Weekend with Nike Chillemi

Shaunna:  Before I met Nike via the cyberwaves, I thought her name was a pseudonym. Nike -- wow a fast link to the teenager and their parents alike. We all think of Nike shoes, right? Then there is Chillemi. Do this aloud with me Chill-em-i. in my ear I hear Chillin'me. Thus my conjecture. Imagine my surprise when Nike corrected me with this: 

Nike: Since Chillemi is my true last name and not a pen name, I'm going to change the question a bit.

Shaunna: So here is the slightly revised question:  Tell us about your alter-ego Crime Fictionista. Was that contrived as you knew what genre you wanted to write in?

Nike:  A little known fact is I graduated from the Fashion Institute of Technology in NYC and worked in the bridal industry for many years. I traveled to bridal trade shows in Dallas, Atlanta, Chicago, Las Vegas, and of course in New York.  I became well acquainted with the term "fashionista." When I started writing murder mysteries, I thought how about "crime fictionista." I did a google search and discovered nobody was using it, so I took it for myself.  I have a very talented 15 year-old daughter who is now working on a red-haired, female-detective graphic to go with the moniker. I'll be debuting that graphic in the near future.

Shaunna: Fashion! Okay, does this mean I need to change my clothes for this interview? (I dive into my closet for a quick change to my most recently purchased jeans and button down top.) Et hum… I press the commercial button to keep you busy while I change.

------Commercial-------

Darkest Hour: (Murder Mystery w/Romance, late-1940s)

---a widow is framed by powerful people/the medical examiners knows she didn't pull the trigger

---Sweet romance, warm intimacy, sophisticated themes presented tastefully

A petite widow, secretary and sole support of her son and grandparents, is framed for the murder of her boss. Wealthy village residents conspire with the DA to indicte her and stop further investigation. The medical examiner thinks the shooter was a tall individual and when his report is shoved aside, starts snooping trying to clear her and in the process falls in love with her.

Lucinda Walsh lost her husband and parents at sea. When she discovers the body of her boss, his A-List society finacee, backed up by her powerful family and a corrupt DA, acuses Lucinda of murder.  She struggles on shielding her five-year-old son, her feisty grandfather and arthritic grandmother from the ugliness of her situation. She mistrusts the dapper ME, thinking he's a ladies' man, but soon realizes he may be the only one in her corner.

Hank Jansen, the county ME who's had his share of pain and loss, doesn't know if this little widow was in on the murder, but he knows by the trajectory of the bullet she's too short to have pulled the trigger. His professional opinion ignored, he begins his own investigation and at least one cop accuses him of an ethics violation. He certainly can't deny he's fallen head over heals for the accused, and also is crazy about her son. A huge problem is there's a leak inside the investigation and the murderer is always one step ahead of them.

Shaunna (Slinking to my seat, I nervously straighten in my chair as I fidget with my four inch heels. If I had to stand, I'd probably lose my balance.)  How did you develop the plot for DARKEST HOUR and how did you come up with the name?

Nike: (Snickering at my discomfiture.)  In my Sanctuary Point series, one novel has flowed out of another. Main characters in one novel will appear as subordinate characters in the next novel.  Hank Jansen, the Nassau County Medical Examiner, first appeared in my Christmas/New Year's novel in the series, GOODBYE NOEL. Then he popped up at the murder scene in PERILOUS SHADOWS. I got to like him and thought he'd be a terrific hero. He is the most flawed of my heroes, but like all my other heroes, he seeks to right injustice. So, he needed a heroine, but I wanted a gal who would be put off by him at first. So, I created a widow with a young son who the powerful people in the village seek to frame for the murder of the village doctor. She is dignified and protective of her son and at first thinks Hank is a ladies' man and one who is a bit to cavalier for her taste. Then, of course, he grows on her. The name DARKEST HOUR came to mind because things in this story get so scary for the heroine. 

Shaunna: That's it! I can't wait! I gotta read the first chapter.

Excerpt:

From Chapter One

Sanctuary Point, NY

Lucinda Byrne backed further away from the dead body of her boss, the sides of his suit jacket wide open. Blood oozed from a hole in the center of his chest and spread over the front of his white dress shirt and yellow tie. Dark, angry red... sticky...

A baby-faced police officer snapped photographs of the body where it lay in the gravel parking lot.

Even at this hour, the day threatened to be a hot one, and the smell the body threw off intensified by the minute. She hugged herself, but couldn't stop the trembling, then took another step back. "Someone said the medical examiner was on his way," she mumbled to nobody in particular.

A burgundy Chevrolet sport coupe pulled into the lot. A stylish man with wavy brown hair and a tinge of gray at the temples got out. He walked toward the detective in charge and they talked.

The village detective, with a riot of salt and pepper hair beneath a fedora, jutted his chin in her direction.

The newcomer turned his face toward her. She felt small under this Dapper Dan's scrutiny, but forced herself to stand pat and return his gaze.

He tugged at the razor like crease in his pants, looked down, and squatted beside Dr. McCloud's body, but didn't touch it. There was obviously no need to feel for a pulse.

The detective turned on his heel and approached her. "I'm Detective Ian Daltry, ma'am. I understand you found the body." He took a small notebook and a fountain pen from his jacket pocket.

"Yes, I... I did." She started to sniffle and fought it, not wanting to fall apart while being questioned.

"And Dr. McCloud was your boss?"

"Yes."

"Both you and Dr. McCloud came into work early this morning?"

"I knew he wanted to clear up some paper work, so I came in as well." She clasped her hands together, squeezing the fingers of one hand into the back of the other.

"Really?" His eyes narrowed.

"Yes, Detective, really. Early is fine with me, so is late. I really need my job."

He tapped his notebook with his pen. "When you arrived this morning, did you notice a car coming into the parking lot or pulling out?"

"No, I wasn't looking for that." She'd had her head down as she rushed for the front door, wondering what type of mood the self-important doctor would be in. She'd keep that tidbit to herself.

The detective jotted a note. "When you got out of your car, what did you see?"

"I was walking toward the main entrance and there he was -- on the ground. Blood spreading all over his shirt." She swiped at a tear seeping from the corner of her eye.

The detective wrote in the notebook. "After you got out of your car, did you see anyone walking in or out of the hospital?"

"No one." She looked toward the hospital to prevent the detective from seeing her lower lip trembling. A lock of shoulder-length brown hair fell into her face and she brushed it away.

He made another notation. "Nobody at all?"

"No. I'm sorry. I wish I could help you, but I didn't see anything." The relentless yammering of her thoughts had crushed her, worries that babysitting her young son might be too much for her elderly grandparents. She hadn't been paying attention to her surroundings.

"That's about all the questions I have at this time." He took her address and phone number. Stepped away from her, then turned back, and asked a couple more questions that made no sense to her.

She stood there staring at him as he returned to the body.

If only this morning would end. She rubbed her hands together in an attempt to quell a slight tremor.

A black coach resembling an ambulance drove into the lot. An older man in overalls pulled a collapsible gurney out of the back and raised its bed to hip level. Its chrome gleamed.

A night orderly and two nurses getting off the night shift stopped to watch.

The brown-haired man pointed to the gurney and his voice carried. "They finally allocated some funds my way. Makes transporting much easier. Oscar and I used to carry them on a stretcher. My back sure is grateful to the board of supervisors."

The detective laughed. "Don't you county guys have all the dough you want?"

"Who're you kidding?"

The gurney's wheels rumbled across the gravel parking lot. The older man pulled on the straps of his overalls."Hank, you ready to move the body?"

The stylish man nodded. "Let's do it." They lifted the body onto the gurney and the man in overalls covered Dr. McCloud with a white sheet. Blood seeped through and began spreading.

Lucinda gasped, took another step back, stumbled, but managed to keep her footing. She straightened her spine. She still had to go into that building and work a full day. She had a son to support.

The detective nodded toward the body. "By the size of the hole in his chest, I'd guess he was shot with a pistol, maybe at close range. I need to have the bullet as soon as you recover it."

"Then by all means, you'll be my guest at the autopsy."

"Gee, thanks." The detective shook his head.

The debonair man chuckled, turned, and approached Lucinda.

A tremor ran down her back. More questioning, and all she wanted to do was run and hide. She sniffled and wiped her nose with the side of her index finger.

He reached into his inside pocket and offered her a folded white handkerchief. "It's rough if you've never seen anything like this. I'm Hank Jansen, the medical examiner, by the way."

Lucinda's gaze followed the gurney to the black coach. "He was my boss."

"You work at the hospital for Dr. McCloud?"

"Yes. I... I'm his secretary... was, I mean. And Dr. Hinsey's too." She couldn't believe the doctor's life had ended this way.

Detective Daltry barked, "Hank, can I speak with you?"

"Excuse me." The medical examiner stepped away.

"Wait." Lucinda quickly refolded the handkerchief and handed it back to him. She didn't know this man. Wouldn't begin to know how to return the white cotton cloth. "Don't forget this."

"Take it with you. The day's not over. Things could still get rough." He smiled.

"No, I can't take your hankie."

"Listen, I'll pick it up the next time I'm at the hospital. You say you work for Dr. Hinsey?"

"Hank," the detective called, impatience sharp in his tone.

"Yes, Dr. Hinsey. She's the head of the maternity ward. I'll launder it and have it ready for you."

The medical examiner nodded and smiled. "It's a date. I mean, I'll stop by and pick it up." He turned and trotted toward the detective.

Lucinda slipped the handkerchief into her purse. She headed for the main entrance of the hospital, bent and picked up a fountain pen in the gravel lot.

She pivoted and advanced toward the two men.

The detective made a chopping gesture with his hand and raised his voice. "I'm not fooling, Hank. Don't go putting another notch in your belt. She's a witness."

"Can't a fellow do a simple act of kindness?"

"I'm warning you, stay away from her." The detective spun around and nearly collided with Lucinda.

Heat rushed to her face, and she couldn't meet either man's gaze. If the ground would only open and swallow her. She held the pen out to Detective Daltry. "Uh... I… I'm sorry. I think you dropped this."

---continued tomorrow guys. I'm hooked!  Don't forget to come back!

WIP The Talisman - Chapter 2

The Talisman

Book1

Chapter 2

Part C

"Thanks, but I don't think we're headed the same direction." She turned to get Yedi and ride away. The rope settled over her and yanked tight at her chest. She stopped. He'd offered to help but now it appeared he had other intentions. A nagging sense of dismay eked at her. What could she do now? She needed to think.

"Missy, these parts ain't safe for the likes of you." The rope tightened, forcing her to stumble in his direction. "You need a feller to protect you an' I be thinkin' that feller should be me. Why not? I saved ya from a nasty death of starvation 'til you be too tired to fight off the varmints. As I see it, you owe me."

Had he never heard of chivalry? Was such nonexistent here?

"As I see it, you've done your good turn for the day."

"Ya come along with me an' I'll let ya keep yer 'orse."

Was he actually ignoring her? Did he really intend for her to be able to keep her horse? Or did he plan a subterfuge of some kind? She tried a different tactic. "Horse stealing is a hanging offense you know."

"Ya cook my meals and I'll feed you. I be thinkin' I might even share my blanket with you to keep ya warm."

Ah, gee thanks, you old buzzard. His leer turned uglier, stripping her with his cold blue eyes. Her skin crawled. He rubbed his rough beard.

"Been dreamin' of a warm bed. Even been prayin' fer one. Guess the good Lord answers prayers. Whatda ya say? Come with me and 'ave the nice things?"

"Never." Trish struggled against the rough bands about her arms and chest, trying to break free. It was a mistake. He pulled the rope tighter, cutting into her skin.

"I done fought meaner heifers than you, girl."

He tramped toward her, closing the distance between them until he was so close she smelled the layers of dirt and sweat. She threw her knee at his groin, intending to drive him to his knees long enough to escape. Instead she found her knee caught in layers of filthy cloth sending a more putrid whiff of his stench to her senses. He chuckled, his stale breath of decayed teeth and food engulfing her, turning her stomach. He dragged his filthy hand across her face, pinching her mouth between his fingers.

His eyes tightened on her. "Ya come along nice an' sweet like, an' I won't 'ave to get mean. Maybe ya like the feel of spurs to yar skin. I gave up cowboy'n in favor of huntin' for gold. But don't think Old Curly's lost his touch. I's can still rodeo with the best of 'em. Ya give me trouble an' I just might think of goin' back." He continued making his vile plans while he tied her hands. "That 'orse of yourn don't 'ave much for hind quarters on 'em, but Old Curly could do some right sharp 'orse tradin' an' get me one that do."

She tuned his sordid verbiage out for the moment. She had to watch for the chance to escape.

When he indicated she mount Yedi her hopes soared. Yedi would respond to her leg cues. She didn't have the chance to settle herself before Old Curly climbed up behind her, wrapping his filthy arms around her and hissing his lurid plans in her ear. Her stomach churned at his debasing comments and sickening odors.

This was not the kind of adventure she'd hoped for.

…Next week…Chapter 3

Winner!!!!

This month's winner is Teresa Anderson. Congratulations!!!  Teresa's comment on one of the excerpts for The Talisman Series won her an e-copy of Dark Days of Promise. She will be contacted in the next few days to get the code to download her copy. Winning is easy here! Come back in the month of March and leave a comment about the excerpts. (The more comments you make the better your chance of winning.) A winner will be selected and posted on Easter Morning! Good luck and enjoy your spring blog browsing.

WIP The Talisman - Chapter 2

The Talisman

Book 1

Chapter 2

Part B

She only had to survive seven days without food and water, but what if the sunlight never reached the bottom of the gulley? Without sunlight, the talisman wouldn't dance; and if it didn't dance, it wouldn't transport her back to her own time. What about a flash flood? That would make her situation decay a lot faster. Her stomach churned with dread, but she couldn't afford to be sick. She needed this morning's breakfast to carry her for as long as possible.

"Well I'll be." A masculine voice tickled her ears, making her jump. She struggled to keep her feet under her. "I thought I was hearing things, but sure enough … You in need of help, mister?"

Trish looked up, the man's form shielded by the edge of the gulley. She could only see his head as he swept off his hat.

"Of course I need help." She snapped before reminding herself that she wasn't in the twenty-first century but the late 1800's and shifted her attitude to more of a country hick, hoping to sound like she fit in. She couldn't afford for this man to leave her. "Can you get me outta here?"

"Ya think if I throw you a rope, you can climb out?"

"I--" Trish stopped. Could she with a sore arm? She'd never been overly strong in her upper body. "I think I can."

She didn't need to worry about making a false claim to her abilities. He'd disappeared from her view. Moments later, something hit her hat. She brushed at it and caught a rope in her hand.

"Yourn 'orse don't seem too friendly so I hope ol' Clementine can pull ya out. Now you start a walkin' that-a-way." He turned his back to her. Was he pointing? She wasn't sure. She'd just follow the rope. "An' we'll 'ave ya outta there right quick."

The rope dragged on the gulley wall, knocking mud, loose dirt and rocks on her until it became taut at an angle to her right. She grasped the rope and started to climb. She paused when she had enough to wrap around her backside to climb more like the rock climbers. The added leverage took the strain off her arms, enabling her to climb steadily up out of the slippery gulley. Her feet reached drier ground making it easier to keep her footing but the foot and hand holds she had worked so diligently to make remained out of reach. The rescuer had not decided on the same trail as she had, forcing her to break new ground as she climbed. She didn't care; at least she was getting out of the gulley.

Reaching level ground, she kept hold of the rope for several steps. It would do no good to slip back into the gulley. She let go of the rope and bent over, catching her breath. "Thank you."

"Mister, if I was you, I'd steer clear of that there gulley." He approached her, winding the rope around his hand and elbow as he came. He stopped, finishing the task. Trish stood. "Hey, you ain't a feller. What's a woman doing in these parts alone?"

"I--" Trish stared at the dirty old codger that had rescued her. Layers of dirt obscured his features. He must have taken a sharp knife to his straggly beard and hair. She grimaced realizing his hat was nothing more than a dead raccoon with its eyes rotted out. How should she answer his question? What was she doing? Vacationing? She clamped her mouth shut, not wanting to say the wrong thing.

Leering, he leaned toward her. "You runnin' away from someone girlie? I'll take ya with me an' you'll be safe."

…to be continued.

WIP The Talisman - Chapter 2

The Talisman

Book 1

Chapter 2

Part A

Trish reined Yedi back to the gulley. If the valley had changed, odds were so had the gulley. It wouldn't wash out at the same place. She either had to climb down where she could see the hat or hope to find a better way. She dismounted, daring to get closer to the edge on foot than on horseback.

She easily located her hat again. She would most definitely need it to keep the sun off, and what if the weather turned nasty? It could be said that Idaho's weather was the most unpredictable in the world, or at least the states. Besides, that hat was given to her by Grammy. Now she needed to find a way to get to it. She scanned the gulley, trying to determine the best route. She shook her head, there would be no easy way down and the way out would most likely prove even more difficult.

Vance would tease her about having to chase her hat. Cousins, especially Trish's younger cousins, like Vance, could be a pain in her backside. Setting her teeth against formidable odds, she started down the steep wall of the gulley. Whenever possible, she kicked at the soil in an effort to leave foot holds for climbing out again. Things went well until the walls narrowed and the ground grew muddy. One wrong step could mean a broken leg or worse. With nothing to grasp hold of, nothing to break her fall, she lost her footing and slipped, her momentum no longer under control. She tumbled and bounced from one wall to the other.

She screamed. Her shoulder smashed against a jutting rock sending her into an awkward somersault. Her body came to an abrupt stop, knocking the wind out of her.

She carefully rolled one shoulder and then the other, fearing something might be broken. She seemed fine so far. Her hat lay three feet away. She reached for it. A sharp, stabbing pain warned her to drop her arm.

You've got to be kidding! No hat is worth this.

"Okay, right arm hurts," she said aloud. "Stand?"

Putting her weight under her was far more difficult than she expected. The soil was more mud than solid. She stood. Slipped. She tried again only to find her feet pinched into the narrow V where the mud sucked at her boots.

"At least I'm closer to my hat."

She snatched it with her left hand and stuffed it firmly on her head. "Now, one, two, three. Go." Her scrambling slips and slides netted an inglorious turnaround. She looked up at the edge of the gulley in disgust. It proved more narrow and deep than she had thought. She sagged against the wall, letting the cool mud stick to her lime green shirt. She took a deep breath and with renewed determination scrambled in the direction from which she had come. She clenched the fingers of her right hand. Her arm didn't appear bruised but it definitely hurt. With clamoring hands and feet, she only managed to make the gulley closest to her slicker. She slid further from her goal.

"I'm going to get out of here," she muttered through clenched teeth. The breeze overhead seemed to laugh at her determination. She made a fist and squeezed the mud through her fingers. Tightening every muscle in her body, she screamed. "Damn it!"

Anger at her own stupidity cinched her realization; she was trapped like a lone maverick. She should have known better. Stupid. Would she spend her whole adventure stuck in the bottom of this gulley?

…To be continued.

WIP Update

The Talisman

Book One

Chapter 1

Part d

Present Day

…continued.

Now where was I? The baseball field, a field that wasn't cleared of trees yet, or was it? A stage station would need corrals and water for horses as well as a reasonable place to ford the river. She closed her eyes, trying to retrace the country road running north and south where the baseball field would one day be. Yedi danced nervously under her as if responding to her own anxiety level. Unwilling to label whether she felt excitement or fear, she took a deep breath, pushing the niggling guilt of not worrying about her mother aside. Careful to be as accurate as she could imagine, she pointed at the spot where the field would be and opened her eyes. It was no use.

She'd have to ride down the valley if she wanted to be sure and knowing would help her adjust to whatever year she now found herself in. It would take a good part of the day to get there but she needed to start somewhere. It had to be the late 1800s. If it got dangerous, she only had to survive seven days until the talisman could work its magic again. One could do that on just water. Not a bad place to start an adventure.

First, she needed to locate her hat.

...Next week--Chapter 2

This has been the first week and I've shred with you my current WIP (work in progress). I'm inviting your comments, suggestions and questions .

WIP Update

The Talisman

Book One

Chapter 1

Part c

Present Day

…continued…

Trish smiled remembering how Grammy ended every story with the same promise.

Tell of my heart 'cross fallow lost places

Bitter sweet secrets to heart of my tale,

Wind without wine to far times and places

Alter time's misstep in wide-open spaces

Protect the talisman, keep her from harm

Criss-cross my heart and hope never to die.

It wasn't until Trish had promised, word for word, that Grammy gave her the talisman.

Was she, Patricia Anne Larsen, ready for her first adventure in time? The "criss-cross her heart and hope never to die" was the easy part. No one she knew wanted to die. It was the rest of the pledge that caused her a moment of pause. It didn't matter. She was here, but where exactly was here? "…Fallow lost places, …far times and places, and …wide-open spaces" covered a lot of area in cosmic space. She scanned the valley searching for the straight clearing that would mark the railroad tracks and wished she could fly. She didn't think she saw anything. Okay girl, stay calm and think.

The valley was the same. She double-checked for Borah Peak. Yes, it still stood as sentry to the north--place located. No vehicles. No roads. Some settlers, if those were actually cabins. It had to be the late 1800s to have this many settlers. She tried to find the railroad right-of-way she had crossed earlier. The right-of-way wasn't cleared. The railroad tracks were laid in this valley in the early 1900s and torn out in the early 1980s for some reason that she never understood.

No railroad tracks. More trees as in a lot more.

What would a stagecoach stop look like? She wasn't sure but a smattering of buildings in one area might be where the stage stopped. Her mind retraced the old stories. Yes, Mom had mentioned a community proposal recently, something about an Eagle Scout petitioning for support to erect a stagecoach monument at the baseball field. Time narrowed somewhat.

Mom! Trish's throat went dry. She had left home this morning without saying goodbye to Rhea, her at times over-protective mother. A slip-up she had regretted while telling Vance, her cousin she was off for a very long ride. Worry seized her, cutting off her air supply. Mom would worry. "Worry," as part of Rhea's christened name must have been a slight oversight. A day of intermittent worry would be good for her, but a week? Not so good. And if she and Vance compared notes… Trish tried in vain to recollect the tone she had used this morning. Yedi had been difficult to catch and she'd been in a sour mood. Would Vance think her flippant tone a reason to disappear for a week? What conclusion would Mom then draw?

No. I refuse to worry about Mom's constant worry. I have my adventure to think about.

...to be continued.

WIP Update

The Talisman

Book One

Chapter 1

Part b

Present Day

…continued…

Yedi listened, his ears turned, indicating his full attention. "I always kept my promises to Grammy, even if she seemed a bit loony at times. I know she's dead, but today's my birthday and I promised her that if on my thirtieth birthday I wasn't married or an attorney, I'd do it. So that's it. No more discussion." She let the reins sag, and took the chain in her left hand, the talisman dancing in the bright sunlight.

"Clockwise forward, counter clockwise back, I just wish--" She flicked the inner scrolls with her fingernail sending it spinning. A gust of wind at her back caught her cowboy hat and sent it flying over Yedi's head. Yedi spooked, crow-hopped and spun. Trish grabbed at the reins and brought him up short.

"Easy, easy boy. It was just my hat. Look, there it is." Her hat balanced on its brim near the edge of the gulley, poised to continue its runaway flight.

Frustrated with yet another thing going amiss in her life, her favorite curse formed on her lips. She bit it back and dismounted, leading Yedi toward her hat. As she reached for it, another gust of wind carried it out and over the gulley. She watched as the hat flirted with the air currents before dropping to settle below her. Things didn't seem all that different. Maybe the talisman and its magical ability to transport her through time and space was all a fantastical and continual fantasy of Grammy's. Trish turned to remount.

"Well, I'm not walking down in there alone. You're coming with me. We'll have to find a way down, and I don't want to go to the bottom--"

Trish stopped. Her stomach bucked. Paralyzed, her hand rested on the saddle horn, her foot in the stirrup, her weight balanced across Yedi's back. The view from his back had changed. Open and groomed fields of crops no longer graced the valley floor as they had moments ago. Stands of trees filled most of the valley, dotted with the occasional brown of small buildings. There were no tractors, no cars or pick-ups traversing country roads. In fact, there weren't any roads.

Had Grammy been sane all along? Trish settled in the saddle and stared at the scene before her, her hat momentarily forgotten. Her mind raced through Grammy's stories. Stories of time travel, romance, and adventure. Wonderful stories of times long forgotten or romanticized by paperback novels and old movies. Stories of unbelievable characters in futuristic setting that put the biggest blockbusters to shame. But all of Grammy's stories had two things in common… Grammy and romance.

Trish grasped the chain about her neck, lifting it into the sunlight. The talisman remained as beautiful, but somehow not quite as alive. The reflected sunlight didn't dance, it merely reflected off the metallic surfaces. The crystal no longer glowed. What had Grammy said?

"My adventures were not always glamorous but they were always very real. Sometimes full of romance, other times deception and danger. I wasn't ever afraid at those dangerous times. I knew the talisman worked in a seven-day cycle. I just had to survive for seven days until the cycle began again. Of course there were times I didn't use the talisman, letting it lay dormant for sixty-three days and once even a year. But that year cost me. You must not abuse the talisman. If you do, it will have its revenge. And that, my dear is why I must have your promise…"

...to be continued.

WIP Update

Some time ago, a friend read an working excerpt from this manuscript. It was rough and it was rough. I feared that the scene would offend. The friend is prodding me to get this done as quickly as possible and not quick enough for her satisfaction. Of course it takes time to write and untangle the ins nd outs of time-travel, especially when it is my hope to have a trilogy.

The casual reader my not be interested and be forewarned...this is a work in progress. Why share it? I've been asked to. And I firmly believe that comments from readers, like each of you, will help me catch and iron out the wrinkles. This isn't a task for the faint of heart.

The Talisman

Book One

Chapter 1

Present Day

"That's it then." Trish patted Yedi, her prized Arabian stallion, on the neck. She sat erect and yet relaxed.

The sun inched higher above the eastern mountains. May was always a beautiful month, one she looked forward to for more than the new greenery. It was the month of her birthday--May seventeenth, and the date she used to mark visits from Grammy, and her stories. Stories of travel and wild adventures, stories Grammy had promised, "criss-cross my heart and hope never to die," were true.

The valley lay below Trish. Tractors crawled like ants in the fields. A vehicle sped down a country road spewing a trail of dust in the early morning light. Despite the tranquility around her, Trish's heart still weighed heavy at her latest failure.

That's the third time I tried to pass the bar. I guess I'll never prosecute a case in a court of law. It's a pity, really. All I've ever wanted to do was be a successful attorney. I sat right here on my twentieth birthday and vowed I'd get there. Now it's ten years later, I'm still not there. She sighed feeling her shoulders sag. Maybe Grammy was right about what I should be.

Trish withdrew her grandmother's gaudy yet delicately beautiful trinket from under her shirt. It dangled on the long chain Trish wore around her neck. Sunlight shimmered on the intricate scrollwork delicately woven around the inner crystal. The design of the outer casing allowed the inner scrolls to turn one way while the outer scrolls turned the other. She fondled the talisman lovingly, keeping it from spinning.

Yedi shifted his feet. Trish clasped her hand tightly about the talisman and leaned forward slightly. Yedi responded to her cue moving forward at a gentle walk. Trish reined him in near the stand of cottonwoods at the edge of the gulley. Again she fondled the trinket.

"I promised, you know."

...to be continued.

Happy Valentine's Day

I once met a man who couldn't believe I would lower myself (in his misinformed opinion) to writing romance. I don't recall now how I responded; but why not write romance? What other very personal and at times private human expresion of feeling is given such world wide recognition as love? Love and romance are given not one, but at least three days eachyear to celebrate. Valentine's Day - we all recognize it as a day to show that special someone how we feel about them. Then there are Mother's Day and Father's Day. Think about it for a moment, most enjoying these special days do so from a stem from romance somewhere...boy meets girl, they fall in love and well, you know the rest even if it happened behind closed doors.


So, Cheers to Valentine's Day! and enjoy a pound of cyber chocolate on me (calories not included.)

Grace Awards Judges

Grace Awards is sharing biographies of this years judges. http://ow.ly/hGvZG An impressive group.
(Oh yeah, I've been asked to be a judge this year.)

Closed for a Birthday...

It's not my birthday, it's my sons and I have a cake to make.

Unfortunately, it won't be this classy (yes, it is a real cake.)

Or anywhere this detailed.

But hey, my older children can count the cakes on one of their hands that I've made in the past!

So, put the writing desk aside and heat the oven -- I'm off to the kitchen!

Happy Birthday Sean!

Cliffhanger or will I hang? That is the question.

WIP Update.


Currently, I am scrambling to mesh many comments into my rough draft that I thought was closer to sharing than it is. A very savvy beta reader asked me why a particular scene was so important. Could it be condensed without the whole suffering or possibly a second book?

I think I like the second alternative. But it would leave me with a few dilemmas.



First, and I believe most important, would readers forgive the major Cliffhanger? As in the suspense of the book not solved but carried to Book 2.

Second, more work will be required to do what authors call "fluff" the novel. This requires adding more without sending the reader into a l" hunt to kill author" mode.

Third, since this is a time-travel romance, if the cliffhanger is none other than along the lines of: Will hero/heroine return for the other? Will their love survive the absence? Will the reader be open to such?



Decisions, decisions…help me make the decision. Will you read a cliffhanger if you know it will leave you hanging? Under what conditions would you consider doing so?



And yes, I can wrap it all up, but I don't think you or I would be as content in the long run. After all-- good things are worth waiting for.

New Webpage

This exciting news for me and fellow authors at Desert Breeze Publishing. DBP has just launched their new, sparkling clean website!
Browse for novels at your leisure and of course, you can find my debut novel, Dark Days of Romance.
http://desertbreezepublishing.com/ You can find me when you search by Author or if you want an excuse to click and manuveuer the site, you can find Dark Days of Promise by clicking on Christian and Inspirational Romance, from there find the Christian and Inspirational Suspense. Still not there, click on Wrong Place Wrong Time.
Wala! There it is! Okay, there is an easier way. You can simply click on the cover art to the right.
For now, and we are hoping this is very temporary, you can only purchase an ePub copy on the site, but there are awesome directions of how to use this type of format for your eReader on the site under "Why ePUB?"
Of course you can still find Dark Days of Promise at Barnes and Noble for your Nook.
You can also purchase your copy of Dark Days of Promise at Amazon for your Kindle.

P.P.S.

Good News!
Somebody loves me and I know who. My thanks go to the master author and Father of us all.
While polishing my WIP today, okay, it isn't really polishing yet, more of tightening and fixing, I came across the perfect place to make the fixes that I spoke of in my previous post. (The P. S. and P.P.S.) It was an easy fix that required only a good paragraph rather than the major rewrite I thought it would require!
Woo-Whoo!!!!
So for the Beta Readers benefit...Merged and fixed through chapter 9. For those not my beta readers...lots of comments and things to fix but it is going well.

Mini Vacations - with a bit of tongue-in-cheek

Books are wonderful mini vacations. Books have taken me so many places including on a tour of Europe, to a Caribbean Island, to the hot bitterness of a gunfight, across the passages of time and back again, and into fantasy worlds. Sometimes I'm right there solving crimes in way too many cities and out of the way places to list here. I've fallen in love vicariously and even had an affair in more than one romantic get-a-way. Books have had my blood racing and stopped cold. Novels have opened my mind to imagine things I'd never dreamed of.


Be it the classics or the latest find at the cyber bookshelf, reading is a glorious pastime. Think of it. What else can you do when you are confined to your sickbed and get an equally wonderful experience when lying in the sun, possibly by the pool or even on vacation?

Books, both non-fiction and fiction have the ability to take you to a place you have never been. I personally prefer fiction, romance of course since that is what I endeavor to write. But romance has almost as many genres as the publishing world has publishers and sub-genres? Too many to count, especially when one "pigeon toes" a book into a very specific category as an author is expected to do.

I remember when I started writing, it was easy to say "I'm a romance writer/author." Of course there were the "nay" sayers. My favorite, from a gentleman that clearly experiences little romance in his life. "What do you want to do that for? You write one book and there is nothing left to write." Oh really? Have you, kind sir, bothered to count how many new romance novels are released every week? Oh, and a good percentage of those are by previously published authors. Time to cease my ranting…

Books. Writing. Glorious pastimes indeed. And I might include this note, even when the reading is required. Teachers, especially the boring ones that have stopped reading anything new, will often hand the unsuspecting student a reading list that may or may not be filled with books the student would never, in their conscious mind read! Who can blame them (the teachers that is) one can only read so many books (i.e. words) a year, whether they are well written or not --- and most high school papers, I am told by English Teachers, fall into the latter category. And lest you feel I am ranting on the poor unsuspecting high school student that is clearly doing the best with what they have been taught, College Professors have mentioned the poor quality of some papers as well.

But.

Note: I am a high school graduate, but do not hold a college degree in English. That said, I am a published author, professional reviewer, have served as Vice President of my writing chapter and, yeah, a mom that is occasionally called on to proof the young student's papers.

Back to the books.

I am one of those students of life that has happily discovered the best way for her to learn -- by reading anothers work. This is not an exercise in plagiarizing, quite the contrary. It is my experience that I cannot write while I am reading. Okay, that needs clarification. If I am reading a book wherein I am learning a whole lot, as in the one that my boss assigns me to review, I seem unable come up with my own material that is unique until I have slept it off, in a manner of speaking. That said, if the book is not in the genre that I am currently working on, it is quite easy to write while fresh in the morning and read that evening to meet a dead line.

Okay, so you still think I'm on a tangent. Maybe I am, but that is the joy of owning a blog. I can write what I want (within reason). And you can choose whether you read or not. 

So cheers! With a glass of your favorite beverage. Grab your favorite snacks and get to reading! Enjoy the mini vacation one has poured their heart and soul into to share with you, the reader.

P.S. I review for InD'Tales Magazine under a pseudonym.

P.P.S. My current WIP, the first in my Time-travel series must undergo a major rethink/rewrite phase due to my most recent assigned reading. I want to know where the unwritten bible to writing time-travel is. Someone is hiding it from me. Grrrr

Ten Things Writers Say, and What They Really Mean

I read this on Patty Froese blog and laughed so hard I have to share.
My thoughts are in italics.

A book is a labor of love.

Nineteen hours in drug-free hard labor with my daughter was easier, actually.
For me it was the hours of labor while my hubby and the nurse watch some golf!

Being a professional writer is an interesting and rewarding career.
(Check for the crossed fingers on this sztatement.)
Be anything but a professional writer. Don't make me beg you.
Yeah, I'll just die if I have to compete against someone I know.

I'm always thinking about my story, even when I'm shopping at the market.
I'm always thinking about . . . hey, are those chocolate-frosted donuts on sale?
And like hey, can I use that comment in that scene...becareful what you say out there!

I'm so glad you enjoyed the book.
I'm so glad your e-mail was a nice one because I just ran out of Valium. and chocolate...

Maybe Publishing is tough, but I love the competition.
Maybe Wal-Mart is hiring.
Don't you dare write anything worth reading...

My editor is thoughtful with responses and is making me a better writer.
My editor hasn't answered my e-mail and is making me crazy.
Where is she when I need her the most?   One hour to deadline. Dang was the Eastern Time or Pacific?

So you want to write a book? That's great.
Please don't ask me to help you write your book.
Plesze don't have the guts to finish it!

Sure, I can wait another six weeks for payment to be approved.
Sure, I can pawn my wedding rings again. Do you have any recipes for making something edible out of ketchup and beans?
You're lucky I pawned my pistol last week.

Writing a synopsis isn't so bad. You just have to think about it.
Writing a synopsis makes me break out in hives but I'm too poor to hire someone to do it for me.
Telling every other author how to write their synopsis isn't bad, but mine is impossible.

You will absolutely love holding your first book in your hands.
You will scream like an air raid siren, shake like you're standing naked in a blizzard and then cry like a teething baby while clutching your first book in your hands. P.S., don't let them videotape it.
Yeah, you'll do the exact same thing when you download it off of Amazon on the ornery little Kindle. I'll show you Kindle Fire!

Today's Workload

It was mentioned a week or so ago on Twitter how I outsmarted the clutter on my desk by temporarily moving my work space. Today's workload is invigorating as it is something new. You know the old saying, "A change is a rest." Okay, today's change has my condensed workspace on my lap (how's that for consolidating?)
In truth, my feet are up and the arms of my loveseat are the extensions of my workspace.
Least you wonder what I'm up to today -- It is top secret!

Review of Dark Days of Promise by Stephenia H. McGee

Author Shaunna Gonzales dives into some very deep and often neglected topics in her contemporary military family novel, Dark Days of Promise. Having come from a military family myself, and seeing the effects of PTSD, I felt the author handled the issues with both respect and realism.


When Vicki finds out her ex-husband has been killed in action in the Middle East, she struggles with raising three children, especially two boys, on her own. Without even the occasional visits of a father, she fears they will not know how to become men. She never expects her best friend's son to have served with her ex-husband, and certainly never expected to be drawn to such a dangerous man. Her children adore him, but Vicki knows he has a dark side. Kelly can be fun and caring, but he also has killer instincts he can't always control.

I enjoyed this story for its depth and genuine feel. The romance is warm, with a few stirrings of heat, but the relationship progresses nicely. Despite a few slow sections, I give it four stars for being a great read and an excellent story of the honor and sacrifice of our military.

GRACE FILLED BOOK BLITZ - Day Twelve

GRACE FILLED 12-DAYS OF CHRISTMAS BOOK BLITZ


Dark Days of Promise Excerpt

"Look at me, Vicki."

I avoided his eyes.

"Damn it, Vicki, look at me!" His voice begged for my full attention. When I didn't look at him, he stood, placing me in the chair. He squatted down in front of me on his good leg. I met his gaze for the first time since he'd started talking. His eyes pierced me, imploring me to understand what he found impossible to explain. He began again.

"I can't do this by myself. I know I don't deserve it, but I'm asking you to help me. I'm asking you to consider being my anchor in the sanity of civilian life. Marshall asked me to take care of his family should anything happen to him. I believe he meant you, as well as the kids. I don't know how to do that without being a soldier. Soldiering is all I know. Do you realize I walk the perimeter of both our houses every night?"

I gasped in surprise.

"Sometimes twice if I'm not sure everything's right. I even carry a weapon when I feel you might be in danger. The boys have made a lot of tracks in the snow, which is why you haven't noticed. It's okay; I'm not a 'Peeping Tom.' I don't peer in your windows or invade your privacy. You should close the blinds though. You're beautiful, even in your old pajamas."

"You can't see in my windows, can you?" I choked.

"Not if I'm not looking," he hedged.

"I can't believe--"

http://www.amazon.com/Dark-Days-of-Promise-ebook/dp/B009EHRB7K/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1356558654&sr=1-1&keywords=Shaunna+gonzales

Do Authors Write about RealLife?

Awesome phone call... A highschool friend called today telling me they were in the midst of reading Dark Days of Promise on their lunch break at work and had to call! "I feel like I've gone back in time! I remember this phrase being our motto...Oh and such and such character has to be so-and-so from school! I could see him as vivid as if it were yesterday!"

Wonderful...I'm so glad you found those snippets of time captured on the page!

Thank you, Gumboot!

GRACE FILLED BOOK BLITZ - Day Ten

GRACE FILLED 12-DAYS OF CHRISTMAS BOOK BLITZ


Dark Days of Promise Excerpt


The walk down the drive should've relaxed me. Instead my mind compared the men in my life. Farley...Kelly...Farley...Kelly.

I reached home and tried filling my mind with other things but my subconscious envisioned the photo from Marshall's effects. The photo brought a wry smile to my lips.

Farley seemed so different from Kelly and Marshall. He reminded me of the smooth con man, his gentle nature well practiced, if not always sincere. Maybe he is a con man. Or is he what I need?

I considered the two men smiling from the hot desert sands at me. Farley would never survive under such conditions. Both Kelly and Marshall carried weapons, yet I couldn't imagine Marshall being dangerous while Kelly proved himself very dangerous. Both wore their army fatigues, complete with berets.

I reflected on Janine's evaluation: a woman would find life without a companion, in particular one as young as my thirty-four years, rather difficult. A woman, just like a man, had needs, not just physical needs, but those of companionship and emotional support. It seemed unwise for me to remain alone. Which man, if either, would prove the better choice?

The doorbell rang, bringing my evaluation to an inconclusive end. Farley, by just showing up, took center stage.

http://www.amazon.com/Dark-Days-of-Promise-ebook/dp/B009EHRB7K/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1356558654&sr=1-1&keywords=Shaunna+gonzales

GRACED FILLED BOOK BLITZ - Day Eight

Dark Days of Promise Excerpt

My mind grasped at an idea. Maybe I didn't need to tell them. "Janine, do you think they need to know?"

"Wouldn't you want to know if your father was killed?"

"They're so young," I argued.

"Young, yes. Entitled to the truth? Yes, I believe they are that too."

I clung to her, begging her with my hazel impersonation of puppy dog eyes. "Would you tell them?"

"Yes." She caressed my hand, the soft fragrance of her hand soap wafted to me.

I smiled, believing I wouldn't have to bear the burden alone.

"If they were my children I would definitely tell them. They are your children. You know them better than I do and although I love them, I can't guess how each of them will react to the news."

She dashed my hopes with her firm and loving words. "I don't know how. I can't do this alone."

"You won't have to. I'll be here." She patted my knee. "Your Heavenly Father is always close by. Maybe you should ask Him for help."

"You think God will come break the news to them?"

"You know He doesn't work that way. Have a little faith, my dear. Marshall would want you to do this."

I fell silent, remembering...   http://www.amazon.com/Dark-Days-of-Promise-ebook/dp/B009EHRB7K/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1356558654&sr=1-1&keywords=Shaunna+gonzales

GRACE FILLED BOOK BLITZ - Day Seven

GRACE FILLED 12-DAYS OF CHRISTMAS BOOK BLITZ

Dark Days of Promise Excerpt

"Janine, you know you're never intruding." I lowered my voice so no one but Kelly would hear the distinct teasing quality in my voice. "Now Kelly on the other hand..." My unfinished sentence caught his attention. His expression reflected an acceptance of my teasing jab. What am I doing? I closed my eyes allowing brief seconds to pass while I considered my actions.


Kelly moved toward the kitchen while I watched Phillip load the DVD.

"Grandma, why are you so 'winkled'? Did you stay in the bath too long?" Krista asked, while I walked to my kitchen. I cringed at Krista's question and took a step closer to the tender exchange, turning my head to watch. The movie played several previews only the boys watched.

"No sweetie, these 'winkles' aren't from staying in the water too long. They're character lines." Janine's tone reflected the smile I felt sure graced her features.

Kelly joined me, peering over my shoulder at the pair as Krista touched Janine's face. I got the distinct impression Krista thought Janine's face might crumble if she touched it with too much pressure.

"Mommy doesn't have any 'winkles.' Do they hurt?"

"No, sweetie," Janine laughed. "They don't hurt, but the white hairs Kelly has given me over the years...they hurt."

Kelly stepped closer to his mother as if to intervene, positioning me against the back of the couch.

My emotions clashed, remembering how I'd taken flight from this very spot at his hands.

http://www.amazon.com/Dark-Days-of-Promise-ebook/dp/B009EHRB7K/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1356558654&sr=1-1&keywords=Shaunna+gonzales

GRACE FILLED BOOK BLITZ - Day Five

GRACE FILLED 12-DAYS OF CHRISTMAS BOOK BLITZ


Dark Days of Promise Excerpt

Snow from Kelly's walk down the long drive left an adequate amount of moisture on his shoes. I turned around to watch him stomp his feet across the carpet before squeaking his new athletic shoes on the linoleum, the poinsettia still in his hands.


Amused, I smiled at his efforts. "If you were one of my boys I'd tell you to learn how to walk like a gentleman, without all the noise. Knowing how quiet you are when you want to be, I shan't say a word."

"You already said a few words," Kelly teased.

"True. How about continuing a conversation instead of your 'stomp, shuffle-squeak'?"

"I've never been good at conversations with females, soldiers or not, at least not the sociable kind." The house grew silent for several minutes. I considered his comment against his complete revelations the preceding week. I waited for him to make an effort at more conversation.

"Do you carry a rag with you whenever you're at home?" he ventured after several minutes of silence.

"Now that wasn't so bad. You even managed to tease me at the same time. No, I don't carry my dust cloth all the time, just when I'm moving the dust around in the house." I waved the yet unused dust cloth several inches away from his nose while quoting Shakespeare. "Out spot, out!"

http://www.amazon.com/Dark-Days-of-Promise-ebook/dp/B009EHRB7K/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1356558654&sr=1-1&keywords=Shaunna+gonzales

GRACE FILLED - DAY Three

GRACE FILLED 12-DAYS OF CHRISTMAS BOOK BLITZ


Dark Days of Promise Excerpt

It took several minutes for me to realize I wasn't prepared for a winter emergency. I'd brought nothing, not even my wallet, but I had remembered to tuck my driver's license in my back pocket. Evaluating my options and taking into account the lack of any wind, which would cause hypothermia to set in, I had two choices. I could stay put and take the chance of freezing to death...not an exciting proposition. My second choice to get out of the car, make it to the road, and start walking seemed somewhat better. Both would be cold and uncomfortable. I have never been one to wait on fate, so I chose the latter option. I smirked...no, dummy (my less-than-favorite name for myself.) You're more apt to open the door to danger, inviting it into the warm comfort of your home on the darkest of nights.

Well, I never claimed to be brilliant!
...

GRACE FILLED 12-DAYS OF CHRISTMAS BOOK BLITZ

December 26th

Dark Days of Promise Excerpt

The last thread of thought spurned me to action. My muscles trembled as I placed my hands on the couch, pushing myself to a sitting position. I half expected him to attack me again.


When he didn't touch me, I scooted into my corner of the couch.

"You were out for a couple minutes. I'm..." He swallowed, feigned a cough, and forced a hint of a smile before piercing me with his gaze. "You're sure you're okay?"

I gave a quick nod, no more.

"If you're sure."

I wasn't sure of anything except this wasn't a dream, and I was alive.

He stood and walked toward the front door with his slight limp. There he stopped, "I shouldn't have come here...I don't know why I did that. I'm sorry...I'll let myself out."

The door closed without a sound on his retreating form, shutting out the cold. Shutting out the danger. Shutting me inside the imagined safety of my home. A shiver traced its way up my back, confirming each nerve remained intact. My fingers braved the vast expanse from the couch to my throat. Shaking, they retreated to my lap. I slumped into the empty warmth of the couch as hot tears of relief stung my checks.