gets himself in a situation that only the heroine can rescue him from, and some really horrific monster, and of course they have to save the world, planet, system, and maybe the universe.

Each of these books are available or will be available from Cerridwen Press at www.cerridwenpress.com.

And cause my mind is on Vials of Aquilonia, I am going to post an excerpt of my wip.

Excerpt Vials of Aquilonia unedited:

"Carus, you sorry excuse of a lander, keep that line taut."
Carus strained against the rail, his muscular legs braced while his arms corded with the strain. He listened to the grunts of the sailors beside him as they hauled Captain Jarvis' latest find aboard ship.
Captain Jarvis fancied himself a pirate and a treasure hunter. His ship was the finest in the system, a technological wonder with all the latest equipment and gadgetry. It was also disguised as a clipper ship complete with sails. Jarvis went so far as to make the ship appear as a clipper when they were on water complete with rigging, sails, and able body sea men. It kept the crew on their toes and in top shape.
Carus had failed in paying attention this morning. He let his attention wander. He had let his portion of the line go slack. He put the men and more importantly the haul in jeopardy. Carus knew once they loaded the cache he would be in for a reprimand.
He also knew his offence was not bad enough to warrant harsh punishment. The cache was retrieved and no loss of wealth or life had been sustained. In the two years he had served with Jarvis he had seen what punishment was. Loss of life meant a flogging. You did not put your shipmates in danger, but killing a second person when one had already been lost was not cost effective. Lost of wealth by misdeed or by dishonesty was punishable by death. Other offenses were punished by loss of privileges or freedom.
Carus hoped all he would get would be a tongue lashing.
He focused on the task at hand. His encounter with the captain would have to be put on the back burner of his mind unless he wanted harsher punishment. The loss of one Sadchian emerald he would be looking at death.
With a sigh of relief from the entire crew, the load of emeralds was pulled from a star-freighter that crashed and sank in the ocean of this particular planet. Jarvis traveled from planet to planet in search of salvage, but only the richest salvage. The richest usually meant the hardest to acquire. The richest was salvage that no other crew would risk working on because the loss of life was too great. Captain Jarvis and his crew were the best. They retrieved the richest salvage because they knew what they were doing and did it well.
Carus worked his end of line spilling the emeralds on the deck. The processors, robots programmed for this particular work, would appear soon. The sailors would be relieved of duty to relax for a few hours while the processors did their jobs. The emeralds were worth over one hundred twenty five million creds processed. Unprocessed they were worthless. The emeralds had poisonous gases trapped inside them. The processors would vent the gases while the crew was safe inside the ship. After the robots completed the venting and cleaning, the emeralds were marketable and would make the captain a great deal of money. That was the whole point of Captain Jarvis. That was the whole point of working for Captain Jarvis. Money.
The crew started patting themselves on the back for a job well done as they headed into the ship.
"Carus in my ready room, now," Captain Jarvis ordered.
"Aye, sir," Carus said quietly. The looks the other men didn't give him spoke volumes. They turned away and avoided his eyes. They had all, at one time or another, been on the wrong side of Jarvis. It was never a pleasant experience.
"What the hell was wrong with you, Carus?" Jarvis sank into his chair behind a large desk. He shoved his boots off, first with one foot then another. Pulling open an old fashioned drawer he took out a bottle of Cardasian Ale. Taking two thimble-sized glasses he poured each of them a drink.
Carus took the small glass. Holding it he and no loss of wealth or life had been sustained. In the two years he had served with Jarvis he had seen what punishment was. Loss of life meant a flogging. You did not put your shipmates in danger, but killing a second person when one had already been lost was not cost effective. Lost of wealth by misdeed or by dishonesty was punishable by death. Other offenses were punished by loss of privileges or freedom.
Carus hoped all he would get would be a tongue lashing.
He focused on the task at hand. His encounter with the captain would have to be put on the back burner of his mind unless he wanted harsher punishment. The loss of one Sadchian emerald he would be looking at death.
With a sigh of relief from the entire crew, the load of emeralds was pulled from a star-freighter that crashed and sank in the ocean of this particular planet. Jarvis traveled from planet to planet in search of salvage, but only the richest salvage. The richest usually meant the hardest to acquire. The richest was salvage that no other crew would risk working on because the loss of life was too great. Captain Jarvis and his crew were the best. They retrieved the richest salvage because they knew what they were doing and did it well.
Carus worked his end of line spilling the emeralds on the deck. The processors, robots programmed for this particular work, would appear soon. The sailors would be relieved of duty to relax for a few hours while the processors did their jobs. The emeralds were worth over one hundred twenty five million creds processed. Unprocessed they were worthless. The emeralds had poisonous gases trapped inside them. The processors would vent the gases while the crew was safe inside the ship. After the robots completed the venting and cleaning, the emeralds were marketable and would make the captain a great deal of money. That was the whole point of Captain Jarvis. That was the whole point of working for Captain Jarvis. Money.
The crew started patting themselves on the back for a job well done as they headed into the ship.
"Carus in my ready room, now," Captain Jarvis ordered.
"Aye, sir," Carus said quietly. The looks the other men didn't give him spoke volumes. They turned away and avoided his eyes. They had all, at one time or another, been on the wrong side of Jarvis. It was never a pleasant experience.
"What the hell was wrong with you, Carus?" Jarvis sank into his chair behind a large desk. He shoved his boots off, first with one foot then another. Pulling open an old fashioned drawer he took out a bottle of Cardasian Ale. Taking two thimble-sized glasses he poured each of them a drink.
Carus took the small glass. Holding it he suddenly got dizzy. He reeled for a moment and lurched to the chair. The glass dropped from his hand shattering on the metal floor of the star-ship. Thick yellow gel splattered. The expensive, highly alcoholic Cardasian Ale marked his pant legs and the wall of the captain's cabin. Carus sank to his knees. His vision blurred. The room around him disappeared.
"A sip," The black haired beauty handed him, no not him someone else like him, a tiny cup filled with Cardasian Ale. "That is all you can have. Any more and it would kill you."
"Morgan, I'm not a child anymore. I am Emperor."
"Yes, you are. And you can not do something as stupid as drink a full glass of Cardasian Ale. I can drink it. I am Sonij. You are Dkr. If you drink any more than this taste it will burn out your brain cells and if you are lucky, kill you. If not, the Twin Planet System will have a brain-dead moron for an Emperor."

snow snow go away...

Okay, it's the end of February, and I am officially tired of winter. I've started humming Jimmy Buffett tunes and using tropical fruit-scented shower gel just to try to fool myself. It helps, as long as I don't try to leave the house. Then the act of scraping the ice and snow off my car brings winter back home with a vengeance.

On the other hand, this time of year always makes me wonder about the people around me. Aside from a few years in grad school, I've lived my whole life in Michigan. I'm used to snow. I understand the concept, and I know how to dress for it, how to deal with it, even how to drive in it. And yet every time there's a dusting of a quarter-inch, I swear everyone in Michigan has forgotten how to drive in it. Yeesh. You live here. Get a clue.

Likewise, I have to laugh at the weather reporters these days. You wake up to hear about a humongous blizzard that has blanketed the state and paralyzed life as we know it. Then I look out my window and see three inches. Good grief people. You live in Michigan. It's winter. Buy a pair of gloves and get over it.

While I may be seeing sandy beaches and fruity drinks in my mind, I recognize that I'm an adult. I've chosen to live here, for whatever reasons. (In my case, mostly family.) So even while I daydream about oiled hunks and tropical breezes, I'll pull on my pack boots and parka, and hope the kids DON'T have a snow day tomorrow. Maybe I'll go write a beach story. Hmmm--that should warm things up!

Daydream believing

I've always been a dreamer. From the earliest memories I have I recall sitting and dreaming of other things. Perhaps I was adopted and I was really royalty. Switched at birth like one of the shows on tv? Maybe my family was really aliens like in Invasion of the Body Snatchers? I'm sure some of you had the same thoughts as a child. But mine went further until I created not only other people but entirely different worlds. And I liked them.
My family always thought that my imagination would land me into an acting career. I was part of the drama department all through high school and college. The lead in most of our school plays. But I often found myself wanting to rewrite certain scenes or make other small changes to the story.
Then one day my father called and told me that he had written a book and was going through the motions to self publish. I was amazed and awed. My father and I have often written poetry as well as my other two sisters. But a book? And then I thought of all the times that I had stated in jest that I was going to write. Could I do it? Could I really sit down at a computer and stare at a blank page and create a story that others would like?
It was my father who gave me the courage I needed to sit down and begin work on my first story. And thus His Bare Obsession was born and with it not only the Bare Love series but a brand new career for me.
Last Thursday I celebrated my one year anniversary with Ellora's Cave. It was one year ago on Feb 21, 2007 that His Bare Obsession released. It has been a year of ups and downs for me and I'm so grateful to my father for giving me the push I needed to step out of my box and take a chance. It has paid off in spades. I have a new career, new friends and the possibilities before me are endless.
I'm living proof that dreams do come true...if only you believe.

Lacey Thorn





It's your world...unlaced

All the cowboys of White Tail are here now

Three years ago I created the fictional town of White Tail, Texas, very much like the Texas town I live near. Love With a Prioper Rancher introduced the Cutter brothers but focused on Ryan, a man very much like one of my neighbors. And the Wolfe ranch two miles down the road from me became the Circle C. In Cutter's Law we had Morgan Cutter's story, and now we have Tate Donovan, the owner - sort of -of the vast yellow Rose Ranch. It's available at The Wild Rose Press and Fictionwise.

Tate Donovan was sure The Yellow Rose ranch would be his when his father died. After all, he’d grown up there and it was his legacy. But Abby Culhane was King’s stepdaughter for many years and held a place in the old man’s heart right up to the end. When King leaves her one fourth of the ranch and Tate’s grandparents’ home, Tate is shocked. Then he sees the grown-up Abby and can’t decide whether he wants to fight her over the will or take her to bed. The entire town of White Tail, Texas rolls up its sleeves and sits back to watch the fireworks.

“This is crazy. Nuts!”
Tate Donovan was pacing the carpet in Ryan Cutter’s law office, thumbs hooked in the pants pockets of his expensive western-cut suit. His feet in custom-tooled boots wore a path from the large window to the wall and back again. “I can’t believe the old man would do this.”
“He did it,” Ryan assured him in a calm voice. “And it’s all legal. Abby gets one quarter interest in the Yellow Rose and all of Sycamore Grove.”
“That’s my goddamn ranch,” Tate shouted, stopping in front of the attorney’s desk, jaw grim, eyes flashing fire.
“And now I believe also mine.”
Abby Culhane sat in one of the comfortable leather chairs in front of Ryan’s desk, outwardly projecting a picture of serenity in her emerald silk dress, diamond earrings winking in the light slanting in through the windows. But she was far from peaceful. Inwardly seething, she twisted the antique ruby ring on her finger round and round in endless circles.
The day had been very long. She was tired and irritable, and the last place she wanted to be was tiny White Tail, Texas, a place she’d literally run from ten years earlier. Her flight from New York had left early that morning, then there was the three hour drive from San Antonio because she’d missed the last commuter plane to Mesquite, the closest town to White Tail. She was still wondering where in the hell she was going to sleep tonight. As far as she could remember, there was no motel in White Tail.
The ten years she had lived at the great Donovan ranch were one long, unpleasant memory, mostly due to Tate making her life miserable every waking moment. Her only respite had been the four years he’d been away at college. When her mother and Tate’s father divorced, Janet Culhane had dragged Abby off to New York and that had been that.
Now she just wanted to get this done and get out of here. But Tate Donovan got her back up, just like he always had. Like the night of her senior prom, a moment in her life that still made her want to jump under the covers and pull them over her head.
“I think you can consider me a part owner,” she went on. It gave her great pleasure to see how angry he was. Payback, she thought smugly.
“Not for long, sister.” Tate whirled on her, his fists clenched. “That ranch belongs to me—along with Sycamore Grove— and there’s no way I’m letting you get one greedy finger on either of them. Your mother walked out on my father. You don’t deserve one inch of land or one damn penny.”
“Tate, why don’t you sit down for a minute.” She could tell Ryan made his voice as reasonable as he could. “We have a lot of details to iron out here, and maybe we can all come to some kind of understanding.”
Abby recalled that Ryan was only a few years older than Tate, but they obviously had grown to know each other well, since Ryan had become the Donovan attorney.
She looked carefully at Tate. Was he still the arrogant muscle head she’d known ten years ago? His body was still lean but even more muscular, more defined. His black hair still had the same, silky look to it, and thick lashes still framed electric blue eyes. His face had more lines grooved in it, and the dimple in his left cheek was more pronounced. Today his body radiated a fine tension.
What she wasn’t prepared for was his commanding presence that dominated the room, and the waves of sexuality that rolled off him like ocean breakers. Little pinpoints of electricity stabbed at her body, which she squashed with great effort. She was in the middle of a war here. She didn’t need to be entertaining erotic fantasies about the enemy.

Where do you get your ideas?

A question that authors invaribly get from readers and interviewers alike is
"Where do you get your ideas?"

Of course, that is a silly question. Where does any of us get any ideas? Where did Edison get his idea for the light bulb? Where did Barbara Bradford get her ideas for the romance she wrote about? Where did your son/daughter/niece/nephew get the idea to color a garden on the kitchen wall?

The answer, "From our imaginations, of course."

The better question might be: "What inspired your imagination to put the ideas together in the pattern and in the series of events as you did to create the novel you wrote/the invention you created/the art work you manifested?"

Of course, but the time you get done saying the question, it is so long and lengthy, the person being interviewed has yawned, gone for coffee, and forgotten who she was talking to. And the questioneer has forgotten the purpose of the question.

So, perhaps, we should just stick with the tried and true.

Madam Author? Where did you get your idea?

Where do you get your ideas?

Excerpt from Silverhills

The ramrod absently smoothed his mustache. Something wasn’t right. The boy was hiding something. He could smell it. And the last thing he needed was trouble on this drive.
Cookie glanced at the foreman’s set face and the boy’s belligerent one and interjected hastily, “You know, Mr. Wade, I could sure use some help.”
The foreman’s eyes bore into the youth. The boy stared back, his thumbs hooked in his belt. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the lapping river and the monotonous croaking of a bullfrog on its banks.
He’s one of the handsomest men I’ve ever seen, Alexandria thought irrelevantly. The man was well over six foot with wide shoulders and a hard-muscled body that his shirt and chaps did little to disguise. His face alone would send a spinster’s heart aflutter, with thick tawny hair and cool green eyes. A mustache accented his thin lips.
Finally, Brandon said, “What’s your name, kid?”
Alexandria paused for a heartbeat then extended her hand and gave him her childhood nickname. “Alex, Alex O’Malley.”
The foreman gripped it, his hand engulfing hers. If Wade noticed the brief hesitation, he kept it to himself. “Those hands are a bit on the small side, soft too. But I guess as long as they can hold a rope, they’ll do. Pay is thirty-five dollars a month.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wade,” Alexandria said in her husky voice, as Brandon dropped her hand.
The foreman slapped a mosquito on his neck then jerked his head toward the cook. “Thank him. He’s the reason you’ve got the job.”
Brandon pierced his cook with a sharp gaze. “The lad’s your responsibility. Keep him out of trouble.” Without waiting for a reply, the foreman strode on toward camp.
“Well, boy, looks like you got yourself a job.” Cookie grinned from ear to ear.
Alexandria, who had been staring after the foreman, watching his long-legged easy stride, blinked, “Appears I do.” She turned back to the cook and dealt with the matter at hand. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble my dog and I would purely love some grub.”
As if on cue, Mongrel barked and thumped his tail against the dusty trail.
“And I thankee for getting me the job,” Alexandria added, remembering her manners.
“You might not be thanking me after you’ve been at it awhile.” His brows drew together as he scowled at her. “You gonna complain about my cookin’?”
“No, sir.”
“In that case, I think I can round up some beans for you and a hambone for your dog.” Cookie clapped her on the back then, with his slightly bowlegged gait, started back toward camp.
Leading Dancer, Alexandria fell in step behind him. Mongrel jumped up and trotted ahead, waving his plumy tail from side to side.
Alexandria let her breath out in a long sigh of relief. Everything was going to be okay. She had fooled them. Even the foreman, whose gaze was so penetrating it felt like he could lift her secrets right out of her head. And at least for now, she was safe, safe from the monster chasing her.
cerridwenpress.com

Words and Humpty Dumpty

Lewis Carroll created a wonderful character when he breathed life into Humpty Dumpty and began a dissertation on the meaning of words. Which brings me to:
"When I use a word," Humpty Dumpty said in rather a scornful tone, "it means just what I choose it to me - neither more nor less."
"The question is," said Alice, "whether you can make words mean so many different things."
"The question is," said Humpty Dumpty, "which is to be master - that's all."
Which brings me to the questioning of Roger Clements, ace pitcher, as to whether he had taken performance enhancing drugs. Mr. Clements insisted he had never taken the drugs but when Andy Pettit, pitcher with the NY Yankees said he had discussed ingesting drugs with Roger Clements, Mr. Clements said."I disremember." That word is in my Oxford dictionary but not commonly used. I think Humpty Dumpty would like that word. "Disremember" instead of "forgot." Disremember has a softer feel to it than forgot. It's almost like an apology.

And that brings me to the label on the eggs I purchase at the local supermarket. "Free Range eggs." To me those words mean the hens run around on grass eating bugs and worms and tasty bits but to a group investigating misuse of labels it could mean the hens can walk around an indoor pen and are not totally cooped up as in a hen battery. Free to roam the range. Not likely.

Which brings me to: Without words there would be no stories. What a dreary world it would be if we had no words and could never share our dreams and fears and loves and the good feeling that comes from hearing or reading a good story. If Mr. Clements disremembers who can say him nay, so to speak. He's telling his story and you can believe it or not.

The above quotes are from Alice Through The Looking Glass, by Lewis Carroll, copyright 1946 by Grosset & Dunlop. Drop by my web site, www.anitabirt.com where my books are featured. I'd enjoy hearing from you.

Anita

Ellora's Cave Authors Signing

Saturday, February 23rd - 2:00pm-5:00pm

Barnes & Noble1738 Hill Road North, Pickerington, OH 43147

Participating Authors: TL Gray, Isabelle Drake, Saralee Etter, JC Wilder, Madeline Oh, Marcia James, Paige Cuccaro, Various EC/CP/TLC Editors and the Tour Bus!

A Contest is Brewing

The Cerridwen Press Spring Contest

READERS! Here’s the information you’ve been looking for!

Here are the rules for the First Annual Cerridwen Spring Giveaway

1. The Grand Prize winner must be a United States Resident. (due to mailing and custom costs, we cannot ship the grand prize out of the country)
2. You must be a member of the Cerridwen Chat Yahoo group to participate in this contest. All clues and contest information will be posted will be posted on that loop. To subscribe, send a blank email to cerridwenchat-subscribe@yahoogroups.com
3. You cannot share information about the contest with other readers. All participants should act independently.
4. Every day, starting on March 1 and ending on March 15, a clue will be posted on the Cerridwen Chat loop. This clue will lead you to a specific web site or blog location. You must find the hidden/special word on that web site or blog. There will be fifteen words to find, one for each day of the contest. The word will be in a special font, something like this so it will stand out and you should be able to see it easily. If you want to be eligible for the grand prize, you have to find these words. Note the word and the location where you found it.
5. You also need to find a tree icon and note that location. Beginning on March 1, look for the tree icono the web site or blog of the participating authors (see the author list at the end of this page). Make a note of the location of the tree icon or blog.
6. The contest ends on March 15 at 5 PM. The tree icons and the ‘secret words’ will be removed from the author locations at that time.
7. Assemble the words you’ve found into a sentence. Send the sentence and the location of the tree icons you found in the following format in the body of an email to GreenBookFriend@yahoo.com
Sentence: Write your sentence here
Location of Secret Words:
1st word: http://www.websitename.com/websitepage.htm
2nd word: http://www.blogorwebname.com/date (if blog)
3rd word:
4th word:
And so on…
Tree Location 1: http://www.websitename.com/websitepage.htm
Tree Location 2: http://www.blogspotname.com/
Tree Location 3
And so on…
8. You will need to find 15 words and 1 trees for a total of 28 entries. Sound like a lot? It is, but the prize is pretty big, too!
9. E-mail your response by 5 PM (central standard time) (3PM pacific time) on March 16. No entries will be accepted after that time.
10. The grand prize winner will be chosen from those who submit correct responses.
11. Winners will be announced on the Cerridwen Chat loop on March 20, the first day of spring, at 5 PM (central time). Winners will also be notified by email.

Prizes

1. Grand Prize A Rocket 1200 Ebook reader with 7 downloads already loaded. A picture of this model is at the end of these rules. Complete instructions will be provided for using the reader and transferring books to the reader.

THIS IS NOT AN EBOOKWISE ebook reader. You cannot directly download books to the Rocket Ebook reader. In order to use the Rocket Ebook reader, you will need to use GEB Librarian software or the REBlibrarian PC software. Both are available for purchase for a minimal cost ($20-$30).

You will also need a Compact Flash reader/writer device for your PC. These are available at any computer store for approximately $15 - $30.

See http://www.chromakinetics.com/REBl100/move.htm for an overview of the process used to transfer cntent to this reader. We will also provide instruction for device use.

This is a used device. The cover is slightly scratched but the reading screen is clear and unmarred. The device is in good working order. It will be shipped to you with the winning books already loaded and will include instructions for adding new content, a spare rechargeable battery, and a power adapter (to recharge the unit). This device operates for 5-6 hours on a fully charged battery.

2. Runner-up: 6 downloaded ebooks, emailed to you
3. 1st place: 5 downloaded ebooks, emailed to you
4. 2nd place: 4 downloaded ebooks, emailed to you
5. 3rd place: 3 downloaded ebooks, emailed to you


Here is the tree icon you will be looking for

Here is the Rocket E-book reader available as a prize. It will be pre-loaded with 7 Cerridwen books.
(shown next to a pencil for size comparison)



This contest is sponsored by the authors listed here.
It is not sponsored by Ellora’s Cave, Cerridwen Press nor affiliated with that company.

These authors will have a tree icon on their web site or blog for you to find starting on March 1.

Amy Corwin http://www.amycorwin.com/

Charlene Leatherman http://www.charleneleatherman.com/

Catherine Berlin http://www.catherineberlin.com/

Dorothy McFalls http://www.dorothymcfalls.com/

J. L. Wilson http://www.jayellwilson.com/

Janet Miller http://www.janetmillerromance.com/

Lise Fuller http://www.lisefuller.com/

Liz Jasper http://www.lizjasper.com/

Marianne Stephens http://www.mariannestephens.net/

Ariana Dupre http://www.melissaa.com/

Micqui Miller http://www.micquimiller.com/

Vicky Burkholder http://www.vickyburkholder.com/

Jude Atkins http://www.judeatkins.com/

Jean C. Gordon http://www.jeancgordon.com/


These authors are participating in the Secret Word part of the contest (some authors may be participating in both: tree and word). You will receive a clue by noon on each day to find out where to find the secret word.

Amy Corwin Jenyfer Matthews Liz Jasper

Frances Stockton Mary Ann Chulik Vicky Burkholder

Sam Cheever N.D. Hansen-Hill Elias Flynn

Terri Thackston Terry Odell Micqui Miller

Karen McCullough Jude Atkins Sharon Horton


ENJOY THE HUNT!

And Let’s all look forward to Spring!!!!

BICHOK

Hi, everybody

BICHOK!!! The writers reading this know what that means. No, it is not a curse word, although I have been treating it like one lately.

It means, "Butt in chair, hands on keyboard," and it is what I have not been doing. If I ever want to have another book published, I had better follow that advice.

My WIP was going nowhere, but thanks to my incredible critique partners, I think I now know how to fix it. And I intend to do just that on Saturday. The weather is supposed to be pretty lousy here, so I hope to spend most of the day working on it.

I gave my editor the "elevator pitch" and she sounds interested. Now I have to deliver!

Till next week,
Kate

Are you animal, vegetable or mineral?

Are you Animal, Vegetable or Mineral?

Everything in the world seems to be categorized. Solid or liquid? Flat or round? Tall or short? Thin or fat? Old or young? You have to be SOMETHING. Everyone says so. So today I want to know – are you animal, vegetable or mineral?
To begin with, anything that’s never been alive is classified as mineral. That’s the rock at the side of the road, the chair you sit on, and your teenage son who hasn’t moved off the couch since he got his first Gameboy. The only way you can tell there might be a sign of life is the occasional, barely perceptible rhythmic nod of his head to the music from his iPod, filtering into his head through his earbuds.
I’d say it’s the computers we work on, except I think mine has a life of it’s own. It eats my documents, swallows my emails, and types by itself, I know that for a fact because when I look up at the monitor, I know I didn’t write the words I see. So maybe a mineral is something that’s never been alive but suddenly woke up.
Like me, when I decided to write a romance novel and invented a new definition for obsessive.
If you’re vegetable, you grow out of the ground, on a tree or bush, or sometimes in the corners of motel bathrooms. You can be a blushing vegetable, like a tomato (oh, wait, a tomato is really a fruit). A long, skinny vegetable like a carrot or a string bean, or my fourth grade writing teacher, Miss Drinkwater. That woman invented the term penmanship. You can be a golden vegetable, like corn, with a touch that turns everything into money.
Or finally, are you an animal? Round and fluffy like a ewe. Lean and fast like a racehorse. Snuggly and purring like a cat. A squawker, like a chicken (oh, wait, that was my aunt Lena). Slow and contented like a cow (nope, don’t go there. LOL).
Me? I think I’m a little bit of everything. I wasn’t even alive until I met my wonderful husband. I grew like a vegetable as I plunged into my writing. And an animal who’s hungry for life.
So, what are you – animal, vegetable or mineral.
.

Bare Devotion

Friday I celebrated the release of my latest Bare Love book, Bare Devotion. This one is my favorite of the series so far. I fell hard for both of my characters and it felt good to tell Catherine's story and show a different side of Griff. I think that fans will still love him while realizing that he is more than he seems. So today I'm going to share the blurb and an excerpt with you from this new release.

Bare Devotion
Lacey Thorn

Bare Love 4

Fire...unquenchable...unstoppable
Ally wants one thing, to stop the man who killed her mother from killing anyone else. What she finds is more than she ever imagined. Blake, the fire marshal in Legacy, has finally met his match in the woman he mistakes for a pyro-maniac. But the fire they ignite together is sure to burn them both in the flames of passion.
Catherine Daniels is fighting flames of her own. The time has come for her to decide what she wants...Life with the man she is coming to love? Or letting him walk away because of her fears and uncertainties? It is a decision that she struggles with every moment…Until the night she may lose the ability to choose at all.

Excerpt:
Shep was already at the door. “You need any help?” he asked Blake with a devilish grin that threw Ally for a loop. This man was big, as tall as Blake. But this one was a blond Viking in modern clothes. She could easily imagine him plundering and conquering her in every way imaginable. She must have made some small sound because his feral gaze hooked on her and there was no mistaking the lust in his eyes. His glaze flicked down to her breasts and she could feel her nipples hardening further and poking out of the material. He grinned in triumph and Blake glanced down at her turgid nipples then. Ally refused to acknowledge her body’s response and just stood there letting them look.
Blake pushed her gently out the door in front of him. As she brushed past the Viking she swore she felt him brush a finger across her nipple.
“Not yet,” she heard Blake tell the other man. “Tonight’s mine Shep.”
So that was his name. Shep. But what did Blake mean not yet? And did he mean what she thought he meant? She felt the moisture in her pussy and hoped she didn’t soak the jeans as panties were something else she wasn’t wearing. She just didn’t feel comfortable borrowing such intimate apparel from a stranger. And cousin’s wife or not Katie was still a stranger.
Ally snapped out of her thoughts when Blake grabbed her hand and led her to his truck opening the passenger door and boosting her up inside. She watched as he shut the door and moved around to the driver’s side and hopped, in firing the truck up as he slammed his door and belted in.
Ally remained quiet as he drove back the way they had come. This time she took in the scenery around her looking at the town called Legacy as they drove through it. It took her a minute to realize that they were headed on another road out of town and not toward the fire charred home where her car was parked around the corner. She glanced over at Blake.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked though she felt sure she already knew.
“To my place,” Blake stated glancing casually over at her. “Any objections?”
Ally shook her head slowly back and forth. No she had no objections to what was coming.
“You know that I’m going to fuck you,” Blake said bluntly so there were no surprises when he got her to his house. “We may not make it past the front door the first time. I want you that badly Ally.”
Her eyes were wide not with fear but with a raging lust of her own. “I want you too,” she admitted in a husky whisper.
“Have you ever been with a man before Ally?” Blake asked. “’Cause I don’t know that I can be gentle with you right now. The need is too strong.”
Ally thought of the two men she had slept with in her life. They both seemed like boys when compared to the man sitting across the truck cab from her. “I’m not a virgin,” she told him. No need to tell him that it had been at least five years since she had engaged in sex with a man.
“Good,” Blake replied as he pulled into a driveway and hit the remote for his garage.
Ally briefly glimpsed the brick one-story home before he enclosed them in the garage. The truck turned off and he turned to her releasing first his seatbelt and then hers. His eyes were hot and dark with need and she could tell that the lust was riding him hard.
“You have ten seconds to get out of the truck and head into the house Ally,” he told her his voice rough. He nodded toward the door that must lead into the house. “That’s about as long as I’ll make it. Ten seconds Ally. Then I’m going to fuck your sweet pussy till you scream.”
Ally gulped, reached for the door handle flinging it open and giving it a shove to close it as she bolted for the door.

Feel like a little devotion now? LOL

Lacey Thorn
It's your world...unlaced

Excerpt from The Crystal

Gabby sank into the old-fashioned wicker settee on the east side of the crystal and held out her hands. She touched the globe and closed her eyes as its warmth enclosed her, caressing her like a lover.

She moaned softly. Almost against her will, her eyes opened as the colors churned. Christopher Saint’s image began to form. Only this time it was accompanied by his voice. “What the hell are you doing?” He stood behind her scowling.

Gabby dropped her hands. Mortified, she felt her face turn scarlet. She couldn’t have been more embarrassed if he’d walked in on her and a lover. Sticking her chin in the air, she said angrily, “How dare you watch me you Peeping Tom.”

Christopher eyed her with distaste. “I expect this sort of behavior from Aunt Tam, she’s a little fey. But you, you’re just plain crazy.”

She stood up intent on sweeping past him.

But as she moved away, his arm shot out and he pulled her hard against him. He may have been disgusted by her wanton reaction to the globe, but he was also aroused. That was quite evident.

His eyes glittered like the globe as he stared down at her. Then abruptly, he lowered his head and his lips hard and sensual claimed hers.

Gabby had no intention of responding to his caveman tactics, but she found herself melting against him, weak in the knees, her insides turning to jelly.

As he felt her response, his lips softened, becoming less demanding, more persuasive. His hands explored her body. His touch light as a butterfly.

Her nerve ends tingled wherever his fingers moved.

“I can’t fight you anymore. I want you, Gabriella. I’ve wanted you since the first moment I saw you in the rain,” he whispered against her ear, his breath labored and uneven.

Heat shot through her like sizzling streaks of lightning. Maybe it was the residual affects of the crystal, but she wanted this impossible, arrogant man as much as he wanted her.

Her hand reached down and settled firmly on his fly. “I believe you,” and smiled against his lips.

His breath caught in his throat and the hand on her breast tightened. “I’m going to take that to mean you want me too.”

"Who are you?" said the Caterpillar

"The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice. "Who are you?"

The quote is from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. A wonderful story, brilliantly told to satisfy children and the adults who read them aloud. But there is more to the question than appears on the surface. "Who are you?" and I have to ask myself, "who am I?" Which brings me to why I've chosen to blog about the question.

One of my Vancouver Island Chapter colleagues, multi-published author, E.C.Sheedy, was deeply moved by the book, "The Thirteenth Tale" by Diane Setterfield. I purchased the book. It is a deeply moving story. I came across this paragraph and it jumped out at me.

"A birth is not really a beginning. Our lives at the start are not really our own, but only the continuation of someone else's story. Take me, for instance. To look at me now, you would think my birth must have been something special, wouldn't you? Accompanied by strange portents, and attended by witches and fairy godmothers. But no. Not a bit of it. In fact, when I was born I was no more than a sub-plot." (copyright Diane Setterfied) I have never thought of myself as a sub-plot but I like the idea. My life as a strand of a story that started centuries ago.

I pondered the existential question and it led me to Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and the question the Caterpillar asked Alice. "Who are you?" And that led me to the characters we create and the stories we create to bring them to life. Who is Isabelle Linden whose life story weaves through my books, Isabelle's Diary and Isabelle's Story. Why her? Where did she come from? A sub-plot of her parents and her brother? Of course. Just like you and me, she is woven into her family history.

All our stories have to end and authors choose the time and place to do so. A satisfying story ends with lingering questions. What happens next? For me as long as the ending warms the heart of the reader and leaves them feeling good, I am happy. And, glorious thought ... if readers love the characters and love the secondary characters and want more ... I'd have a series.

Anita
www.anitabirt.com

Confession...

Okay, I admit it. I love American Idol.

What writer doesn't relate to having someone shug and say, "No, I don't get it. Sorry dog." ? And the tears of anguish? Joy? Yep, felt those too.

But what's even better is listening to the judges, and then later the artists the singers work with, give advice. Define yourself. But stick to what's you. Be willing to take chances. But know what works. Connect with the audience. But please yourself. That bucketload of sometimes contradictory advice...its awesome. Why? Because its all true.

FINALLY!!!!!

Well, my website is finally up and running. I thought it would never happen. I had a designer do it for me because I know nothing about HTML (although I am taking an online course this month). Between his life and mine, it has taken almost 6 months to get it going. But I am really pleased with the way it looks and I have gotten some good feedback.

Please check it out and let me know what you think: http://www.katepoole.net

I hope to have my publicity photo done soon, but I want to wait for my next perm and highlights! hahahahaha Is there ever a time when your hair looks the way you want it and your complexion is clear? Of course not! But I have the name of a photographer who is so good she can make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, so I will give her a challenge sometime soon.

I am gearing up for the Romantic Times convention in April. It will be the first time I have attended and I hear it is great. Look for me at the e-book signing on Wednesday afternoon.

Till next week,
Kate Poole

Eternally Yours

Eternally Yours Contest

What could you spend an eternity doing? What is your passion? Your hunger? Your deepest desire? Each day beginning February 5 and running through February 14 one of the ten authors will complete the line, "My darling I could spend eternity…" on either their blog or website. Collect all ten answers and e-mail them to anny@annycook.com with Eternally Yours in the subject line to win some hot, romantic books. There will be three lucky Valentine winners.

The Prizes:

1st prize--5 books

2nd prize--3 books

3rd prize--2 books

Entries must be in by February 16 at midnight EST. All books and prize winners will be drawn randomly.

Sandra Cox Silverhills
Mona Risk To Love a Hero
Brynn Paulin Tribute For the Goddess
Bronwyn Green Mystic Circle
Cindy Spencer Pape Stone and Earth
N.J. Walters Seduction of Shamus O’Rourke
Elyssa Edwards Mating Stone
Amarinda Jones Shades of Gray
Kelly Kirch Time for Love
Anny Cook Honeysuckle

Why you'll never read Murder at Mass

I’ll bet everyone else has been asked this question more times than you can count: How and why did you decide to become a writer?
I don’t think it’s actually a conscious decision I made. I have been a reader all my life, since I could string three words together. My mother and sister were both avid readers, and our house was always jammed with books. My sister was more addicted to mainstream, fiction, but my mother loves mysteries, especially if they had a little romance.
So I grew up reading books by Erle Stanley Gardner and Ellery Queen – God, am I dating myself. LOL! And any mystery writer I could get my hands on. My real hero is a woman named Elizabeth Linington who also wrote as Lesley Egan and Dell Shannon. She passed away at 67 but she wrote nearly a hundred books, police procedurals, all of them with personal stories interwoven and I was just addicted to her. I still have all of her books.
But the more I read, the more I had the desire to create something myself. To put pen to paper-or fingers to keyboard-and see if I could become a story teller, too.
Raising a family and working didn’t really leave me the time I want to write but I kept notebooks filled with ideas, clippings, photos that suggested ideas, all the things that I use today to craft plots. And when my husband and I retired and moved to Texas, I thought surely this was the time. Especially when my husband say, “Okay, quit fooling around. Put your butt in that chair and write.”
I was sure, based on my past reading, that I would write a mystery. I even had it all plotted out and a profile for each of my characters (many of them based on people I’d worked with who I thought deserved to be shot or hanged! LOL!
Well, my dears, talk about hitting a brick wall. I wrote three chapters. Then I rewrote them. Then I rewrote them again. By the time two months had passed I never wanted to see those (expletive deleted) chapters ever again in this life or the next. I was ready to through out both my computer and my fledgling writing career.
Then I read a book, and it’s amazing how one book can change your life. I read CRY NO MORE BY Linda Howard, and lordy, I was off to the races. I discovered that I craved r/s the way ducks crave water. I started looking for similar authors and pretty soon my budget was shot to hell with book buying.
But I finally realized where my heart lay. I sat down and wrote my first manuscript in two weeks. And let me tell you, it was AWFUL!!!! I, of course, thought I’d written a RITA award winner. What a blow to my ego when no on else thought so.
Although I’ve been very fortunate in my career in a short time, I have yet to sell that first effort. It is now going through its 34th rewrite-no joke-because I think I finally get it.
So if you’re stuck at a point in your writing, or wondering if the success fairy will ever visit you, take heart. She’s waiting right around the corner. Just be sure that what you’re right is from your heart because that’s what works the best.
I don’t think you’ll ever see MURDER AT MASS in print but maybe one of these days you’ll see TARGET, my first romantic suspense and the one that led me to write the others.
And by the way, thank you, Linda Howard.
Stay tuned!

Faithful Beginnings

My most recent release was with Total E Bound pulishing and starts a brand new series for me. This is the Debtor's Daughters series and I am really enthusiastic about it. I'm hoping that those who enjoy my contemporary Bare Love series with Ellora's Cave will give this one a chance as well. Faithful Beginnings tells the story of the first daughter and how she escapes what her father has planned for her. Plus you get a look at her father and the question of whether he is good or bad. Sometimes life deals us complications and we have to deal with them as best we can in the moment and pray that help comes when we need it most. So here's your look at Faithful Beginnings by Lacey Thorn. I hope that you enjoy it.

The blurb: Faithful Beginnings
By Lacey Thorn


Faith has spent her life since the age of nine playing the role of mother to her four younger sisters. Now as her twenty first birthday approaches she knows that all of that is about to change. Her father never wanted girls and when her mother died during the birth of yet another daughter, he made a vow. If he had to have daughters then he would use them to get what he wanted most…sons. So on their twenty first birthdays they are to be married off to the man of his choice, whether they like it or not.
But Faith has bigger dreams than spending her life living in the small town community that sees nothing wrong with her father’s dictates. So leaving her sisters behind, she heads down the road, for once more afraid to stay than to face the unknown.
When a thunderstorm sends her into the woods outside town looking for shelter she finds herself in the arms of Jake Daniels. She’s seen him in town a time or two but never really spoken with him. But Jake has been waiting to get her out from under her father’s eyes for years and he is determined to use this chance to show her just how good things could be between them. With a little faith, they can both have everything they want.

Excerpt: Jake Daniels stood in the shadows at the back of the cabin, partially hidden by the armoire that stood next to the office he had just finished working in. He had requested this cabin specifically for the office. He loved the way that the door blended into the wall. If you didn’t know that it was there then you wouldn’t even see it. He’d never been so happy about that before today.
He’d had to blink his eyes several times to make sure that he wasn’t imagining the blonde haired beauty that walked into the cabin. He knew from the immediate hardening of his dick that it was none other than little Faith Coulter. He’d been coming here for years just to get a glimpse of her, which was all that her father allowed. He could understand. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and Jake had seen plenty of women during his travels. But Faith was definitely one of a kind. She was a small woman, standing only five foot one or two, making her at least a foot shorter than his six foot two inch frame. But she had lush curves in all the right places, long blonde curls that swung most often in a ponytail that hung to her perfectly rounded bottom. It was her eyes that got him most. She had the biggest, deepest green eyes he had ever seen. Eyes filled with secrets, fears and, he was damn sure, passion. She was just waiting for the right man to initiate her and Jake had long ago planned to make sure that he was that man. Hell, that was why he was here now.
He had heard through his contact in town that she was to be married soon and that was one thing that he wouldn’t let happen unless he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was what she wanted. Then he had met her fiancé, a man old enough to be her father. The very thought of such a man touching her face, much less her body had set his gut to churning in anger. He almost laughed at the way that fate sometimes delivered what you desired most into your hands.
He had been in the office for the last few hours trying to figure out how to put a plan into motion to kidnap Faith before her wedding. Now he didn’t have to. No, the woman who was constantly on his mind had delivered herself right into his hands. And if his ears didn’t deceive him she was naked in the shower at this moment. He groaned and ran a hand along the rigid length of his denim covered cock. He had exactly one night to convince her that he was the man for her. One night to make sure that she was willing to leave this small town behind and explore the world with him on his boat. All he needed was a little faith. Then nothing else would ever do.
He crept stealthily on bare feet to the door of the bathroom and managed to snag her wet clothes without alerting her to his presence. He took them and her backpack into the office for safe keeping. He didn’t plan on her wearing anything but him for the next few hours. He couldn’t resist the impulse to raise her damp panties to his nose and inhale the scent of her sex. A groan tore from his throat though he tried hard to stifle it. She smelled sweet and hot, like warmed syrup on a cold morning. He planned to sate his hunger for her by eating that tasty pussy until she begged for him to stop. Then he would fuck her until they both screamed from the pleasure. By the time he was done with her she would be more than willing to follow him anywhere. Lord knew he already felt that way about her.
He placed the panties on the top of her pile of clothes and slipped back out of the office making sure to close the door behind him. She’d never find it, or her clothes, until he was ready for her to. The shower was still running and he smiled at how good she would look naked and dripping with water. He’d waited a long time to have his way with Faith and if he was lucky she’d have her way with him as well. If they were both lucky tonight would be only the beginning of the rest of their lives.
He moved one of the chairs from the dining table to the darkest part of the room, blocking the front door and leaving her no where to go but where he wanted her most, the bed. Any minute now his lush angel would walk out that door wondering where her clothes were. And then she’d be his.

I'll be posting an excerpt of Friday's new release with Ellora's Cave next Sunday! It is the newest Bare Love book and I hope that you enjoy it.

Lacey Thorn

It's your world...unlaced

The Crystal

Stepping into the conservatory was like stepping into a damp lush rainforest. Tropical plants abounded. Two bright colored parrots sat in a banana tree and a macaw sat on a rubber plant.

As they walked along the pathway, wide green leaves brushed them. Gabby pointed toward an exotic, spotted flower. “What is that?”

“Spider orchid,” Tamara said, grazing it with her fingertips. “Do you like it?”

“No.”

Tamara laughed, unoffended.

In the center of the conservatory was a shrine-like structure made of smooth gray stones.

Gabby’s pace quickened. She didn’t need to be told what she would find at its center. She could feel it. It drew her, like the smell of baking bread would draw a starving child.

“I’ll leave you alone,” Tamara said quietly.

It’s almost as if she understands the hold the globe has over me. Then all coherent thought fled as Gabby approached the globe, the pull growing stronger, more demanding.

Tamara turned and went back in the house.

Gabby walked as if in a trance. The globe, beginning to glow, beckoned her like a lover. She leaned toward it and reached out her hands. It was warm to the touch, comforting.

Gabby closed her eyes, her thoughts centered inward, as she immersed herself in the feel of it. She threw back her head and arched her neck as warmth crept over her like ocean waves lapping at her feet.

Time had no meaning.

In a dreamlike state, Gabby turned as hands on her arms moved her, strong, gentle hands that pressed her against a hard body, a body that molded to hers as if it were made for her. She could smell the clean scent of shampoo and freshly laundered clothes, mingled with the expensive fragrance of a man’s cologne.

“My love,” she breathed, just before cool thin lips closed over hers, causing her awareness of everything else to sift to the back of her mind like smoke. Conscious only of the mindless pleasure filling her as his mouth moved across her own.

She heard his breath catch, before he murmured, “My darling, I could spend eternity wrapped in your arms, watching the sun come up over the ocean,” against her lips, her closed eyelids, her arched neck.

Eternally Yours:
What could you spend an eternity doing? What is your passion? Your hunger? Your deepest desire? Each day beginning February 5 and running through February 14 one of the ten authors will complete the line, "My darling I could spend eternity…" on either their blog or website.

Collect all ten answers and e-mail them to anny@annycook.com with Eternally Yours in the subject line to win some hot, romantic books.There will be three lucky Valentine winners.

The prizes

1st prize--5 books

2nd prize--3 books

3rd prize--2 books

Entries must be in by February 16 at midnight EST. All books and prize winners will be drawn randomly.List of Authors….Brynn Paulin, Bronwyn Green, Cindy Spencer Pape, Kelly Kirch, Amarinda Jones, Anny Cook, Mona Risk, Sandra Cox, N.J. Walters, and Elyssa Edwards.

Stone of Cruento

You've seen my cover of Prophecy of Vithan

Soon, you will be seeing Stone of Cruento

And I am working on Vials of Aquilonia.

All from http://www.cerridwenpress.com/

and all have women who

"Defeat the Villain, Destroy the Monster, Deliver the Hero and Never Break a Nail"

Charlene Leatherman, www.myspace.com/charleneleatherman, http://www.charleneleatherman.com/, http://www.charleneleatherman.blogspot.com/, and myriad other places on the net.

The Wait is Over

Waiting for the first review of a new release is AnXIety PrODuCIng !

Thankfully, my wait for the first review of Satisfaction Guaranteed is over. I'm totally thrilled with Brenda Talley's review.

Here's a snippet:

"Ms. Isabelle Drake has written a wonderfully upbeat story which was detailed with various sub-plots to enhance the storyline. Her characters were so well created and enjoined that the book flowed brilliantly. Her supporting cast emerged to boost this unique plot. The work and family situations made this a work which expressed alternate activity so that there was great dimension in the book.

"I highly recommend this book to all who like to experience real-life people with a strong attraction which has some great ups and downs. It is a good book which I think you will certainly enjoy and remember for some time to come."

Overall rating: 5 hearts

Sensuality rating: Very sensual

For the full review visit The Romance Studio.

Still no website!

{{{{sigh}}}}

I thought by now I could ask you to check out my website, but alas, it is still not live. My web designer and I finally finished all the necessary info and appearance, I gave him my GoDaddy account information, and I thought we were all ready to go. Then I find out that I bought the wrong kind of GoDaddy account! SHEESH! So I will spend my lunch hour today trying to straighten that out.

Can you tell that I am of the "old school"? I am so ignorant about all this new fangled stuff like websites, MySpace, YouTube, etc. So, that brings up the big question -- why did I go with an e-book publisher?

The answer is simple -- I truly believe it is the future. Although a lot of people still prefer to have an actual book in their hands -- I am one of them! -- many young people today are so used to reading and working on the computer that they would prefer that method. And since I am a fanatical recycler and tree-hugger, it will save a lot of paper. My day job is in the legal profession and although they too are starting to do more court filings via digital methods, we still kill a lot of trees. That movie, The Paper Chase, is true, but in a different sense of the term.

So, here I am -- a child of the 60's -- trying to learn all this new technology. Bear with me and we'll see if you CAN teach this old dog some new tricks.

See you next Wednesday, when I HOPE you can see my new website!
Kate Poole

It's here! Stone and Earth

Available for download NOW from Ellora's Cave:

Blurb:
Gargoyle Damien St. Pierre has to find an ancient artifact needed by his people. When he meets Earth witch Katie Calhoun, he can’t keep his hands off of her. Because of the problems his people are having, Damien is afraid to attempt the conversion necessary to make her his mate. But Katie is determined to help him in his quest and to become the gargoyle of his dreams. Can her faith overcome his fear? Will the magic of love succeed in the mating of Stone and Earth?

Excerpt (PG):
“Well, do you think we can make it all the way off the roof this time?” They lay on their sides on the lounge, facing each other and fighting for breath.

“Umm-hmm. Assuming I can manage to stand.” Katie raised a hand to caress the rugged line of Damien’s jaw. “How about you?”

“If there’s any possibility of a snack down there, I think I can convince the muscles to work.” Damien toyed idly with the ends of Katie’s hair. His stomach rumbled loudly, punctuating his response.

“Well if gargoyles don’t mind grilled cheese or tomato soup, I think we can arrange that.”

“Sounds fine to me. And no, we don’t eat gravel or sand, or anything like that.” He stretched then clambered to his feet before reaching out a hand to help Katie off the lounge. They gathered her basket and his clothing then turned off the hot tub and the lights before descending the staircase.

Once they reached the kitchen, Katie drew her loose cotton robe out of her basket and slipped it over her head while Damien pulled on a pair of supple black leather pants. He set the matching heavy boots and bomber jacket aside while she turned to the refrigerator.

“Do you have a motorcycle?” The thought of him riding a big powerful bike was unexpectedly exciting. In the bright light of the kitchen he was even more handsome. He stood easily over six and a half feet tall, with thick-lashed gray eyes and silky straight black hair that fell loose to his shoulders. His face was a sculptor’s masterpiece, all sharp angles and long lines. The smooth planes of his chest and abs were positively mouthwatering and it took a great deal of effort to make herself look away.

“Oui.” Without another word he moved around the counter and almost automatically began to help her assemble the sandwiches. Their motions fell into an instant, easy harmony.

“Will you take me riding?” Katie finished slicing the homemade bread and began to coat the slices with butter.

“As soon as we get you a helmet.” He topped the slices of bread with thick slabs of cheddar and provolone.

His instinctive protectiveness made her smile. “Do gargoyles need helmets?”

What is romance?

We read romance. We write romance. People say they love romance. But what IS romance> What is it really?

Is it a room filled with flickering, candles whose scent fills the air with a tantalizing aroma? Is it soft music in the background, win chilling in the cooler, Godiva chocolates open on the bedside table? Is it a night at a fabulous resort overlooking the water with the man of your dreams?

Romance is all this and more. In the books we read and write we incorporate all of these things to create an atmosphere, an ambience, for seduction, for sensuality, for the emergence of love? Silky negligees – or no negligee!! – and flower petal strewn across the bed –hopefully with the thorns removed! It’s all of these – a ride in a horse drawn carriage. A sail into the wind with the sun kissing your skin and strong arms holding you.

But romance is a lot more. Here he is, your wonderful (boy friend, fiancé, husband, partner-pick one) and you wonder if the romance is still in your life. Well, honey, if he does the little things you can bet it does.

What little things you say? How about a foot rub when you’ve walked ten miles at an event for your kids? Or your boss/customer gave you the biggest migraine and your honey runs a hot bath for you, draws a hot tub, and when you’re in bed massages your temples and rubs your neck. Or he makes that trip to the grocery store in the pouring rain for the necessities you suddenly ran out of, and comes back with flowers and a candy bar for along with them. It’s holding your head when you’re sick and your hand when you’re scared.

It’s sitting out under the stars in your own back yard, cuddled together and knowing that the safest place in the world to be is with the person next to you. It’s holidays and special days, smiles in the morning when you hate to get up and at night when the day has just sucked.

And most of all, it’s knowing that at the end of the day, no matter how bad things have been, there’s one person who wraps his arms around you, kisses you with the same passion you had in the frantic early days, and tells you “I love you.” And means it.

Urban Legends...more to the story

What makes a book a winner? What is is that calls to the reader and screams "buy me"? I'm not sure if it is the cover, the blurb or maybe a great review. So I'm going to share all three with you today on a book that seems to have been lost in the holiday shuffel. It is One Good Man by Lacey Thorn and Cindy Spencer Pape. The cover is amazing. But then the hard working crew at Ellora's Cave never fails to amaze me with their awesome covers. This book was a labor of love for Cindy and I and hopefully, will prove to be the first of many books that we co-write. We work well together and our styles mesh well. She is a pleasure to work with and someone I feel will be a life long friend. But today I want to tell you more about One Good Man.
The blurb: One Good Man
Lacey Thorn and Cindy Spencer Pape

One of the most enduring of all urban legends is the story of the phantom hitchhiker. Young or old, male or female, in need of help or just needing a ride, the legends vary. A helpful driver offers a ride and the passenger gives directions. When they arrive at the destination however, the driver discovers the passenger has vanished, sometimes leaving behind a piece of clothing or some other memento to mark his or her passing. A stormy night, a deserted country road, a blown tire, and a woman on the run from a killer. Is the handsome young Marine here to save her? Or is he just a figment of her imagination?
Casey is caught between a murderer, a ghost and the wounded soldier who could either save her life or break her heart. Grant can deal with Thanksgiving snowstorms and determined killers but not his brother’s ghost, and not a woman who makes him start thinking about the future. Can Grant let go of the past to embrace the explosive passion he finds with Casey? He’s willing to risk his life for hers, but what about his heart?
How about an excerpt?
Excerpt for One Good Man

Casey jumped out of bed suddenly deciding that she needed the comfort of her own clothes on instead of Grant’s shirt and her panties. She was just bending over to pick up her stuff when she heard a deep groan from behind her. She turned and there was Grant filling the doorway with his big frame. His gaze zeroed in on her breasts and she blushed even as she felt her nipples harden and press against the cotton of his shirt. Her gaze dropped to his jeans and there was no missing the prominent bulge behind the fly of his Levis.
He started toward her and she noticed the glass of water in his hand. It was a paper cup she seemed to recall from the bathroom which explained why he was back so quickly. He stopped when he was in front of her, so close that she could feel the heat radiating from him.
“Drink,” he grunted and she grasped the cup and carried it to her mouth. She almost dropped it when she felt his knuckles graze the tips of her breasts. She did drop it when he pinched both nipples and pulled on them.
Casey moaned as the sensation speared her from breasts to belly and all the way down. God she wanted him.
“Damn,” she heard him mutter before he locked gazes with her and stated bluntly, “I want you Casey. I want to throw you across my bed and take you hard.”
Casey shivered with her own carnal need. It had been a long time and something about Grant increased her need, her hunger. “What’s stopping you?” she tossed out before sitting on the bed and reclining back on her elbows. Her knees draped over the side and he spread them wide with his body when he stepped between them.
“I don’t like people wearing my stuff Casey,” Grant stated matter-of-factly nodding at his shirt plastered against her chest. Since he’d already said he didn’t care, she recognized the command as purely sexual. “Take it off.”
Casey couldn’t stop the grin that tugged at her lips as she caught the hem and pulled the shirt up and over her head. She tossed it behind her and leaned back once more letting him look his fill of her breasts. She could tell he liked them by the lust that flared in his eyes.
“Now the panties,” Grant ordered.
“Are they yours too?” Casey said with a laugh that made him growl. She reached down and eased the bikinis over her hips and down her legs hooking them on one foot before extending it out to Grant as an offering.
Grant took the panties and she gasped when he carried them up to his face and inhaled deeply. It was more erotic than she would have ever imagined to see him breathing holding her arousal soaked undies to his nose. She rubbed her legs together feeling more moisture seep from her slit to coat her thighs.
“Open your legs and show me how much you want me.” He stuffed the undies into his front pocket then proceeded to unbutton the dark flannel shirt he was wearing.
She spread her legs wide and lay back on the bed enjoying the view just as much as his expression said that he was. He had a deep grey thermal shirt under the flannel that made his eyes appear almost silver in the soft light. She brought her hands up to her breasts and pinched lightly at her nipples making them both groan. He pulled the thermal up and over his chest and Casey shivered at the sight of his naked chest covered in a light peppering of blondish brown hair that thickened in a line from belly to the top of his jeans. She knew it was pointing the way to the Promised Land.
“We’re still going to talk later, Casey.” Grant flicked open the top snap on his jeans. “You’re not going to leave ‘til I get some damn answers.”
“Whatever you say.” Casey was willing to agree to anything as she watched his hand finally reach for the zipper and pull it down.

And now for that awesome review!
http://joyfullyreviewed.com/reviews/RRs/Jan08RR/OneGoodMan.CSPLT.html

One Good Man was heartbreakingly wonderful. Cindy Spencer Pape & Lacey Thorn pulled my emotions through the ringer. []I am Joyfully Recommending that everyone pick up One Good Man.



Follow the link for the entire review. Cindy and I were so excited that Jambrea Joyfully Recommended One Good Man.
I hope that you give this great book a chance. We are already working on our follow up to this legend!

Lacey Thorn
Your world...unlaced.

Ground Hog Day with Anita Birt

February 2nd is my birthday and I'm celebrating to-day. I think it was Lady Astor who once remarked. "Never ask a lady her age." So don't because I won't tell. I've had lots of flowers from family. One looks like a cake and has five candles on top. Rows and rows of different flowers build the the "cake." It's really unusual.

Back to this business of writing. I wrote a sharp little note to The National Post, a major Canadian newspaper, regarding an article that appeared on Wednesday where the words "trashy romance," were used to make a point. It's up to we romance authors to raise our voices or send off words when our writing is called trash. I'm so sick of "body rippers" used to denigrate our writings. So do as I did and take up the sword and take a swing at the offenders.

For goddesses who want to read what I wrote on my blog on December 30th, go to www.anitabirtstoryteller.blogspot.com It should have gone on the goddess blog and I think it's worth a look. I'm to blog every Friday in February. But before I leave this happy place I'm posting my covers. I have a new one for my romantic suspense, Too Young To Die but it's not approved for viewing yet.

Enjoy,
Anita
www.anitabirt.com
www.anitabirtstoryteller.blogspot.com

Missing message

I wrote a big blog yesterday and it's not here! I should have blogged on January 30 and blogged on January 31 instead. What happened to it? So here I am on the first Friday in February and will celebrate with you every following Friday during February.

On February 1st, 2007 my historical romance, A Very Difficult Man, was released. I would print the blub and an excerpt but if I leave the blog I'll mess everything up. I live in hope that my book will appear in print sooner rather than later. I thought we could expect a print version within six months of release but this hasn't happened.

My hero, Lord Glenmore was seriously wounded during the Crimean War. His right leg was amputated below the knee and his eyes were affected. When the Light Cavalry was ordered to charge into the "valley of death"with Russian guns sending hundreds of troopers to their deaths, Lord Glenmore's horse was shot out under him. A young trooper riding close by had his head blown off and blood spurted my hero's eyes. Traumatized, he returned home and lived like a recluse in the family mansion until ... his mother, engaged a young lady to act as his companion. That's when the sparks flews. To learn more, purchase my book. Celebrate with me.

www.anitabirt.com
www.anitabirtstoryteller.blogspot.com