I made this graphic the other day when someone asked me what my favorite book is. If you know me, you know it’s THE LITTLE ENGINE THAT COULD by Watty Piper. An oldie ( real oldie) but a goodie. Why is it my favorite? It’s the best book about self-motivation I’ve ever read. That little engine believed he/she could get over that hill, set their mind to do it, and…did!
Just like that little engine, I always had a dream to be a published author. I worked at the craft, wrote a lot of crap – and a few good things along the way, and never gave up on my dream. I researched, wrote, entered contests, and wrote some more. The end goal was my dream – to be a published writer. To get my words and stories to the masses. I didn’t need adulation; I didn’t do it for fame or to have my name on everyone’s lips. God knows I didn’t do it for the money, because there simply is no way to get hyperrich writing despite what all those webpundits tell you when they offer online courses to make you an instant bestselling author.
I wanted to be published because I had stories to tell and felt other people may react to them favorably, see themselves in the storyline, and simply be able to fade away for a few hours of reading pleasure in a chaotic world.
My first book was published when I was 55 years old. I’m 63 now, have gone through 4 publishers and have now turned into a hybrid indie author. 46 books later and I still get the giggles and chills when I see a new book I’ve penned up on Amazon. And I get emotional when I read a positive review or when a reader comes up to me at a conference and says she loved my book because….
Never give up on your dreams, kids. They do come true. I’m a living example of that. ~ Peg
Excited and humbled are two warring emotions in me right now! A PRIDE OF BROTHERS: DYLAN was just voted Book of the Month over on Long and Short Reviews. This is such an honor, believe me. Authors know this.
Reading the review had me having a Sally Field moment: she ( the reviewer) liked it! She really liked it!
But being named BOM is an honor that is unsurpassed! Thank you so much to everyone who voted – and I know I bothered the crap out of you to do so!!!!!
28 days is, in actuality, one month ( 4 weeks) so even though today is October 4th and the book releases on 11.1, it’s still 1 month away ( technically!)
So…..
YAY! Just a few more weeks until you can all meet Michael Charles and Julia Maryland.
Opposites attract, workplace romance, adoption, and past child abuse are all the themes in this romance – and yet, there’s tons of humor, too! It wouldn’t be a Dickens Holiday Romance if it wasn’t funny.
Michael Charles, the youngest of Amy and Andy Charles’ adopted kids is home for a quick Thanksgiving visit. Or so he thinks. Through the machinations of his “demon sisters,” Michael is sticking around until the New Year to give their mom a break from running Dorrit’s Diner, then he’ll be back in the skies.
Sometimes, characters just waltz into your head and dig in deep, demanding you to tell their story.
Dylan Keane was such a character. In the second POB boo, Aiden, Dylan entered and stole scene after scene with his wit, charm, and let’s be honest here – hotness! This little tease is from Harper Vale’s perspective and gives you an indication of just how hot he really is….
Dylan sat on a bench with his back to her, bent forward, and holding a hand weight that he studiously lifted, then dropped. On the floor in front of him, a few other weights were scattered.
Her vision zeroed in on his back when she realized he was shirtless. Those powerful muscles she’d had a pleasurable hint of when he’d held her in his arms were on full display. Corded and toned, his back was a sculptor’s masterpiece of carved-from-marble shadows and trenches. His shoulders—good Lord his shoulders! No description she’d ever read in any of her beloved romance novels came close to depicting the perfection of this man’s naked back and arms.
As he lifted the barbell in one hand, sinew and cords shifted with the movement. His upper back flexed, his skin glossy with sweat, which only served to highlight each motion.
He dropped the weight and stood in one easy, graceful move. Lifting his hands above his head, he reached toward the ceiling, extending all the way through his fingertips, then he stretched backward from his trim waist.
Harper’s pulse shot through the roof when he then bent forward and placed his palms flat on the floor in front of him giving her a perfect view of his glutes outlined through his nylon gym shorts. Perfection was a word she’d always thought bandied around way too much in her romance books, but it was the only word to fit Dylan.
Maybe perfection squared was more accurate, because when he collapsed into a squat and then lifted back up, his palms still on the floor, those toned and tight twin mounds of flesh and muscle were as gorgeous an ass as she’d ever seen – or dreamed about.
A gasp blew from her when her fingertips began to tingle and itch to touch him.
All over.
She clamped a hand over her mouth but too late discovered he’d heard her when he turned around to face her.
Good God, the front of him was even better than the back. How the hell was that even possible? Or fair?
A smattering of black, curly, shiny-with-sweat hair covered his pecs and trailed down over abs which simply couldn’t be real. The man must do a thousand sit-ups a day to have such a toned and defined six-pack. The shorts rode low along his waist, baggy over his trim hips, ending mid-thigh.
“I’m s-sorry,” she stammered. “I heard a noise and…” The words died when he reached for a towel and dragged it across his face to sop the perspiration covering it then drew it over his neck and down his chest. The insane notion to ask if she could trail her tongue over all that flesh washed through her mind.
She licked her lips, wondering how he’d…taste.
“Did you get some rest?” Dylan asked, oblivious to the raging lust coursing through her.
Harper swallowed, nodded, then managed to eke out a “Yes.”
Dylan slung the towel across his shoulders and held onto the ends. His gaze raked over her face, his forehead slatting. “You okay?”
Harper had to intentionally lift her eyes from its course down his torso, where it had stopped to take in the waistband of his low-riding gym shorts, back up to his face. She imagined her cheeks must look like ripe cherries from the thoughts running through her head about what was below that nylon.
There was a question on his face, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember what he’d asked.
“Harper?”
“Hmm? Yes… I mean…what?”
With a head tick that caused some sweat to shift down his shoulders, a tiny grin bloomed in one corner of his mouth. Harper followed the droplet, hypnotized by its movement as it cascaded over his naked upper arm and trailed further down. When it landed on his wrist and settled, she licked lips that had turned to dust.
Dylan’s grin grew. Tugging the ends of the towel he took a step toward her. Harper forced her gaze back to his face. The blue in his eyes glowed, the outer edges of his irises turning a deep, dark azure.
“You know,” he said, lifting one leg over the bench, then the other as he came toward her, “I’ve found a workout works as well with relieving stress as much as a nap does.”
“You…you have?”
That damn grin.
“Yeah.”
He stopped right in front of her, all his body heat wafting over her. The scent of his sweat—pure, raw, and ridiculously male—had her fingers tingling again to rub their way up and down him, and then do it again.
“Want to give it a try?” he asked. “I could spot you.”
“Spot m—?” She stopped short when he dragged a finger over her upper arm. Even through the fabric of her shirt it felt like the most seductive of skin-on-skin caresses. The little air she had left in her lungs helped keep her from passing out at the exquisite sensation of his fingers on her. When he palmed the circumference and gently squeezed, she truly felt as if she might drop to the floor in a dead faint, ravaged by want.
“You’ve got pretty decent muscle tone,” he said. “A little daily work could add some definition. Not make you cut, per se. But add a little…heft.” His free hand circled her other arm and held on fast. “You’re small boned so you wouldn’t want to bulk up what you have. Defining it would be good, though.”
Perspiration sprouted across his brow again, a drop sliding down his temple to his jaw. Harper swallowed as her eyes tracked the moisture.
Ever so slowly Dylan pulled her in closer. Consumed by his scent, his touch, the absolute beauty of his mouth, she pressed her unshod feet to the floor and lifted up on her toes. She wanted that mouth on hers, needed it, like she needed her next breath to stay alive.
Intrigued? Here’s the link to order it in print or ecopy: DYLAN
Read the fabulous reviews and add it to your GOODREADS LIST here: DYLAN
If you’re a Booksprout reader and reviewer, I’ve got a treat for you. DON’T MESS WITH THE MISTLETOE, book 18 in the Dickens Holiday Romance series, is up over on Booksprout and available for download. The review needs to go up on release day, so you’ve got a month to read it – it won’t take that long, LOL!
So, yesterday hubby and I took Maple up to the local pond for a hike/walk and a swim – Maple is the swimmer, not hubby nor I, hee hee.
It was a beautiful Autumn New England day. About 68 degrees, with no wind, and clear skies without clouds. The type of day that makes living through all the rain and snow and blackfly season tolerable. The leaves are starting to turn – some faster than others, but the day was perfect in every way.
Maple agreed…
A year ago at this time, she got injured. Her hind cruciate ligament tore after a vigorous round of competitive frisbee. She limped for a few weeks before we realized it was worse than just a simple sprain. Three vets later and she needed surgery to repair it. There were a few times this past year we thought we might lose her, or need to put her down. Her pain, postoperatively, was horrible – for her and us. But, we persevered. And now, twelve months, a major surgery behind her and a sixteen-week recuperative period, plus a dramatic weight shift and she’s swimming and having the time of her life again.
And because of that review, the book is nominated for the illustrious BOOK OF THE MONTH honor! Now, I’m telling you this because I need your vote. The contest is open from 10/1-2 so it’s just 2 days. Voting closes at midnight on Monday, so if you’re feeling generous, please click on this link and vote for me. You have to hit the little bubble next to the vote, then hit the VOTE word/icon! Here’s the link: LASR
Thanks, oodles. You can’t know how much I appreciate all the love and support!
Ready? Here’s my cover to my next addition to the DICKENS HOLIDAY ROMANCE series, DON’T MESS WITH THE MISTLETOE….
It’s the holiday season in the tiny town of Dickens and pilot Michael Charles is home for his annual visit. His wanderlust has him itching to get back up in the skies as soon as possible, especially since he’s got a full schedule of rich and famous clients waiting to be transported to warm, exotic locales for the winter.
When his heavily pregnant sisters present him with a plan to give their workaholic mother some time off from managing the family diner, he balks. But one look at how tired the woman who took him into her home and heart is, and Michael agrees to run Dorrit’s Diner for a month so Amy Charles can get some well-deserved rest.
He’ll be back in the skies by the New Year.
The diner staff functions like a well-oiled machine, most of them long-term employees. The exception is new waitress Julia Maryland. The beautiful blonde has a past filled with heartache, a charming six-year-old daughter, and a smile Michael could spend the day getting lost in. But starting a relationship with her wouldn’t be wise because his visit is temporary and Julia seems like a permanent kind of girl.
When a family emergency requires him to rethink and reassess his life, Michael wonders if it’s time he becomes a permanent kind of man.
“Blake asleep?” he asked, shucking his hands in his pockets while she went about preparing her tea.
“Finally. She conned me into reading three stories tonight instead of our typical two.” Shaking her head, she placed the teakettle on the stove and turned on the burner. “She’s always trying to go to sleep later than she should. If I allowed it every night, she’d be a bear the next day.”
“I used to do that to Amy and Andy. One more story and I swear I’ll go to sleep. Then, oh, but wait, how about a glass of water? Then the inevitable, now I’ve got to go to the bathroom move. All just so I wouldn’t have to go to sleep before my sisters.”
“I can see you were a little manipulator like Blake.”
He shook his head. “I prefer to think of it as honing my negotiation skills at a young age.”
His heart sure was getting a workout tonight because when she laughed, free and girlishly, his stuttered again.
“In reality it was because I was afraid I’d wake up the next morning and they’d be gone.”
Why the hell had he told her that?
Michael had never shared with anyone, least of all his parents, how much going to sleep every night terrified him. Up until the time he’d overheard Andy tell Amy they’d caught the man who’d murdered his mother, he’d lived in fear the mean man would come after him and kill his adoptive parents, too.
Irrational? Of course it was. But to a small boy whose world had been changed forever in a second, it was all too real.
Julia’s face softened as she stared across at him. Moisture formed in the outer corner of her eyes as she dropped her gaze.
“Don’t do that,” he said, pushing off the wall and coming to her. “I didn’t say that to make you feel sorry for me or anything, I really didn’t.”
“Of course not,” she said immediately. “I didn’t think you had. And I can feel sorry for the little boy you were, you know. It’s a natural reaction.”
His sigh was long and tired. “Still. I don’t know why I told you that.” He raked his hands down his face. “Let’s forget I did, okay? I just got off the phone with Sasha,” he said, changing the subject and hoping she wouldn’t press him. “They’re coming back tomorrow, so I need to get going on the present shopping.”
He held his breath, waiting for her reply. When she nodded, then poured the heated water into her mug, his anxiety eased.
Intrigued? You can preorder the ecopy here: AMAZON
ANNNNNNNNNNNNDDDD…… just because I can, I’ve put FIXING CHRISTMAS and SASHA’S SECRET SANTA on sale for 99cents in anticipation of DON’T MESS WITH THE MISTLETOE going live. SO if you haven’t read those two yet ( you really should!!LOL), now is your chance because once DMWTM goes live, the price on these two goes back to normal.
Christmas has never filled writer Abra Charles with undiluted pleasure. If you’d been left on a doorstep on Christmas Eve morning, you might have a few issues with the holiday as well.
Abra’s avoided her hometown of Dickens for the past twenty Christmas seasons, but now she’s returned in an attempt to get her writing mojo back. Twice-divorced and with her third engagement ending in heartbreak, anger, and blackmail, Abra is now six months behind on submitting her current book. She hopes renting Copperfield House and immersing herself in solitude will cure her writer’s block and get her life back on track. The house she rents isn’t helping her achieve her goal, though, as one thing after another breaks, collapses, or floods.
Colton Bree, Dickens’ very own Mr. FixIt, can’t help but wonder if the new resident of Copperfield House is cursed. After being called to repair a broken window, he’s then needed to fix an exploding coffeepot, an overrunning toilet, and a washing machine that has a mind of its own. Bree doesn’t mind all the unexpected repair jobs, though, because the sexy renter is something to look at despite being a little neurotic and a whole lot of snarky.
Can Abra get her book done with all the distractions and craziness of her life, the biggest distraction being the flannelled hunk with the bedroom eyes and scowling yet oh-so-kissable mouth? Or will Dickens’ Mr FixIt have to step in and save the day and in so doing, fix Christmas for Abra forever?
After a terrifying incident derails Sasha Charles’ career and confidence, she moves back to her hometown of Dickens to heal, reorganize, and start over.
The only problem? The paralyzing panic attacks that plague her whenever she thinks about going back to nursing. Sasha is mentally, and emotionally stuck, and has no idea how to move forward.
Steve Caldwell is the new Director of Services at Dickens Memorial Hospital. After witnessing her save the life of a local resident in Dorrit’s Diner, he knows Sasha would be perfect for the new trauma center he’s planning. When she refuses his job offer outright, he sets out to change her mind.
But Sasha has thick, protective walls erected around her so Steve must first break through them. With patience and kindness, he does. As the two grow closer, each begin to have second thoughts on what their futures should look like, until idle, small town gossip threatens to derail their budding relationship.
With the imminent arrival of Christmas, will Steve be able to convince Sasha he has her best interests at heart?
Today’s #fridayfive is all about my favorite season of the year, FALL/Autumn.
I was today years old when I finally realized the reason it’s called Fall is because that’s what the leaves do…yikes!!! Oh well. I guess an old dog can learn something new.
Anyhoo…
Here are the 5 things I love about Fall:
it’s SWEATER WEATHER! If you are an SNL fan you know what I mean! I love me a good bulky sweater.
Boots!! I hate sandels, Tevas, and all the rest of the shoe choices that show my ugly feet! I lovelovelove boots!!!
Jackets. There’s nothing like a well tailored fall jacket over a sweater!!!
Costumes! It’s almost Halloween, when we can wear costumes and no one will make fun of us!!!
Candy – for Halloween. We can eat all the candy we want and have none of the guilt because it’s Halloween!! ( well, some guilt, but not a lot!!!)
Peggy Jaeger, Author 