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How?

How is it two years since you left us? Left me? Left me motherless? Emotionally adrift? Bereft? I don’t know how I’ve managed to survive without you as a touchstone. You, the person who knew me better than I knew myself. The person who knew me before I was born.

The person who loved me unconditionally.

I have dreams of that day. Nightmares, really. The calls from the doctor informing me that your status was at first, guarded. Then declining. And at last…grave. There’s a description for you. As a noun, it’s a burial place. As an adjective, a description of serious concern or imminent death. Funny how our language can take a word and give it two meanings, and yet, tie those meanings together.

From hospitalization to death…hours. Mere hours.

Those days right after, when I had to deal with your funeral arrangments, Jack’s second fall and subsequent transfer to a trauma hospital 125 miles away with a second major surgery in two weeks; selling your house; dealing with the bills; the forms. The endless forms. Those days are a blur. I think my body shut off the emotional part of my brain so I could get through those days without falling apart. It, my mind, knew I would fall apart eventually, but it saved me from doing it when the grief was so profound and so new. So fresh.

So devastating.

How is it two years?

Two birthdays that were never celebrated. Two Christmas’s without you. The birth of your second great grandchild; seeing your daughter attain publishing success.

How? How is it two years?

Some days it feels like a thousand years; some, just yesterday.

I miss you every day. Every second of every day.

I miss you.

People said the pain would ebb with time; the sadness would lessen; the memories would dissolve.

They lied.

The pain is as sharp now as it was that day I lost you; the sadness? Just as vast. The memories? As vivid as ever.

I miss you.

I…miss…you.

I don’t make any secret about my age. I was born in 1960. That will make me 65 years old this year when my birthday rolls around. Retirement age ( although I did that at 55!), Medicare eligible ( if it’s even still around this May!), Social Security age ( not betting on that one sticking around for me to get.)

At my age, I have a lot of life experience, a little wisdom, a lot less life-angst, and some not-so-popular opinions about things – opinions that were forged in my Gen X/Babyboomer-cusp growing years.

My references, idioms, and colloquialisms about things are mostly from the 60s, 70s, 80s and 90s. A few 2000s are thrown in there, but not many, and those are mostly references about movies, celebrity, and TV shows.

I tell you all this so you realize something. When I write a romance book, I am drawing on all my life experiences to pen the story. I have 64 years of life that go into each main character, story plotline, and character arc.

Since I am not 20, I don’t write about 20-year-olds. I couldn’t. I don’t have their experience or references. 20-year-olds are very different these days than they were in the 1980s when I was in my 20s. Very different. If I went back in time and wrote a love story about 2 people in 1985, I would be okay because that time period is familiar to me, as is how people in their 20s were thinking and acting back then.

I write some 30-year-olds, but they are usually on the south side of 35 and approaching their 40s.

I am comfortable writing love interests that range from 35+ up and until my present age because their experiences, life references, social media testimonials, and lifestyles are more in sync with my own.

Now, I know someone who reads this will think, isn’t she writing fiction? Can’t she imagine what it would be like to be a different age? The answer is yes, of course. But me writing a YA book or a 20s-something coming-of-age book for this time period we are currently in wouldn’t be authentic to the character. It would be like me writing a Viking love story set in 1425. I know nothing about the time period, Vikings, or anything else pertaining to the topic. I don’t write historical romance for the same reasons, plus, people who do read Viking romance, or historical, or omniverse are rabid fans and catch mistakes or missteps in the storyline without blinking an eye. I don’t want people reading my work and having it not be authentic, accurate, and open for ridicule.

I have enough stress in my life. I don’t need that stressor added to it.

So, when you pick up a book penned by me, you know what you are getting. Well-rounded characters with backstories you can understand and empathize with; usually smalltown, but some city stories as well ( my NYC Socialites series is about female billionaires), some romcom, some medical romance, second chances, and life stories about death, divorce, and mental health issues. All wrapped up in a love story you can relate to or escape to for a few hours.

So…if all that sounds good to you, check out my books. They are on Amazon, B&N, Kobo, Apple, plus you can get them from me, personally, through my website store, where the books are cheaper than the online places.

Happy reading, kids. ~ Peg

I’ve thought about this quote often in my life…

When I was bullied in grade school because my last name was different from my mother’s. The 60s were a difficult time for the children of divorce because it was such a new phenomenon and people fear what isn’t familiar.

But even as a child, I rose above the bullying.

When I missed prom, senior day, and all the fun festivities of high school life because no one asked me to attend.

When I was told I was fat and ugly and everyone hated me because I thought I was smart and teacher’s pet. ( P.S. I was smart.)

When I was called difficult and overstepping by a doctor because I challenged him on a patient’s status. (P.S. I was right, in the end, and the doctor never wanted to work with me again.)

And I rose to a position of authority within the nursing department, forcing the doctor to work with me or move his patients. He didn’t move his patients.

When I was told the hospital/clinic wouldn’t give me the raise I deserved because I wasn’t worth the money. (P.S. I got the raise after I threatened to walk off the job and they had no one to replace me. Plus I proved to them, through income stats, that I made them money.)

When I was rejected over 500 times by agents/publishers/editors who told me my work wasn’t good enough for them, or that it didn’t fit the kind of books they wanted or needed. That my words wouldn’t sell and just weren’t…marketable.

And still, I rose by winning contest after contest and garnering a reader following.

From every soul-killing, tormented, and tortured event in my life, where I was kicked down, mortified and made to feel less than, I rose.

Why?

Why was I able to do this, to feel this powerful sense of self when I should have cowered in a corner and faded away into an emotional dustbunny?

When I should have been defeated, dejected, and despondent?

When I should have given up, given in, and let gloom invade my soul?

The answer lies in my DNA.

I’m a woman.

When we fall, we get up.

When we are punched down, we lift and strike back.

When we are made to feel less than, we prove we are more than enough.

Because we rise; we always rise.

Like air, we rise.

And always will…

Strange title for a post, but read on, and you’ll see why.

My mother was born in 1936. Yup. She would have been 89 years old today if she had lived.

This is her high school graduation picture. She never graduated, though. She had to leave high school with just six months left to graduate to take care of her ailing mother and younger sister.

At 17, she had to go to work full-time. Back in the 1950’s there weren’t many jobs an uneducated woman could get that would actually help support a family. She wound up in a bank as a junior teller.

For the rest of her life, that missed high school diploma followed her from menial job to menial job. Did we live in poverty? By today’s definition, yeah. In the 1960’s and 70’s, we were considered lower middle class. A two-income household that barely paid its bills each month and had a lot of debt. We didn’t have extras, sometimes had just a sandwich for dinner.

But my mother persevered. She tried to get her GED twice, but the work didn’t compute in her brain and she couldn’t pass the test.

She died suddenly two years ago. She’d just turned 87 a week before her death.

Today, I honor her life, so hard lived. She never lost her capacity to love, though. She had her issues, mental and physical. But she was my mother, and even though our relationship was tortured at times, I loved, and love her, with everything in me.

Happy Heavenly Birthday, Mommie. If I can’t have you here with me, I’m glad you’re one of my guardian angels in Heaven now.

you like:

~FBI profiles

~serial killer fiction

~fast paced writing

~lots of suspense and red herrings

What am I talking about? RETRIBUTION of course, my FBI profiler/serial killer/suspense novel.

For a limited time ( like 4 days!) it’ll be just 99 cents for the ecopy and that’s everywhere digital media is offered. I recently released the book into wide distribution and not just available on the ‘Zon.

Here are the links:

RETRIBUTION on Amazon kindle

Universal link which includes Apple Books, Kobo, Smashwords, Hoopla and many more!

4.8 star average on Amazon. 4.73 on Goodreads

I thought I’d take the time today to remind you that I recently pulled a few books out of KDP and began publishing them through venues other than Amazon. This way, I can reach more people than simply the ‘zon readers.

RETRIBUTION is just one of those books. Here is the universal link to more than 10 different places that are offering it. Retribution.

The other books that are currently WIDE include, and you can find them at APPLE BOOKS, KOBO, SMASHWORDS, HOOPLA, and many more

Balance

Fixing Christmas

It’s a trust thing

Mistletoe, Mobsters, & Mozzarella

Mix and Match

Santa Baby

The Sheriff and the Psychic

Woke

Yesterday, I mentioned that 3 WISHES (A SAN VALENTINO FAMILY ROMANCE) was releasing this Friday, 2.14, Valentine’s Day.

Today, I want to give you a little teaser from the story.

“You should be out with some hot guy who’s all into you, at a club, just having the time of your life. Not stuck behind a counter or in a kitchen, slaving away,” Gia said.

            I let her drone on because, really, I’d heard this too many times before.

            Anyway, there was no hot guy in the background, foreground, or any other ground just dying to take me out on my birthday or any other day. Unlike Gia, who inherited our mother’s genetics: small-boned, blonde-haired and blue-eyed northern Italian features, I’d been blessed with daddy’s Sicilian DNA: average height, black-haired and prone to hairiness (I had to shave my legs every time I showered), with the tendency to run to chubby if I didn’t watch myself, and the already noted one blue eye, one green.

            Gia had hot guys beating down my parent’s door to get to her. I did not.

            The last guy I’d dated was a setup courtesy of my Aunt Gracie. He’d been a wise guy wannabe with old-world theories on women, namely the barefoot and pregnant kind. He’d picked out the names of our first six children before the tiramisu was served.

            The guy before him told me I was married to my career/shop/lifestyle when I wouldn’t devote every minute of spare time I had – which is not a lot – to him.

            The one before him liked my candy more than me.

            Face it, at just a week shy of thirty, my dreams of happily ever after were starting to dwindle into the cold reality of perpetual singledom.

            Later on, in my apartment over my shop, I dragged out the banker’s box again and pawed through the rest of the contents Mama had shoved in there. But I kept coming back to the wish paper I’d written at fifteen.

            Funny thing was, I still wanted those three wishes, even now at almost twice the age I’d been when I’d written them. I knew the blue-eye/green-eye thing was probably never going to materialize. I’d grown to be comfortable with my weird-eyed status over the years. It was one of the first things people noticed about me and the comments were usually positive and inquisitive, not hurtful and mean-spirited as they’d been during childhood.

            The healer request could actually happen. My shop is in a busy neighborhood surrounded by hospitals, urgent care centers and nursing homes. It wasn’t too out of the ballpark to think I might meet a doctor, or a physical therapist, or anyone connected with the healing arts.        

The last wish – the one where the guy fell in love with me in an instant was a total dream, I knew. Stuff like that just doesn’t happen in real life.

Intrigued? I hope so!

Happy reading, kids ~ Peg

Did you ever make a wish as a kid and pray that it would come true?

Maybe you wanted to meet your favorite rock star?

Or have an entire year with just dessert as dinner?

Maybe you wanted to grow six inches overnight so you wouldn’t be the shortest kid in your class?

Or maybe you wished you could have straight hair instead of curly?

We’ve all wished for something in our lives, something we wanted, desired, hoped to get for no other reason than we wished for it.

Chloe San Valentino had 3 Wishes when she was a kid about her future husband. He’d fall in love with her in an instant; be someone who cares for people, and he’d have one blue eye and one green one just like her.

She’s pulled her wish list out every year on her birthday and so far, her dream man hasn’t materialized.

But this year, for her big 3-0, she just might get her wish. That is, if her crazy family doesn’t interfere.

3 WISHES (A SAN VALENTINO FAMILY ROMANCE) releases on Valentine’s Day, this Friday, 2.14.25. Do you think Chloe’s wishes will come true?

Can you believe it’s January 31st already? This month has felt like a YEAR!!!

Anyhoo.

Tomorrow is February 1st ( funny how that happens, right? LOL) and I’ve got 2 releases this month.

On February 3rd, the re-branding and re-release of PASSION’S PALETTE comes out. If you haven’t read it, this is Serena Cleary’s story from the MacQuire Women series. New covers and updated.

Talented and witty portrait artist Serena MacQuire, is successful in everything but love. Her gift for capturing people on canvas is rivaled only by her fiery and legendary temper. A tragedy from the past keeps her heart securely locked away, preventing any man from getting close enough to claim it.

But Seamus Cleary isn’t just any man. After he left his professional football career to become a veterinarian, his bitter wife ended their marriage. Now, as he starts his life over in a new town, love is the last thing he’s looking for. The more he tends to Serena’s horses, though, the more he realizes her own heart needs tender care and healing as well.

Will he be the man who finally unlocks and claims her heart?

Then, On Valentine’s Day, 3 Wishes ( A San Valentino Holiday Romance) re-releases, also rebranded, new covers, and updated text.

Valentine’s Day is chocolatier Chloe San Valentino’s favorite day of the year. Not only is it the busiest day in her candy shop, Caramelle de Chloe, but it’s also her birthday.

Chloe’s got a birthday wish list for the perfect man she pulls out every year: he’d fall in love with her in a heartbeat, he’d be someone who cares about people, and he’d have one blue eye and one green eye, just like her. So far, Chloe’s fantasy man hasn’t materialized, despite the matchmaking efforts of her big, close-knit Italian family.

But this year for her 30th birthday, she just might get her three wishes.

So if you haven’t read either of these, now is the time to. Preorders in Kindle and Print are available.

I’m so thrilled I got the rights back to these books because now I can put them in KU as well.

Happy reading, kids! Peg