I'll be releasing my 1950s novella, Letters to Laura, in January (unless anything changes), and I recently shared the cover. Now, i want to share a brief excerpt, and I welcome your feedback!
Laura squeezed his hands. “Don’t make me come after you.”
He smiled crookedly. “I don’t think you could get across enemy lines.”
She shook her head almost violently. “I would do whatever it took to find you.”
His eyes glistened. “You know, I really do believe that, but for now,” he leaned in and kissed her once, twice, “all you have to do is think of me. That’ll be enough to make sure that bus brings me back in one piece.”
Laura sucked in a sharp breath. “Don’t talk like that, Mark.” She clung to him, desperation making her knees weak. “I’ve loved you for so long, I can’t imagine what my life would be like without you. I don’t want to imagine it.” She wrapped her arms around his neck just as a whistle sounded behind them.
“That’s my call,” he whispered in her ear.
She didn’t release him. “Remember that I love you.”
He caressed her back through the thin material of her white blouse. “That’s not something I could forget.” He pulled back, loosening her arms from around his neck. “Take care of yourself, sweetheart.”
He looked deeply into her eyes, and Laura knew he was memorizing her face. Hopefully, the memory would carry him through the dark days ahead. She doubted the mere recall of his touch would suffice for her.
Their lips met again, this time more intensely, and heart beat against heart.
With trembling fingers, she tucked a folded piece of paper into the front pocket of his shirt. He looked down as she patted the material. “What’s this?”
“Just something to read later.”
“Hey, buddy. You need to get on board, or this bus is leaving without you,” the driver shouted.
With a reluctance Laura parroted, Mark stepped back away from her, his hand still holding hers. “I’ll write.”
She didn’t trust her voice to speak so she nodded again, holding onto the last piece of him as he backed toward the bus. He stopped when only their fingertips touched.
“I love you, Laura Madison. Never doubt that.”
When his hand fell away, tears filled her eyes, clouding her vision. She didn’t see him climb onto the bus or make his way to his seat. But he lowered the window quickly and called her name again.
She raced toward the window and held up her hand. He touched her fingers again as the engine revved, and the bus began to chug forward. She stood in the same spot, hand raised, watching the dingy white bus roll away from the curb, kicking up dirt before it rumbled out of sight. And the sun had set low in the sky before she finally turned and walked home.
After the first of the year, I'm releasing a 1950s novella, Letters to Laura. This was originally entitled Promises to Laura, and I released it under a pen name back in 2014. By the time I'm finished with it, it will have been completely rewritten and expanded so I changed the title. If you read Promises to Laura, this is altogether a different book with only the same premise.
I decided Promises to Laura was too short and ended too abruptly. Plus, my writing has changed since 2014 so I wanted to improve upon this novella which I still love. I'll choose a release date soon, but the cover is all ready. Please let me know what you think!
Are you following me on Instagram? On Twitter? If not, now is the time to do it as I'm starting some giveaways just in time for the holidays! What kind of giveaways? Glad you asked!
Yes, I could give away books, and that may be included, but I know the holidays can be a rough time for people financially. So I'm going to be giving away gift cards for online shopping, gas cards, and even straight up cash through Venmo.
You must be following me on at least one of the platforms above as that is where I'll be holding the giveaways! So what are you waiting for? Go follow me!!
This is the first scene in my new YA Fantasy novel, Holding Forgotten Stars. Thanks for reading!
I’m not cut out to live a life of mediocrity, but that’s what people live here in Northrock, South Carolina. Population 692. And like most things, it rarely changes. It seems as soon as a baby is born, someone dies. No one ever leaves, either. Everyone has just settled here because they’re stuck. The fifty-foot fence surrounding our town keeps us all caged inside. And, to my knowledge, no one has ever tried to find a way out.
But I will. In less than two years, I’ll graduate from high school, and that’s when my life will really start. I know it’ll break my parents’ heart, but I want to see the world. Maybe I’ll drive to Yellowstone and take hundreds of pictures, take a bus to San Francisco and hop on one of those trolleys, and go hiking in the Yosemite and see the Giant Sequoias.
Right now, these are just places I’d read about in our history books and in our one school’s encyclopedia. But they looked magical, and the day I get my high school diploma, I’m taking off. Provided, of course, I can make enough money at my job to buy a car. I don’t earn a lot at Icy Dream, but Dad promised he’d match whatever I made at the ice cream shop so that I could buy a car before my senior year. He doesn’t know I’ll be using it to leave, though.
That’s the plan anyway, but not one person in Northrock has ever seen the fence open. Supposedly, it’s meant to protect us. From what, I don’t know, but I can’t imagine anything beyond it that’s worse than being trapped like an animal.
Before I make my big getaway, I’m going to test the waters, see if anyone is willing to help me find a way out of Northrock. It’s not a plan my parents are going to go for. I know that already, but at least it’ll get us talking about the fence and how someone can leave if they want to. We’ve never talked about that. I don’t think anyone has. It’s just assumed that we’ll all stay here and live happily ever after.
“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Sammie has been my best friend since the first grade. We never go a day without seeing one another even if we’ve had a fight.
She tugs one of my brown curls and plops next to me on the edge of the creek, dangling her long, pale legs deep into the water. She kicks them back and forth while waiting for my reply.
But I really don’t need to answer her. She already knows. Sammie’s the only one who knows how badly I want to leave Northrock. And while she tries to understand, she just doesn’t. She’s happy here with her boyfriend, Evan, and her parents and sister. All she wants to do is get married and have kids of her own. And she can do that living right here.
She sighs. “You gotta get your nose out of those encyclopedias.”
“I can’t, Sammie. The pictures are so beautiful I can almost reach out and touch those places. You know,” I scoot around so I can face her, drawing one leg up onto the grass, “in those national parks, they have pictures of the sky, and the stars look like diamonds on a black sheet. They’re so big, and I wonder if you could actually touch them.”
Sammie snorts. “Touch a star. You’re dancing outside reality as grandma says.”
I grin. Sammie’s grandmother always brings a smile to my face even if she isn’t present. She just has a way about her that makes everything seem okay. “Yeah, well, even Grammie Maggie probably wouldn’t mind catching a look at those stars. She spends a lot of time in her backyard looking up at the sky.”
“She misses Grampa.” Sammie pulls her feet up and shakes the water off them.
“What are you doing for your history project?”
“Mrs. Fielders just assigned it today.”
“I’m going to do mine on Theodore Roosevelt.”
My nose wrinkles. “Like that’s never been done before. I want to do something different. Maybe I’ll write about the history of one of the parks.”
“You and those parks.” She jumps to her feet and swipes the leaves off the back of her Jordache jeans. “We’d better get back. The festival starts in a couple of hours.”
Regretfully, I stand, but I don’t immediately turn around. The sun glints off the cool waters of the creek, and I wish I could stay put a little while longer.
Sammie hooks her arm through mine. “Let’s go. You’ve got ice cream to dip.”
I nudge her in the side with my elbow. “Not for two hours yet, and I can’t believe I have to work during the festival.”
“Only for the first hour, though, right? I want to ride the Ferris Wheel, and Evan’s too chicken.”
“Yeah, only for the first hour.”
Our tennis shoes scuffle against the dried leaves as we make our way through the woods and back onto the main road that leads into town. Not that there’s much to it, though.
We don’t have shopping malls or theaters here. It’s just a grocery store, some drive-thru restaurants, one steakhouse, a couple of diners, and a big discount store where everyone shops for school clothes. Nothing like what I’ve read about in other towns and cities across the world.
As we reach the asphalt, I look back over my shoulder at the trees now obscuring the creek. One day, I’m going to leave all of this behind for good. That’s a promise I make to myself every day.
It's not easy admitting when you've made a mistake, especially when it's one that has cost someone either money, time, or something equally important. While some mistakes can be fixed, others cause damage that cannot. I've made those kinds of mistakes and still spent an inordinant amount of time trying to fix them to no avail. What I should have done was owned up to my mistakes and tried to be better and do better from that point forward. You would think I would have learned from, well, my own mistakes.
I recently made a horrible mistake that could not be corrected. I tried to figure out what had gone wrong, how I could have made such a blunder. In the end, I did have to own up to it, admit that I'd made the mistake, apologize, and offer some potential resolutions, none of which eradicated my wrongdoing. This mistake could have been averted if I had simply paid more attention to what I was doing. But I was distracted and in a hurry, and the end result was that someone was greatly affected by my mistake.
My apology doesn't change anything. My admitting that I had done wrong didn't take away the sting of what I had done. But it did tell that person that I wasn't trying to hide from my mistakes. As an adult, I owned it.
I don't know if the person my mistake hurt will forgive me yet. I don't know how this will affect our working relationship, but I do know that I've done what I am supposed to do in instances like this. What I should do every time I find myself in a situation like this. But noone likes to admit when they're wrong. I'm definitely one of those people!
For the fourth of July, I took a short vacation to Bryson City, NC to ride on the Great Smoky Mountain Railroad in an old steam engine. This was something I'd always wanted to do, and since I'm not getting any younger, now was the time. And it was incredible. Below are just a few of the pictures I took.
I also spent some time in Cherokee, NC, which wasn't as exciting as I'd hoped. It does have Hannah's Casino there, but it was so massive my friends and I got lost trying to find our way back to the car! The picture below only shows one small portion of the casino. It had a capacity for 15,000 people, and it felt like at least 10,000 were there!
We also did some shopping in the small shops in Bryson City and a couple of the towns before reaching Cherokee. Cherokee mostly had souvenir stuff like t-shirts and keychains, although it also had Native American shops which sold handmade dreamcatchers (I had to get one for my sister), moccasins, leather pouches, and more.
But Bryson City had a plethora of stores with practically anything you were looking for. Their fudge was to die for. Cherokee did have a small fudge shop that was just as good, too. So we made sure to stock up on that. Overall, thought altogether too brief, this was an amazing trip. If you haven't ridden the railways, it's something to consider for you next vacation!
When The Offer, the limited series based on the making of The Godfather, first premiered, I wasn't sure it was something I wanted to watch. I made it through thirty minutes of the first episode then stopped. Maybe I was too distracted or I just wasn't feeling it that night. Three weeks later, I came back and had several episodes to binge. And once I started, I didn't want to stop.
I'm used to watching action movies or fantasy and paranormal. Rarely do I watch movies because I've been hooked by the actors. But that is exactly what happened with The Offer.
Matthew Goode (A Discovery of Witches and Downton Abbey) and Giovanni Ribisi (Avatar) were two of the stand out actors in this series for me. Goode is a British actor who had to step outside his comfort zone to portray the Senior Vice President of Paramount Pictures, Robert Evans. And he did it. His voice, his look, and even his walk were vastly different than anything I'd ever seen him in, and his acting kept me riveted to the screen.
Giovanni Ribisi portrayed Joe Columbo, the gangster who was the head of a crime family. Ribisi had to gain forty-five pounds for the part and shave his head so he could wear a thinning hair piece. He had to change his voice as well, and had I not looked up who all the actors were, I wouldn't have known which part Ribisi was playing. I could not tell who he was, and that's a good thing.
This isn't a series that you have playing in the background while you're doing something else. It's the type that grabs you and won't let go. A lot like The West Wing did so many years ago. The Offer is engrossing, and I'm going to be sad when I've finished watching it for the second time because I'll know there's no more goodness to return to.
The Emmy nominations will be announced next month, and I can only hope that this series and its many characters make the list. It would be a shame not to see all of this creation go unrewarded.
If you haven't watched it yet, do yourself a favor and add this series to your must-be-seen list. You won't regret it!
Just a note: The Offer does contain explicit language and violence.
I'm on Twitter frequently, and I see so many writers still trying to finish writing their first book or trying to find a publisher for a completed book. And though they try to stay positive, occasionally, they reach out to other authors on Twitter because they need a lift, someone to say "It's okay. You're going to make it."
That's a feeling I certainly understand as years ago, I remember wanting to quit. And this was way, way before the internet when I was still having to send 300 page manuscripts through the mail. (Those postage fees were exorbitant even back in those days!) I didn't think I could take one more setback, whether it was a rejection or my printer breaking. Years later, when I was finally able to look back and had added a few more birthdays, I came to a realization.
Those weren't the worst days. What I mean is that I had a habit of thinking something was "the worst." My manuscript never reaching the publisher was the worst thing ever. That third rejection was the worst. Feeling like I couldn't write was the worst. And the list goes on.
Since that time, so much has happened in my life that could classify as worse than getting a rejection. There have been job losses, accidents, disabilities, and chronic pain. I've lost people I loved. I've had my heart broken. I've had multiple surgeries, held off someone trying to kick in the front door of my house, and have faced decisions that had more far-reaching consequences than what publisher I chose to send my next book to.
This doesn't mean my feelings at the time weren't valid. They were, but, now, years later, I can put them into perspective and see that those times were just stepping stones to get me to where I was supposed to be. And that's the piece of advice I want to leave with you today. The rejections, the difficulties, the successes, the lifts, they're all stepping stones to get you to where you are supposed to be.
So when you get the next rejection in your email or you don't win the contest you were desperately hoping to win, see that stone and know that you're moving one step closer to where your journey in this life is taking you. Success comes in many forms, and I hope you'll see that by working toward your goals, you are already successful.
This book is almost ready to make its debut, but before I send it out into the cold, wide world, I would love some feedback! So here is the first chapter. You can comment on this post, comment on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, or anywhere else you follow me! Thanks in advance!
Ghosts couldn’t fall in love…could they?
I didn’t have an answer, but if love did exist for those of us in the plane between life and death, I certainly couldn’t be blamed since the man who’d moved into the house I currently haunted could make a blind woman beg for mercy. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t love as much as it was lust. No could blame me for those feelings, either, considering how long I’d been dead.
I studied the new tenant with more interest than I’d ever shown a man when I was alive. He wasn’t supposed to be here, but I might have known old lady Marley would eventually find a renter I couldn’t scare the pants off. In the seven years since I’d died, I’d managed to make three couples and a burly guy who thought he was hallucinating break their leases. This guy didn’t look like he was scared of much…even ghosts.
It wasn’t my fault that I was one of those. I certainly didn’t ask to be killed, and if I had my options, I would have already moved into the light, if such a thing existed. Okay, maybe I would have gone in that direction before I met this new tenant.
Mac Reynolds. Even the name sounded masculine and made me tingly in places that shouldn’t be tingling considering I had no corporeal form. Well, actually, I could take form. Just not for very long. I’d been practicing—there wasn’t a lot to do when you’re dead—and I’d actually managed to stay virtually alive for close to two hours a few weeks ago. But if I had any chance of catching Mac’s eye, I’d have to manage a lot longer than that, although I wasn’t quite sure what my plan was after that.
The front door slammed, and I adjusted my position on the sofa to catch a full-on glimpse of him in his workout gear. He’d just come home from the gym, and the combination of sweat and just pure male made my mouth water. Well, maybe not technically, but I did still remember what that feeling was like.
Mac headed to the fridge and snagged a beer, twisting off the top with one flick of his wrist. He downed almost half the bottle in one gulp and released a relieved sigh. I watched a trickle of condensation run down the side of the ale, and I decided I needed to figure out how to be a human again for a lot longer. As I dreamily considered that option, I leaned back against the sofa with my legs crossed and my eyes closed. They popped right back open when Mac almost shouted.
“Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?”
And I realized he was looking right at me. In my positively euphoric state, I’d gone corporeal.
As Mac continued to stare at me, his dark blue eyes doused with anger, I got to my feet and smoothed one hand down the front of my jeans. Were they still in style? I didn’t even know what women these days were wearing. I wish I could change clothes, but that was yet another option not afforded to the dead.
“You haven’t answered my question, lady, and I’m about ten seconds away from calling the cops.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and waved it at me to add to the threat.
I liked his deep voice, but now wasn’t the time to appreciate any of his attributes. I summoned a smile. “I’m Nicole, but most of my friends call me Nikki.”
My perky response didn’t erase the displeasure from Mac’s face.
I tried another tactic. “I used to live here.”
“And what? You missed the place so much you figured you’d just swing back by for a visit?” The disbelief in his tone annoyed me.
“That’s it. Your ten seconds are up.” Mac punched in the security code for his phone then looked up at me. “Well? Are you going to leave, or do I have to make this call?”
I wasn’t too worried about the threat of police involvement. They couldn’t take me out of the house, and once I disappeared in front of them, the entire town of Bellknap, North Carolina would be abuzz.
“Calling the police won’t help.” I might as well lay all my cards on the table.
Mac arched an eyebrow over those delicious eyes. “Really? And why is that? Is your brother on the force?”
I closed my eyes, relinquished my energy, and faded into the nothingness where I normally existed.
A strangled sound came from Mac. “What the…? What are you?”
“I’m a ghost.” No need hiding from the truth, especially since I would fade in front of him eventually anyway.
“Yeah. Right. Okay, lady. Whatever parlor tricks you’re playing, I’m not interested. Now get out of my house.”
I solidified once more and aimed a glare his way. “If I could leave, don’t you think I would have by now? Do you know how many people I’ve had to live with over the past seven years? The last guy was the worst. The man had the manners of a pig.” I shuddered at the memory.
Mac continued to stare at me, his expression a mutation of curiosity and disbelief. “You actually expect me to believe you’re a ghost?”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Google me. My name’s Nicole Madison, and my death was all over the news after it happened. This is where my body was found which, I imagine, is why I can’t leave. Believe me, it’s not been a picnic for me.” Not until you moved in at least. I kept that tidbit to myself. I doubted the man would want to know a dead woman was lusting after him.
Mac took a stumbling step toward the sofa and collapsed. “You’re a ghost?”
“I can see I’m going to have to drill that in your head so the answer is yes. I float, I walk through walls, and I can fade out at will. As for the things I can’t do, well, those are really some bites in the shorts. No food. No water. No running outside, nothing. And I used to jog every morning before work. And before you ask, I don’t say ‘boo,’ and I don’t float around wearing a sheet. I look like this most of the time. Well, at least when I’m corporeal.”
The look on Mac’s face had segued to curiosity. I was impressed he hadn’t fled the house screaming when he realized I was telling the truth. “Huh.” More studying followed before he asked the inevitable question. “So what happened to you?”
“Shot by my stepfather.” I held up one hand to silence his questions before they could begin. “Long story. Like I said, you can read all about it on the internet. He’s in prison, but I’m still dead. He only got convicted for involuntary manslaughter.” I shook my head so hard, some of my red curls escaped the tie at the nape of my neck. “Honestly, it still burns my biscuits to this day. He and his fast-talking lawyers just reeled that judge in like he was a prime catfish. He should have gone down for murder, but since I wasn’t around to defend myself, Stan said I’d attacked him, and he’d defended himself. As if. The guy is the size of a grizzly.”
Mac crossed one leg over his knee. “I thought ghosts were supposed to move on once their killers were found.”
“Watch a lot of television, do you?” I expected more from him than the usual stereotypical stuff. I couldn’t imagine why, though. I didn’t know him anymore than I knew any of the other seven people who’d been residents of this house. But he just looked like one of those guys who helped old ladies across the street and opened car doors for women—chivalrous. That would be the best way to describe him.
Of course, before I’d passed from the mortal coil, I’d though the same thing. So I shouldn’t blame him for thinking I should have left once Stan had been in handcuffs.
“I do a lot of reading,” Mac countered, forgetting all about the beer he’d plopped down on the coffee table. “So why haven’t you moved on?”
“How should I know? It’s not like we get a ghost manual, you know. I just haven’t gone anywhere.”
Mac seemed to ponder the situation, looking from me then back to the door. I wondered if he was thinking about leaving now that he knew he had a roommate. “Are there others here inside the house?”
“No. Since it was just me and dear old Stan here when he shot me, I get to be all by myself in the house.”
“Other ghosts can’t come to visit?”
Was he mocking me? I glared back at him. “You think this is funny, don’t you?”
He stood and surveyed me with a strange look on his face. “It has to be because, otherwise, I’m losing my mind.”
“So you really don’t believe me?” I moved forward so fast he didn’t see me and kicked his shin.
“Ow!” He danced back on one leg. “What’s the matter with you?”
“With me? Oh, nothing that a pulse couldn’t cure!” My phantom blood boiled. “I’m telling you I’m dead, and you think it’s some kind of a joke? Or that you’ve gone off the deep end? How about a little less focus on you and more on me?”
“Hey.” Mac reached for his beer and downed another couple of swigs. I wondered if it was to steady his nerves. “I’m sorry if it’s taking me longer than you’d like to come to terms with this, but no one, and I mean no one, I know has ever seen a ghost except for maybe those paranormal investigators on tv. This just sounds a lot like Beetlejuice.”
“Well, whatever you saw obviously isn’t the truth.”
“Not necessarily. That couple couldn’t leave their house, either.”
I thought about kicking him again, but a loud rap on the door made Mac jump and me fade.
“Where did you go?” He turned around in a circle, one hand sweeping the air as though I was invisible instead of ethereal.
The pounding on the door continued.
“I’m right here.” I tried to solidify again without luck. I did manage to make my voice heard. “I can’t come back just yet.”
Mac headed to the door. “Why not?” His whisper wasn’t really a whisper.
“I don’t know. I guess I got scared.”
He gave a bark of laughter I didn’t appreciate. “A scared ghost. There’s a new one.” Before I could answer, he yanked open the door, making me more than a little relieved I had disappeared.
On the other side stood my old landlord. Mrs. Marley. Sweet as she could be but nosier than a handful of busybodies at a church social.
“Hello, dear. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by to see how things were going.” Her face wreathed in wrinkles, she beamed up at him before shifting to the right in an attempt to see around him to the interior of the house. “It doesn’t look like you’re fully moved in yet. Do you need some help? I’d be happy to lend a hand unpacking. My husband, may he rest in peace, used to call me a master mover.”
Mac tossed a look over his shoulder before responding. “I appreciate that, but I like to take my time unpacking so I can put everything where it needs to go. Thanks for stopping by, though.”
“No bother at all. I was hoping you might like to stop over for some dinner this evening. I’m making lasagna, and that is one of my best dishes, according to the members of my church. But I don’t like to brag.”
“Well, thank you, but I had a really late lunch so I can’t imagine I’ll be hungry anytime soon. I hate to cut this short, but I’m right in the middle of something right now so if you’ll excuse me…” He tried to shut the door, but Mrs. Marley wedged her pudgy foot in the opening.
“Well, I do have to admit I have an ulterior motive for just popping by besides just asking you over for dinner.” Carrying a purse the size of Rhode Island, she steamrolled into the house, bumping Mac out of the way with her hip.
Grimacing, he kicked the door shut, his gaze drifting upwards. I guess he thought ghosts hovered near the ceiling. I thought about trying to poke him just to assure him I was still in the general area.
Mac cleared his throat and led the way into the living room. “So what can I do for you, Mrs. Marley?”
She sat down on the couch and folded her hands in her lap, the very picture of primness. “Actually, it’s what I can do for you.” Her eyes twinkled, and I didn’t need to guess what was coming. I recognized that look, had seen it more times than I could count in my grandmother’s eyes.
Mrs. Marley had a relative who needed a date, and Mac was about to be up for auction.
“So, my niece will be in town this week, and she doesn’t really know much of the area. I was hoping you would consider showing her around. She really is a lovely girl. I’m surprised she hasn’t already found a husband by now, but you know how that goes. At any rate, she’ll be arriving on Tuesday. Now, I know you work, and I’ve already told her that, but I suggested maybe a drive after work on Tuesday and then the two of you could take it from here.” She beamed, and the overhead light glinted off her snowy-white dentures.
“I appreciate you thinking of me, Mrs. Marley. I really do, but my schedule is so full for the next two weeks that I can’t squeeze one more thing in. That’s to my regret, of course, because I’m sure if your niece looks anything like you, she’s a real stunner.” He winked, and my former landlady coughed and clutched the locket dangling from a thick, gold chain.
“Well, that is about the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”
I had to give Mac credit. He ushered her out of the house faster than I ever could. And the woman wasn’t irritated about leaving. Of course, the liberal amount of charm he’d poured on, coupled with the toe-curling winks had a lot to do with keeping her in a good mood. By the time she lugged her purse to the door, her cheeks were flushed bright red, and she was fanning herself with one hand while promising to contact him when her niece returned to town.
When the door closed behind her departing figure, I rematerialized and gave Mac a round of applause. “Well done. But you might regret not meeting her niece. She could be the love of your life.”
“Please. I knew the second she mentioned what she could do for me that she had an eye on matchmaking, and that’s not a career too many people have the aptitude for. And blind dates aren’t my thing.”
“Still, maybe you should have given it a chance.” I shrugged while wondering why I was trying to shove him in the direction of this woman I didn’t know.
“I’ll pass. I’ve never been big on the whole “soulmate” thing.” He ran a hand through his hair and slid a glance at me. “So why do you think you hang around here?”
Now we were back to him asking me questions I couldn’t answer. “Maybe I like it here.”
He frowned. “Really?”
“No, not really.” Irritation stabbed each syllable. “I have no idea why I’m still here. It obviously has nothing to do with my killer being caught.”
I plopped down on Mac’s sofa, smoothing my hands over the thick, blue cushions. I liked how it felt against my skin, but the iridescence of my fingers let me know I wouldn’t be feeling it much longer which was disappointing. I wanted to continue talking to Mac. About anything. And everything.
He took a seat on the arm of the sofa. “What are we going to do about you?”
“Do about me? I’m not an abandoned pet.” I straightened. “For now, just think of me as part of the furniture.” I patted a cushion. “Like this couch.”
Now I had his full attention. He even leaned in closer, his eyes focused solely on mine. “Yeah, that’s not going to work for me.”
“Why not?” The sensation of floating distracted me. I was seconds away from vanishing.
“Because if I actually had a sofa that looked like you, I’d never leave it.”
His words brought a smile to my face, but he couldn’t see it for I’d already disappeared.
And I was back in the abyss where I could see everything going on around me, but no one could see me. At least no one alive.
“Are you still here?” Mac reached out as though he could touch me.
Now that I had exhausted my energy reserves, I couldn’t even talk to him. So I didn’t have a way to tell him I hadn’t gone away…at least not my spirit anyway. I’d have to remember to tell him next time he could see me. When that would be, I didn’t know. This was the first time I’d stayed corporeal for longer than ten minutes since I’d managed the two-hour bit. That one had really drained me. I couldn’t return to the mortal world for close to two weeks afterwards.
My spirits sank. If it took me that long this time, Mac could think he’d dreamed this entire encounter.
“Do you know when you’ll be back?” He tugged at the bottom of his shirt and began lifting it over his head then stopped. “Are you watching me right now? How am I supposed to know this stuff?”
Then, with a shrug, he yanked the shirt over his head and carried it to the hamper in his tastefully decorated bedroom. “If you’re still here and watching, you’re about to get a show unless you leave.”
I bit my lower lip and considered my options. There were only two, and one sounded infinitely better than the other. I didn’t have to say anything. And he’d never have to know. But my good girl upbringing rose up inside of me, and I turned my back as he continued stripping and headed to the master bathroom.
I would not follow him. I would not. With a grit of my phantom teeth, I concentrated on another part of my house. Anywhere but Mac’s bedroom and the mouth-watering thought of what was happening in that shower.
It's difficult to believe so much time has passed since my first book was published, but it has been twenty years. I was so inexperienced that I was excited when I was offered a publishing contract by a questionable publishing house. (I didn't know it was questionable at the time.)
I think the novel sold three copies, for which I thank my friends. Otherwise, it collected dust while I watched it flop. Because I had no idea I was supposed to do anything to help it soar. I relied upon a publishing company who didn't communicate with me after publication. Needless to say, I was sorely disappointed and thought that maybe writing wasn't my thing.
But I pushed on. Probably out of sheer tenacity only. I just knew I didn't want that one book to be the sum of my writing career. So I wrote another book then another. They didn't actually start selling well until 2005. There have been ebbs and flows ever since, and I look back now and think that I don't regret the publication of that first book. Even though it didn't go anywhere and no one has really read it, it started my journey, and its resounding splat against the pavement as it crashed and burned ignited a spark in me.
So this is why I celebrate the anniversary of the publication of my first book that didn't sell.
My thoughts, experiences, challenges, and goals. Right here. At least once a week or so. Oh, and opinions, too. Those will definitely come in. Join me!