Tag Archives: #amwriting

#SundaySnippet 2.24.19 A Shot at Love

When I set out to write A SHOT AT LOVE I wanted to write my first bad-ass heroine. Gemma Laine jumped to the head of the line in my head and exploded on the page. She’s the type of gal I’d want in my corner if I was ever kidnapped by terrorists, if I was walking down a  dark and deserted street at night, and if I ever needed someone to -literally – cover my 6 ( Gibbs reference there, peeps!) This scene proves what a warrior she is.

“How many do I have to hit for you to be satisfied?”

Ky looked over to where she stood at the side of the garage, the Glock in her hand, its barrel aimed at the ground. Her eyes had gone wide at the hidden supply of weapons Bannerman had in the pantry access room, but her only comment had been a muttered, “Why am I not surprised?” before she’d made her choice.

He’d watched her load the clip, then weigh and balance the gun in her hand like she did it every day of her life.

“This’ll do,” she told him.

He found a box of empty beer and wine bottles in the garage and set them up at varying distances from where he’d told her to stand. He wanted to ensure she was comfortable shooting up close and far.

“All of them.” He came and stood next to her.

“Are you kidding? All of them?”

“You might never get a second chance if a first bullet misses an attacker, so yes. All of them.”

She moved to the line in the grass he’d drawn for her to shoot from, mumbling something he couldn’t hear, but guessing it wasn’t something complimentary.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Yup. Any particular order you want me to hit them in?”

He had to bite back the grin threatening to fly free at her snooty, disgruntled tone.
“Your call.”

Gemma nodded and planted her feet. He wasn’t surprised when she angled her body with one foot slightly behind the other in a Weaver stance—a more aggressive, weight-forward position—and not the triangular, or Isosceles stance. Gemma held her gun up to her face, lining up her shot, both elbows bent and close to her torso. Her brother-in-law, Josh, had been a New York City cop, and if he’d taught her to shoot, it made sense he’d taught her this way. Although the Isosceles stance was the more popular, Ky knew the Weaver was a power stance, and Gemma was a woman for whom power could have been a middle name.

She flexed her shoulders and neck, the motion so subtly erotic, it made his pulse quicken, and shifted her weight. From his viewing position behind her, he appreciated just how tall and lean she was. Narrow shoulders were relaxed and tapered down into a waist no bigger than a hand span. How many times in the past few days had he thought what it would be like to slip his own hands around that tiny area and pull her in close? Too many for prudence, that was for sure.

The first bottle, the one he’d placed the farthest from them, shattered into a thousand fragments. Before he could take a full breath, she’d hit the next two.

The final three closer ones she dispatched with equal ease.

When she turned to him and asked, “Satisfied?” in a tone filled with condescension, Ky had to physically restrain himself from running to her, lifting her up in his arms, and kissing the gorgeous smirk off her mouth.

Because he’d discovered how much he liked sparring with her—go figure that out—he pursed his lips and nodded. “Not bad.”

Gemma’s smirk grew into a self-satisfied grin.

“But they were all stationary targets. Really adept shooters practice with moving targets, so I really can’t gauge how well you’ll do with that. But for now, you’ll do.”

The squinty-eyed glare she aimed at him would have made a lesser man run for the hills.

“Trust me.” She dropped the empty cartridge case from the weapon into her free hand. “I can shoot those as well.”

He handed her another clip and watched as she loaded it.

“Let’s hope you never have to prove it to me.”

Gemma slapped the cartridge in place. Ky handed her a holster and waited until she fastened it around her waist.

After tightening it, she secured the gun in place, dropped her hands on her hips and asked, “Can we go now?”

She looked like a warrior armed for battle. Strong, self-possessed, and so bad-assed sexy standing in front of him, her bangs blowing back from the slight breeze surrounding them, her perfect chin tilted up defiantly.

He could imagine her leading an army into a crusade against evil, each soldier following her blindly, minions pledged to fight for her, perhaps die for her without hesitation.

And he’d be one of them.
“Sure. Get your camera. I’ll secure the house.”

Intrigued for more? You can purchase a copy in print or ebook here:

Amazon // Apple // Google // Kobo // Nook 

Goodreads Reviews for A SHOT AT LOVE

Want to read a preview? Click here.

Tweet Me//Read Me// Visit Me//Picture Me//Pin Me//Friend Me//Google+Me// Triber// BookMe // Monkey me //Watch me

Here’s the link to my TELL ME ABOUT YOUR DAMN BOOK podcast interview, just in case you missed it: TMAYDB

and the link to my recent interview on NewHampshirePublicRadio

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Filed under Alpha Hero, Characters, Contemporary Romance, Food lover, Foodie, Kensington Publishers, love, Lyrical Author, Romance, Romance Books, romantic suspense, Strong Women, The Laine Women

#L&SR #WednesdayBloggingChallenge 2.13.19 Memories, light the corners of my mind…

Okay, so today the topic REALLY is: Most romantic memory. I’ve blogged about this one before, but it always bears repeating because the story is sososo typical of hubby and me. 

First, a little backstory is called for:

I don’t get a lot of gifts. I didn’t as a child and I haven’t as an adult. I tell you that so you’ll know how precious the gift I’m going to tell you about really is to me.

Obviously, I’m a girl. Duh. I was a child in the 1960’s a time when stereotypical gender roles were still very much in place. Boys got baseball cards, BBguns, and sports equipment for Christmas and birthday gifts.

Girls got Barbies, Easy Bake Ovens, and board games like Mystery Date.

I hated all those girly-girly toys. Still do, to be truthful. Even back then I knew they were designed to keep girls in their places, hoping and dreaming of the perfect boy/man to come along and take care of us for eternity.

Gag me now.

I so did not buy into that dream. But that’s a blog for another day.

When I was eight I asked Santa ( that’s right. I still believed in Santa at 8. Still do, in fact.) for a toy I’d seen advertised on Saturday mornings during the cartoon hours. It was aimed at the boy buying market but I didn’t care. I asked Santa that year for ROCK’EM SOCK’EM ROBOTS.

Lordy, I wanted that toy!!! I said a prayer every night that Santa would leave it for me. I was extra good around the house, doing my chores and even doing things I wasn’t asked to do just to score some brownie points with Old St. Nick.

Christmas morning came and….no robots. I think I opened a new outfit or two for the Barbie doll he’d brought me the year before – the one I NEVER played with, and some Barbie coloring books.

Devastated is too tame for how I felt. My mother asked me why I was so pissed ( and yes, she did say it like that to an 8 year old. Is it any wonder I am the way I am today?) I told her I’d asked Santa for Rock’em Sock’em Robots and couldn’t understand why I didn’t get it. I’d been good, did well in school, went to church. Did everything I was told and supposed to do.

Her explanation was very telling. She shrugged, took a puff of her cigarette and said, “‘Cause you’re a girl, not a boy. Santa doesn’t give boy toys to girls or girl toys to boys. That’s not right.”

See? Telling.

Now, you’re probably wondering why I told you that story. Stick with me and you’ll understand why.

Flash forward 48 years. I’m sitting at dinner with my entire in-law family a few days before Christmas and we go around the table telling stories about Christmas’s of the past. My father-in-law asks me what the best gift I ever got was. I told him, instead, about the Rock’em Sock’em Robots debacle and how much I’d really wanted that toy and how upset I’d been when I didn’t get it. On to the next person for another story.

Christmas morning comes and we are spending it with my in-laws. I wake up and we all start to unwrap gifts. My husband hands me a huge box wrapped with a big red bow and a tag that said, “to Peg, from Santa”.

Since I hadn’t asked for anything that year, I was in a quandary about what it could be. When I opened it I started bawling my eyes out. Yup – you guessed it. He’d given me the toy I’d always wanted. Apparently, after hearing the story I’d told a few nights before, he’d sent my brother-in-law to Toys R Us with instructions to get it for me.

Is it any wonder I love this man and have for over 30+ years? As far as romantic memories go, this one does it for me first, last, and always!

Since this is an author blog hop, let’s see what some of the other writers in this challenge find romantic. Click on this link to read their entires: L&SRWednesdayBloggingChallenge

And if you’r looking for me, you can always find me here:

Tweet Me//Read Me// Visit Me//Picture Me//Pin Me//Friend Me//Google+Me// Triber// BookMe // Monkey me //Watch me

and here’s the link to my TELL ME ABOUT YOUR DAMN BOOK podcast interview, just in case you missed it: TMAYDB

 

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#1stLineFriday 2.8.19

Serena MacQuire twined her long fingers together, stretched her arms, just grazing her bed’s headboard, and smiled.

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?

Buy Links:

Amazon // B&N // KOBO // i-tunes // Google Play // Books-a-million // Walmart

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I’m a video star!! ( Not really, but read on…)

Starting Feb.1, 2019 I’m part of an exciting new blog with 22 other fabulous and talented writers called ROMANCE GEMS. We’ll be blogging daily about all things life, romance, and writing related for readers and writers alike. One of our uber-techsavvy writers, Joan Reeves, put together a You-Tube video introducing all of us and I’ve got tell you, I feel like a co-host of Saturday Night live! The video is GREAT!!! take a gander:

See?? FABULOUS! Here’s the link for the blog so you can make sure you’ve got it when it goes live: ROMANCE GEMS

and here are the other places you can always find me when I’m not blogging for the Gems:

Tweet Me//Read Me// Visit Me//Picture Me//Pin Me//Friend Me//Google+Me// Triber// BookMe // Monkey me //Watch me

and here’s the link to my TELL ME ABOUT YOUR DAMN BOOK podcast interview, just in case you missed it: TMAYDB

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#CharacterNames #L&SR #WednesdayBlogChallenge 1.30.19

So the prompt this week is Characters I’d name a baby after. Great idea, no?

So why am I having so much trouble with it??

Here’s what I do know – characters I wouldn’t name a baby under any circumstances:

Boys first: Christian, Addicus, Ashley, Rhett, Fitzwilliam, Tom, Marvin, Bruce, Elvis

Girls next: Scarlett, Melanie, Lisbeth,  Portia, Juliette, Mulva, Hermione, Anastasia, Scout

Those names are so recognizable, and some of them are iconic, that I fear the poor child would be doomed to always being compared to his/her fictional counterparts.

 

 

 

Can you imagine a tomboy named Scarlett? Or a WWF fighter named Ashley?

I can’t either, but maybe to other writers, those would be perfect character names for their mismatched personality-typed characters.

But not for me. I like ethic names for my characters to enhance their heritage. I like naming my characters after their fictional grandparents or great aunts and uncles. I like the idea of family names and nicknames, like number-naming. You know what I mean: Harry is  grandpa, Pop in H-Two, grandson in called Trey ( for third). I know this is quirky, but I love it.

So I guess I’d better get to the actual prompt for today. Characters I’d name a baby after.

Girls first this time: Isabella, Jane, Nora, Eve

 

Boys next: Roarke, Dylan, Edward, Sonny

Since this is a blog challenge, here’s where you can find other authors who are participating and get their take on character baby names: L&SR WednesdayBlogging Challenge.

And if you’re looking for me, I’ll be busy naming my characters here: Tweet Me//Read Me// Visit Me//Picture Me//Pin Me//Friend Me//Google+Me// Triber// BookMe // Monkey me //Watch me

and here’s the link to my TELL ME ABOUT YOUR DAMN BOOK podcast interview, just in case you missed it: TMAYDB

 

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#1stLineFriday 1.25.19

Carly Lennox strode into the television studio armed with the self-confidence she’d been born with.

THE VOICES OF ANGELS, The MacQuire Women, book 4

Love is the last thing Carly Lennox is looking for when she sets out on her new book tour. The independent, widowed author is content with a life spent writing and in raising her daughter. When newscaster Mike Woodard suggests they work on a television magazine profile based on her book, Carly’s thrilled, but guarded. His obvious desire to turn their relationship into something other than just a working one is more than she bargained for.

Mike Woodard is ambitious, and not only in his chosen profession. He wants Carly, maybe more than he’s ever wanted anything or anyone else. As he tells her, he’s a patient man. But the more they’re together, Mike realizes it isn’t simply desire beating within him. Carly Lennox is the missing piece in his life. Getting her to accept it-and him-may just be the toughest assignment he’s ever taken on.

Amazon // Wild Rose Press // B&N // Kobo // Walmart // Books-a-million // Google Play 

Also available on AUDIBLE: 

Find your bliss today, peeps, and let your beauty shine.

And you know I’m always here if you need me:

Tweet Me//Read Me// Visit Me//Picture Me//Pin Me//Friend Me//Google+Me// Triber// BookMe // Monkey me //Watch me

and here’s the link to my TELL ME ABOUT YOUR DAMN BOOK podcast interview, just in case you missed it: TMAYDB

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Filed under audiobooks, Author, Contemporary Romance, Family Saga, MacQuire Women, Romance, Romance Books, Strong Women, The Laine Women, The Voices of Angels, The Wild Rose Press, WIld Rose Press AUthor

Moving forward…making changes

I ended 2018 exhausted.

How’s that for an opening line, eh?

But it’s true. From November 4th until December 12th I had three brand new books released and was so wrapped up in promoting them, doing book tours, and fulfilling all my blog obligations to myself and other authors, that I had no time to truly enjoy the releases as I’d done with past  ones. The circumstances that led to 3 books at one time ( plus my inclusion in a Holiday Anthology) was a perfect storm of creativity, publisher time schedules, and the season-specific stories I wrote.

That this all came to fruition around the busiest time – typically – of the year for me was another factor in my fatigue- both mental and physical. I can probably even add spiritual. By the time January 1 rolled around I wanted a redo on the previous month.

 

Well, since I don’t have a time machine, we all know that wasn’t gonna happen.

With 2019, I decided to switch things up a little bit for me, career-wise. I currently have no books on the publishing schedule for 2019. I know that’s gonna change at least once, as soon as I finish book 2 in my bridal series, but that’s it. And that’s horrible. The reason I’ve got nothing going into production is because I spread myself too thin and too wide in 2018. I blogged 5-6 times per week, plus did numerous blog tours for all my books. In addition  I attended 5 conferences and all the travel that went along with them and amped up my Netgalley reviews. The daily social media promotion that went along with all those books – because you gotta sell ’em – also wore me down. In the long run, all of that etched away at my personal writing time.

Before 2018 I used to write a minimum of 1000 words every morning before I did the adulting stuff that needed tending to like laundry, exercise, etc. I stopped doing that in 2018 and started letting life and business and other things intrude on that writing goal. Not anymore.

With the New Year comes a new attitude and desire to get myself back to doing what I love more than anything: write.

Simply, write.

So. Now, there have been a few changes made:

  1. I’m only blogging 2-3 times per week MAX! Promise
  2. I’m cutting down on my netgalley “asks” and trying to get just one book per week read and reviewed.
  3. I’ve gone back to that 1000 word minimum before I leave the house.
  4. I write all my blogs on Sunday now ( just like I am right now) so all I have to do is schedule them and let them fly.
  5. I’m attending 2 conference this year instead of 5 – RWA in NYC in July and Fall In Love in New England in October.

I’m not abandoning my writing sistahs in all this. If they have a new book releasing or a sale going on, I will continue to promote them because I fully believe our strength lies in our commitment to one another, so no worries there.

But, I’m taking Peggy writing time seriously. Like, wicked seriously.

 

Find your bliss today, peeps, and let your beauty shine.

And you know I’m always here, so no worries on that front, either:

Tweet Me//Read Me// Visit Me//Picture Me//Pin Me//Friend Me//Google+Me// Triber// BookMe // Monkey me //Watch me

and here’s the link to my TELL ME ABOUT YOUR DAMN BOOK podcast interview, just in case you missed it: TMAYDB

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#1stLineFriday

I’m trying something a little new each week on Fridays, #1stLineFriday. Each week I’ll post the first line from one of my books. Today’s line is from my first book in my new bridal series A MATCH MADE IN HEAVEN, DEARLY BELOVED.

“9-1-1! Colleen, I’ve got a 9-1-1 in the Bawl Room!”

For those of you who grew up Catholic, especially from the 50’s to the 80’s, you’re gonna know exactly where this 911 is originating from in a church!

Get your copy here:

amazon //wild rose press // b&n // kobo // apple // google play // books-a-million

and find ME, here:

Tweet Me//Read Me// Visit Me//Picture Me//Pin Me//Friend Me//Google+Me// Triber// BookMe // Monkey me //Watch me

and here’s the link to my TELL ME ABOUT YOUR DAMN BOOK podcast interview, just in case you missed it: TMAYDB

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#SundaySnippet 1.13.19

Continuing with the old school theme, here’s a little something from my second book, THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE HOME from The WIld Rose Press.

This scene is a long one, but it shows how much the relationship between these 2 friends is strong and loving.

Blurb:

Symphony pianist Moira Cleary comes home after four years of touring, exhausted, sick, and spiritually broken. Emotional and psychological abuse at the hands of someone she trusted has left her gaunt, anxious, and at a crossroads both professionally and personally.

Moira’s best friend, veterinarian Quentin Stapleton, wants nothing more than to help Moira get well. Can his natural healing skills make it possible for her to open her heart again? And can he convince her she’s meant to stay home now with the family that loves her – and with him – forever?

She couldn’t read the expression in his eyes as he nodded, and turned to go.
Moira felt an intense overwhelming emptiness engulf her when he left. She started to open the front door but stopped when Quentin abruptly turned back and started up the porch steps again.

“I forgot something,” he told her.

“What?”

When he came up the last step and crossed to her, he said, “this,” and without another word pulled her into his arms.

Her first and last coherent thought was her best friend was going to kiss her goodnight. After a heartbeat, she forgot the best friend part and knew down to her toes friendship had nothing to do with this.

His lips slid across her mouth, soft and gentle, testing, tasting. Moira’s mind went blank as she succumbed to the sensation of them, hot and hard, pressing against hers in a kiss like none he’d ever given her before. Slowly, he traced her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, silently asking her to open for him. When she did, he entered her mouth and began to explore, each movement becoming more demanding, more insistent. Moira fell against him, fisting his jacket lapels to steady herself. When she felt his heartbeat pounding under her hands, she grew lightheaded with need. Quentin framed her face with his fingertips, softly tugging down on her chin, changing the angle of the kiss.

She’d been kissed before, but never, never with such all consuming need and longing. She heard a deep moan and was shocked to realize the sound had escaped from her. One of Quentin’s hands left her face to slide down her back. When he pushed against her backside and molded her body to his, Moira’s stomach jumped. This time, though, it wasn’t with the painful contractions she’d come to expect, but with a heart- stopping craving.

A craving for him.

She unfurled her hands from his jacket and, without thought, wound them upwards, weaving them over his shirt collar and up through his hair. She grabbed onto the ends, pulled his head down closer, and held on fast.

All aspect of time was lost. Nothing mattered but the delicious feel of his strong hands caressing her back and the taste of him as his tongue mated with hers.

This couldn’t be happening. It had to be a dream.

But no dream had ever made her want like this, feel like this. When he skimmed his lips across her jaw and down her throat, stopping to take her lobe into his mouth, Moira knew this wasn’t a dream. That same feeling she’d had when she looked at him in the movie steeped through her again, tickling her stomach muscles. With a jolt, she realized the sensation was desire. Pure and simple.

Quentin pulled back and stared down into her face. With a heavy sigh, he laid his forehead against hers, a small grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long. So damn long.”

“Q—?”

He traced one finger lazily down her jaw and across the lips he’d just caressed, silencing her. “Remember when your cousin Tiffany got married in the backyard here?”

Confused, Moira nodded. She licked her lips, running her tongue across his caressing finger. The hiss that blew from him made her thighs shake.

Quentin rubbed her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. “When the Reverend told Cole ‘you may now kiss your bride,’ and he swooped her off the ground, spun her around, and kissed her silly? Remember what you said?”

Moira tried to conjure the scene. “I think I said it was the most romantic thing I’d ever seen.”

He nodded. “The exact quote was ‘I hope someone kisses me like that some day.’”

Her grin was quick at the memory. “Pat snorted and said I’d better be satisfied with licks from the horses and Rob Roy because no guy was ever going to kiss me like that.”

“He wasn’t known for tact back then,” he said, rubbing a hand down her back as he held her next to him in the soft lamplight from the porch. The soothing, rhythmic smoothing of his hand made every nerve on Moira’s body stand at attention.

“Later on that day, behind the barn, remember what happened then?”

Because she did, she couldn’t stop the heat from spreading up her face like wildfire. When she merely nodded, he traced a kiss across the area he’d just caressed, and said, “You wanted to know what it felt like to be kissed like that and since I was your best friend, you thought I should be the one to do it, because you—quote—felt safe with me—unquote.”

“What was I? Eleven?” she said, finally finding her voice, and unnerved to hear it whining.

“Thirteen. We both were, and I was more than willing to do it. Almost broke my heart in two when you said afterward, ‘I don’t see what all the fuss is about.’”

His lips twitched at the corners when he said it, and Moira felt the warmth of her blush intensify.

“Q—”

“Hush.” He kissed her forehead. “Ever since that day, all I’ve wanted is a second chance. Now,” he pulled her body closer, wrapped both arms around her small waist, his hand resting just above the dent in her spine. “We’re both a little older, a little more mature. Some of us are much more experienced—”

“And conceited.”

“Experienced,” he said, the laugh in his voice quiet and seductive, “and things can be so much better.”

 

Intrigued? You can find a copy – where most of them are on sale even as I post this – here:

Buy Links:

Amazon // WRP // B&N // Walmart // Apple // Google Play // Kobo // Books-a-million

and as always, you can find me here if you need me:

Tweet Me//Read Me// Visit Me//Picture Me//Pin Me//Friend Me//Google+Me// Triber// BookMe // Monkey me //Watch me

and here’s the link to my TELL ME ABOUT YOUR DAMN BOOK podcast interview, just in case you missed it: TMAYDB

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Filed under Contemporary Romance, MacQuire Women, Romance, There's No Place Like Home, WIld Rose Press AUthor

Just 2 stops left!!!

 

Just today and tomorrow left peeps, in my Goddess Fish Blog tour for CHRISTMAS AND CANNOLIS. 

Today, I’m over at IT’S RAINING BOOKS, so stop  by and show me some love. And remember: tomorrow is the last stop of the tour, so you need to sign up for my rafflecopter by then – you gotta be in it to win it!

And if you’re trying to find me during the day, I’m typically here:

Tweet Me//Read Me// Visit Me//Picture Me//Pin Me//Friend Me//Google+Me// Triber// BookMe // Monkey me //Watch me

and here’s the link to my TELL ME ABOUT YOUR DAMN BOOK podcast interview, just in case you missed it: TMAYDB

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