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.
My latest work-in-progress is a young adult romance titled In Darkness She Shines. Here's a sneak peek from the first chapter!
“Hey, who’s that?” Amy captures my attention with a nudge.
I follow her line of sight to the house sitting on the corner, only a few steps from mine. With its sagging screen door and cracked, concrete steps, it doesn’t look much better than the one I call home.
A teenage boy crosses the brown grass, a bookbag slung over one shoulder. He climbs behind the wheel of a truck that’s blue and rust. Through the cracked glass window behind his head, I see brown curls and broad shoulders.
“Well?” Amy prompts me with another poke of her finger to my shoulder.
I shrug. “Don’t know. Never seen him before.”
“You’ve got to get your nose out of a book, Bailey. I mean, seriously, a hot guy moves in practically across the street from you, and you don’t even notice?”
“He probably won’t be here long. This isn’t exactly a buy and stay type of neighborhood. I still can’t believe your parents let you walk with me.”
Amy and I met in history class five years ago, just as things were starting to get especially nasty between my mom and dad. Her friendship had saved me, and now, every morning, her dad drops her off at the corner of my street so we can walk to school together.
The engine on the dilapidated truck coughs and sputters, and I can see my new neighbor patting the dashboard like he’s offering encouragement. After several fits of shaking and rattling, the truck settles into an asthmatic rhythm. Then the muffler belches a plume of smoke that has me and Amy waving the air in front of our faces.
“Geesh! Get that muffler fixed!” I yell before I think, which is usually how I end up getting in trouble when my mom’s sober.
Back-up lights illuminate, and the truck rolls out of the driveway. The driver glances over his shoulder, sees me and Amy, and stares for a second longer than necessary before shifting the truck into whatever gear it would accept. After a few weak attempts, it finally lunges down road.
“Well.” Amy stops and puts her finger underneath her nose. “He’s definitely someone we should get to know.”
I stare at her like her hair’s on fire. “What? Why? Because he’s cute?” I couldn’t see that much of him except for a strong jawline and the hair. So any assumptions I made about his looks were simply speculation.
Amy grins. “I was going to say because he has a truck, but whatever.”
“That’s not a truck; it’s an accident waiting to happen. And your dad drives a Jaguar. Why do you care about some guy you don’t know driving a beat-up old tank?”
“We do get rain here, remember? Who knows? He might be willing to give us a ride to school.”
“Again, your dad drives a Jag. Wouldn’t you rather show up at school in that?”
Her perfect eyebrows crease. “Ride to school with my dad? What have you been smoking?”
We dissolve into giggles and continue our trek to school, arriving five minutes after the bell rings which still keeps us out of the mandatory parent-notification zone. Not that my mom would answer the phone anyway.
I just put the finishing touches on another novella set in one of my favorite time periods—1920s, and I wanted to share a glimpse with you that's taken from a little further inside the book. Hope you enjoy!
The smoke hung low in the air, detracting from the already dim lighting. Grace made her way around behind the bar, pausing to talk to the regulars and even accepting a kiss on the cheek from Arnie, a half-cut old man with a stupid grin and a glass of gin in his hand.
“Ya done a good thing here, Grace Lawrence,” he slurred.
She picked up a damp rag and began wiping the counter while she flicked glances toward the secured door. Though she’d have plenty of warning should a raid befall her bar, the mere thought of the bulls overtaking the place was enough to shake her out of any complacency. She liked to be on top of things, and running into the police officer last night had left her more than a little uneasy.
It shouldn’t bother her. He couldn’t know her nor could he have any knowledge of what she’d really been doing the previous night. On top of that, she’d never been arrested before, had never even set foot inside the police station so he’d have no reason to know her.
God willing, she intended to keep it that way. As long as she kept her nose clean in public, she had no reason to get nervous now. But she couldn’t stop thinking about the officer. She’d even dreamed about him, though, it hadn’t had anything to do with him catching her running the joint. Her cheeks ran hot at the memory.
One of the patrons clanged the keys on the upright piano in the corner of the bar, and while the bourbon and whiskey flowed interminably, Grace’s customers began to sing a rousing tune. She leaned her elbows on the counter and smiled at them.
Knowing she was breaking the law didn’t change her determination to keep her bar afloat. And thanks to these good old guys, it looked like she’d be in business for a long, long time. They didn’t seem to mind that a dame ran the place, as long as they got their drinks on time and had a safe place to enjoy them.
“So, Grace.” Harriet McGrath sidled up to the bar next to Grace and nudged her with her elbow. “I noticed Bill Sanders has been watching you all evening. Why don’t you go lay one on his kisser?”
She pushed her friend aside then continued washing the counter. “I’m not interested in romance right now. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a little busy.”
Harriet snickered. “Who said anything about romance? A little necking, maybe some petting, well, the last I heard, it hadn’t hurt a single soul.”
Getting dizzy with a fella wasn’t in Grace’s plans. Keeping Bennett out of the hospital and the dough coming in was. “Aren’t you worried about what could happen if we get caught?” Although against her better judgment, Grace had allowed Harriet to talk her into a partnership once Grace had decided to open the bar. While Harriet was one of Grace’s closest friends, she didn’t have a mind to keep secrets. But after a few months without a raid, Grace had allowed herself to get comfortable. Maybe a little too comfortable.
This is a completed manuscript that I haven't sent out yet. Thought I'd share the first part of Chapter One with you
Chapter One (Part 1)
"A tornado warning is now in effect for Charleston County, Berkeley County, and parts of Dorchester County. At approximately 6:45 p.m...."
Nicole switched off the television and gathered her purse and coat from the top of her desk in the back room of her antique shop. She didn’t want to be alone here during a storm. It didn’t feel safe. Few places did. A twenty minute drive would take her home with its tall wrought-iron gates and solid brick structure.
Her cell phone rang. Probably Katya calling to check on her. Her best friend for the past eight years, the woman knew close to everything about her, including the phobias that rendered her semi-functional.
"Hi, Kat. I'm heading out now."
"It doesn't look too bad on this side of town. Want to come hang out there?" Happily married with two small children, Kat had opened her doors more than once to Nicole when one of her fears had kicked in.
"No, I think it'll pass." As she clicked the lock into place securing her antique shop, a chill ran down her spin. A sense of deja vu passed over her.
A severe storm had taken away her security nine years ago, giving her best friend's boyfriend the distraction he'd needed to get close to her. To trap her inside the small office building which held her law practice. And…
"Are you sure?" Worry coated Kat's voice. "Jim doesn't mind. He's draped over the sofa watching baseball. An occasional curse word gets thrown in when the satellite fades out from the wind."
"I thought you said it wasn't bad over there." Nicole made it to her car in record time, the swish of the palm trees rubbing her nerves. She climbed behind the wheel of her comfortable sedan with every bell and whistle she could get for security purposes and punched the ignition button. The doors locked automatically.
"I said it didn't look too bad, and I wasn't lying. A burst of wind every now and then isn't bad." Kat huffed out a breath. "Come on over. I've got stroganoff ready, and the little ones will be in bed within the hour. We could have a glass of wine, chat, and try to tune out Jim's salty language together."
Nicole smiled at the picture her friend painted. She did love spending time with Kat's family. They'd become her own, providing her that familial tie she didn't have through any blood relatives. Caving in, she turned her car in the opposite direction of home. "Okay, but once the storm dies down, I need to get home. I have to be at the shop early tomorrow to get ready for Saturday's sale."
"Sounds like a plan. I'll set out another plate."
Her hands white-knuckling the steering wheel, Nicole said goodbye to her friend and focused on the road. Overhead, the sky had darkened to an ominous gray with streaks of green. Palms slickened with sweat, she tried to remain focused on the road, to ignore the warning signs.
Heart thundering in her chest, she pressed the accelerator and, using her thumb, turned on the radio, expecting the soothing sounds of classical music. Instead, an ominous voice shared the unwelcome news that a funnel cloud had been spotted near Kat's neighborhood.
Panic threatening to choke her, Nicole punched another button to direct dial Kat from her car's Bluetooth. "Kat, a funnel cloud's just been spotted right around the corner from you."
"I know. The warning just interrupted the baseball game. We're taking precautions. Maybe it's best if you do go home and batten down the hatches. I'll call you as soon as this passes." Kat paused before adding in a firm tone. "And it will pass."
With her friend's reassurances ringing in her ears, Nicole took the first exit to backtrack toward home, her body shaking with each mile.
By the time she reached her house, tears coursed down her cheeks, and her hands shook so badly she could barely press the button on the garage opener.
"Get a hold of yourself, Nicole. Nothing is going to happen. You're safe."
The self-talk helped a little, but it was only when she was inside and had bolted all the locks in place that she managed to draw a deep breath. But she couldn't stop herself from turning on the TV to watch the path of the storm.
Storms paralyzed her. And years of therapy hadn't eased any of the crushing anxiety that overwhelmed her with each weather warning.
Hours later, after the storm had moved on, Nicole she pushed herself up off the couch and stumbled down the hallway to her bedroom, one hand covering the scar that bisected her abdominal cavity. Though the night had fallen quiet, she wouldn’t sleep. The bad weather could return, and she had to stay on guard even though her attacker had died nine years ago.
I'm working on another creepy romantic suspense/thriller. Below is the first scene where the killer interacts with the heroine, Nicole.
Her cell phone rang just as she reached the dual vanity. It had to be Jasmine. Her victim's advocate shortly after the attack, Jasmine Carmichael had kept in touch even though her job had ended a long time ago.
Nicole returned to the bedroom and answered the call without looking at the incoming number. "Hi, Jasmine."
She didn't recognize the throaty masculine voice, but it gave her chills, the unpleasant, sickening kind. "Who is this?"
"Last night’s storm was a doozie, wasn’t it? Wish I could have been there with you. It would have been more special. Anyway, I wanted to wish you a happy anniversary. Today is the day, isn't it?" Her caller chuckled and breathed out heavily. “This is one day I’ve been waiting for. I couldn’t have gotten the date wrong. Did I?”
Her knees almost buckling, Nicole collapsed onto the mattress. "Who are you?" She fumbled with the drawer on the nightstand. It took her two tries to pull it open, but once her fingers closed around the pistol, she breathed a small sigh of relief. She could still protect herself.
Realizing her question hadn’t been answered, Nicole prodded. “I asked who this is.” Her voice went up an octave. Who else would know about the attack? How had he gotten her number? And the worst question of all—what did he want?
As the questions cart-wheeled in her mind, a surge of adrenalin brought her to her feet. Keeping the pistol close to her side, she raced out of the bedroom and down the hall to double check the locks on the doors, the security system.
"Oh, we can worry about names later. In fact, I’m looking forward to a proper introduction. How about the next storm you and I meet face to face? I'll bring the wine. Oh, and don’t worry. I already know your address. From the weather reports, we could be in for wild ride this weekend. I’ll bet that makes you nervous, doesn’t it?"
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!