It’s too early in the morning for me to be getting the giggles, but I just re-read my title. Don’t get it? Say it out loud now. LOL! Get it? Okay, I’m over it. Or maybe I’ll wait until I have this little bit written then I’ll go back and laugh again.

I’m still finishing up Hook. But it’s coming very, very soon (October 16th!). I’m sharing a snippet from the opening. I love my bounty hunter openings. I always try to introduce the heroes as they’re right in the middle of the action, taking some skip down. Hope you enjoy meeting Hook!

Hook

Former Army Ranger, Dylan “Hook” Hoecker, has a new job along with a new prosthetic arm. Being a bounty hunter is the closest career field he could find as a civilian that gives him the adrenaline rush that is his addiction. So, when his first solo assignment is to keep an eye on a flight risk the boss bonded out of jail, he’s not thrilled. However, he soon discovers a fresh addiction—one mouthy, nerdy redhead, who resists his attempts to keep her out of trouble.

Felicity Gronkowski is grateful for the bone the head of Montana Bounty Hunters threw her. She didn’t have the money to pay for bail, but he has a soft spot for former soldiers, and she bartered to install a new computer system in his satellite office in Bear Lodge. Being on the outside of jail was her first imperative because she has to figure out who framed her for a series of high-end robberies while she worked installing home security systems. However, her bounty-hunting babysitter isn’t giving her any slack. Every time she thinks she’s given him the slip, he’s one step ahead of her. Either she must find the perfect method of distraction to escape him or she has to enlist his help.

Pre-order  your copy here!

Dylan “Hook” Hoecker had no problem keeping pace with Dagger and Cochise as they raced along the dark alleyway, following the skip they’d tracked to a gun shop in Libby. Scooter James had made the crew the moment Dagger entered the premise. Perhaps it was Dagger’s burly physique that had tipped him off, or maybe he was just nervous having three intense-looking dudes enter the store, but he’d run for the back exit.

No, Hook’s legs had never been an issue. He ran like the wind, easily leaping over a barrel Scooter dumped on its side, hoping to trip them. Beside him, Dagger cursed, and Hook couldn’t help smiling as the big guy went down. This skip was his. When he reached the end of the alley, Scooter veered left and ran through a stand of motorcycles, tipping over one, which sent the rest slowly falling like dominoes. Bikers sitting at outdoor café tables nearby rose and filled the street, shouting and moving toward their Harleys, forcing Cochise and Hook to push past them.

Cochise went down when one biker stuck out a foot, perhaps angry that their chase had scratched his ride.

Hook waved his prosthetic arm, which, sometimes, had even those who weren’t so tight with the law pausing and giving him a break. He didn’t mind one bit using his disability to give him an advantage. He shouted out a “Thanks, man,” when one biker rolled his bike forward to clear his path.

Now, it was just him following the slap of Scooter’s Adidas on the pavement. Hook paced himself, forcing himself to keep his breathing even so he’d outlast his target. He didn’t use every bit of his strength to close the gap, because he knew he’d need anything extra to take the fucker down once he began to slow.

In his mind, Hook thanked his physical therapist, who’d concentrated on helping him make the adjustment to his new circumstance, learning to use his prosthetic, but who also continued to meet him on the track three or four mornings a week to make sure he worked out the rest of his body to help, not only keep him toned for the work he did, but to keep his dark moods at bay. Raydeen Pickering was a hero in his mind, because she went the extra mile for every man and woman she accepted into her treatment program.

Ahead of him, Scooter ducked into another alley.

“He’s turned again,” he said, knowing the others could hear him through the radio in his earpiece. “Left, into an alley.”
“I’m behind you,” Cochise said. “Don’t let him out of your sight.”

“I’m cutting through another alley. Will try to get to the street before he does,” Dagger said in his ear.

Hook went left and entered an alley lit by a single golden bulb at the back door of a restaurant. He ran past rank-smelling trash bins and plastic bags but didn’t see his mark ahead. “Don’t see him,” he said, and then slowed and turned.

Something dark swung at his head, and he held up his right arm to deflect the blow from a two-by-four from a pallet, no doubt. But the board hit plastic and metal and bounced off. Hook swung under it with his left, catching Scooter in the chin. Their target dropped like a sack of rocks across a row of trash bags lined up on the dirty, smelly pavement.

Hook stood over Scooter, shaking his left hand because it hurt like hell. Then he noted that his prosthetic dangled kind of funny. He tried to open and close the claw, but apparently, Scooter’s blow had damaged the cable. “Fuck,” he said, and gave Scooter a light kick in the side. “Bastard.”

The sounds of two individuals converging on him from different directions forced him to contain his anger and tuck his prosthetic against his body to hide the damage. The last thing he ever wanted to have happen was for one of these guys to think he was less capable of mixing it up. For the most part, he thought of his arm as an advantage in a fight. Metal hit harder than flesh and bone, and, generally, it could sustain a punch much better, too.

Thankfully, he kept a spare in his vehicle. He just had to get there. But first things first.

Scooter moaned from the ground as Cochise then Dagger came to a halt beside him and stared downward.

“Like we tried to tell you before you ran like a scared rabbit,” Hook said to Scooter, “we’re fugitive recovery agents, and we’re taking you to jail.”

Scooter pushed up on an elbow. “What the hell is that smell?”

Dagger sniffed. “Don’t know, but now I’m hungry. Could be chili.”

“I think it’s stew,” Cochise dead-panned. “Benny’s Eats makes a mean beef stew.”

“Shit, it’s all the way up my shirt,” Scooter said as he sat, rubbing his jaw.

“Well, looks like you’ll have something to snack on during the drive back,” Dagger drawled.

Scooter let out a huff. “Goddamn. My car, man. I left it at the gun shop.”

“You’ll just have to pick it up from impound,” Dagger said, “if the judge is stupid enough to let someone bond you out again.”

Hook reached down his left hand to help Scooter to his feet.

Scooter frowned. “Damn, you wearing armor on your arm? My teeth about rattled out of my head when I hit you.” Then he glanced at Hook’s metal claw. “Well, shit. That explains a lot.”

Hook reached for his handcuffs from the pocket on the back of his web belt. When he pulled them forward, he realized he wasn’t going to be able to cuff him, not one-handed.

Cochise held out his hand. “Let me do the honors.”

Hook pressed his lips together and handed him his handcuffs. If he’d been on his own, he’d have managed, somehow, but he might have had to put Scooter back on the ground first. He hadn’t quite mastered the single-handed snap using his left hand. Everything was harder to master with his left. Maybe he should ask Raydeen to add handcuffing to the everyday tasks he worked on improving.

Once Cochise had Scooter restrained, he stood back and let Hook grip Scooter’s upper arm to take him back to their vehicles.

The walk back was interminable. They passed the bikers who shot them birds but otherwise stayed pretty mellow. Back at the gun shop, Lacey, Dagger’s partner, gave a wave to the shop owner and sauntered their way. She’d canvassed the businesses in Libby days ago, leaving cards. No doubt the middle-aged owner had been only too eager to snitch, because then she’d grace his shop again. Dressed in skin-tight jeans and a pink button-down blouse that she’d knotted at her midriff, Lacey looked like a sweet confection. All that was missing was the powdered sugar.

“Hey there, Scooter,” she said. Then she shook her head and held her nose. “Good Lord, he is not riding in our vehicle.”

Hook grunted. “You can ride with me. I’ll even let you drive.”

Lacey might have looked like a cupcake, but she was one sharp cookie. Her gaze went to the arm he’d tucked close to his body, and she gave him a broad smile. “Dagger, you don’t mind if I ride with Hook, do you? I’ve never had the chance to talk with him alone.”

Dagger narrowed his eyes.

Lacey gave him a blinding smile. “See you back in Bear Lodge! Only you’ll be way later than us,” she said, then held her nose again and gave him a wink.

Cochise chuckled. “Come on, Scooter. You’ve got a new date with a judge. Bet if you sweet talk your jailers, they’ll let you have a shower before they put you in your cell.”

Hi Gang,

It’s been a while since I’ve had the pleasure of visiting with you. First, a major thank you to Delilah for hosting me again. I owe her an even bigger thanks for taking time, nearly six years ago, to guide a new writer down the path of knowledge and skill. I stayed the course and have 16 novels, 4 novellas, and 7 short stories to show for it. Thank you for being an great mentor and friend.

My latest and (IMHO) greatest novel is WHO! Get a load of this cover.

And that’s not the best part!

It’s an homage to one of my favorite shows, Sex & The City, and my favorite genres, thrillers and romance. There is a central group of strong, successful women who are fierce friends at the heart of the story. I’ve wanted to write this novel for the last three years, but other projects kept me away from it. But lookout world! The story is written! And it’s the book I’m the most proud of out of all the others. Shhh, don’t tell them. 😉

Here’s a peek inside, Who.

*****

“Why were you on the roof the other night?” she tried.

He simply stood and watched her.

“How’d you get up there?”

“You said a lock wouldn’t stop me.”

“Fine. Fine. You won’t come in. You won’t let me dry your clothes. You won’t answer my questions.” Larkin yanked off her coat, glad for the working thermostat. At least he wouldn’t freeze for as long as she could keep him inside. She sidestepped him and hooked her coat on the rack. If she was going to get this out, she couldn’t look at him. The sight of him all big and fucking sexy as hell muddled her brain. Her feet carried her from one side of the foyer to the other.

“That night on the roof … I wasn’t trying to kill myself.”

When he didn’t protest, she looked at him. His gaze followed her, calculating her again and again like a high-functioning computer. Reading and reading and not asking a single question.

“I know it looked that way. I know, now, why you acted the way you did, but it scared me. No one is ever up on the roof. It’s my place to get away from … everything. I hadn’t been up there in a while. Too long. Things were pressing in on me. Work. My …” Why was she blabbing so much to him? He didn’t give a shit. He was probably worried about where his next meal would come from. What did he care about her problems? Which really weren’t problems at all in the grand scheme of the world. People lived not knowing where their next meal was coming from. People lived without proper clothing. Without proper shelter.

Beckett didn’t look homeless. He wasn’t malnourished in any way. His clothes were used but clean and well maintained. The scruff on his face wasn’t more than three days growth.

“Your … boyfriend?”

She stopped pacing and found his gaze. “I don’t have those. They’re … messy.”

“Husband?”

Her face crinkled. “Even worse.”

“Finally, someone who understands.”

“So many people don’t.” She nodded and walked, studying the intricacies of the woodwork and the fibers of the entry’s rug.

“They’re needy.”

“And you don’t need much, do you?” She stole a quick glance at him. His head shook.

“So who was it that night?”

Her gaze dropped to the ring on her finger. “My family.”

His fingers came into view. They grazed the thick band and large stone.

“It was my mother’s.” She hated the words as soon as they were out.

“Why are you mad at a dead woman?”

Her gaze flashed to his. He stood over her, eyes warmer than before. She hadn’t said a word about the rage that boiled inside her bones for her mother, but he was smart. Smart enough to add her action that night and her words tonight and ask the one question she wouldn’t answer.

Larkin’s head shook, jarring loose the tear she’d been fighting back.

“Seems we both have our boundaries.” His thumb wiped the tear from her cheek, dragged it down her face, and smoothed it over her lips. They parted for him. He took his time tracing the high arch. The salt from his fingertip bled into her mouth as the pad dragged over her lower lip and pulled it wide. “Unlock the door and tell me to leave.”

“No.” Her tongue slid along the path with his finger. “You ran away from me Saturday. I’m not going to let you do that tonight.”

“It’s what I should do.” His thumb left her lip and joined the rest of his fingers at the side of her neck. He tilted her face up. “Tell me to stop.” His face, scarred and angry, neared hers, open and intent.

Not a sound passed through her lips. She grabbed his jacket, only inches from his hand, and tugged. His hold broke. The cold exterior chilled her fingertips. The weight of it forced her muscles into action but not for long. She dropped the thing on the ground behind her, toward the wall and away from the door. Her gaze never left his. His gave nothing away.

He was too tall for her to lift up onto her tiptoes and press her lips to his, and he didn’t move from his battle-ready posture. She could climb him like a tree, but if this was going to work, he would have to give … just a little.

Toe to toe, she studied him as blatantly as he did her. A healthy pulse swelled the veins of his thick neck. His gaze narrowed and cooled as though begging her to lose interest. Not a chance. Every inch of him intrigued her. Even the ugly scar that hid in the shadow of the foyer. She reached up slowly. His head shifted higher into the stratosphere of her entryway.

“Don’t tell me a big guy like you is scared.”

His jaw worked back and forth. “Cautious.”

“I won’t hurt you. Don’t think I could if I tried, but I won’t.”

His head lowered.

Larkin grabbed his chin. It barely fit in her hand. The short hairs pricked her fingers. She turned his face to the left and held her breath. Webbed and raised skin slightly darker than the rest of his face gleamed with a waxy smooth finish in the lamplight. Its dips and rises spread wide from a point just below his eye to encompass the hinge of his jaw and a two-inch swath of his cheek. It was fully healed but not an old scar. Her fingers slid up the side of his face. She mapped the ridges of scarred and unmarred skin alike.

He moved under her touch, not visibly, but energy hummed under her fingertips. She dragged her touch down over his scar, his neck, and gripped the collar of his shirt with both hands. Cool water seeped from the fabric, running through her fingers.

Hunger flashed in his eyes.

She pulled his face down. Her heart beat against her chest, urging her to take his mouth, but determination made her wait. He had to give. Saliva pooled. Her breasts ached. Oxygen, so skittish before, heaved in and out of her lungs as though she was chasing him down the street again. If he broke down her door and ran away, she’d chase him again. This wasn’t like her. She took what she wanted. Men gave it freely. But this man just looked at her.

*****

Who is a 410-page beast of a first-in-series novel released October 2nd. It’s regular $6.99, but is on sale for the next two weeks for $4.99!

Amazon
US: https://amzn.to/2DuzlIw
UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07HDDTNVB
CA: https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B07HDDTNVB

iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/who/id1434316342
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/who-19
Google Play: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Megan_Mitcham_Who?id=1dRqDwAAQBAJ

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/41540582-who
Author Website: https://www.meganmitcham.com/index.html

*****

Down to business. What is the thing in life you are most proud of? Answer the question in the comments below for a chance to win a signed copy of Never Mine.

All the best,
Megan
—
Megan Mitcham
USA Today Bestselling Author
Sizzling Suspense – Are you sizzling yet?
www.meganmitcham.com

UPDATE: The three winners are…Tamara Kasyan, Janelle, and Misty Dawn!
*~*~*

I hope you haven’t forgotten my Uncharted SEALs stories! I still have two to refurb and put in the lineup, Head Over SEAL and SEAL Escort, which I hope to get to this month, so I do have quite a few of these action-packed stories for you to enjoy. And I’m not saying I’m done with them either. This series spawned my Montana Bounty Hunters, and now, Montana Bounty Hunters will soon spinoff to another series, but I’m not talking about that yet! Just know I love my military heroes, and I don’t plan to stop writing them anytime soon! And as for Montana Bounty Hunters, I have many more stories to tell there. I love writing them! They’re fast and funny. I make myself giggle when I write them.

And why write if you don’t have fun doing it, right? — That’s my motto anyway.

Here are all my currently available titles in the series. Peruse these lovelies…

*~* *~*

Click on the covers to learn more!

Contest

Win your choice of one of my Uncharted SEALs stories! There will be 3 winners! All you have to do to enter is answer me this…

When you daydream, what sort of hero do you imagine? A cop or a firefighter? The boy-next-door? A SEAL?

Heart of a SEAL

Aislinn Blalock is the lone survivor of the extraction team sent to rescue hostages in Cambodia from the vicious criminal gang holding them for ransom. After her helicopter crashes, she has to stay one step ahead of them to stay alive long enough for a rescue team to get to her.

Ash’s husband Sam watches the mission go sideways on a computer monitor, sidelined by management because one of the team happens to be his wife—but now, there’s no way in hell he’s sitting this one out. He’s getting to Ash before the armed gang can cause her any harm. He’ll risk everything to save the woman who holds his heart.

Can’t wait to win it? Purchase it here: Amazon | Nook | iBooks | Kobo

 

Opening Scene…

What a difference six months made. Aislin Blalock lay in tall grass beside a withered rice paddy, staring up at a clear, starlit sky. A billion pinpricks of light scattered across a dark canvas. No moon, thank God. Beautiful, really. But the distant stars only deepened her sense of unreality. In the distance, she heard metallic creaks and groans, as well as the crackle of fire. She had yet to move, afraid adrenaline was giving her brain the wrong signals, masking the fact she’d been hurt. She had, after all, just fallen from the sky.

Six months ago, she would never have imagined she’d be here in Cambodia in December, participating in a mission to rescue wealthy tourists who’d been kidnapped for the fat ransom their families would pay. She’d been a cop, still suffering the loss of her boyfriend and partner during a robbery. Just met the man who would drag her out of hell and show her love was still possible. That guilt didn’t have to consume her. That she had the right—and the duty—to survive and find happiness. No longer did she drink herself into oblivion for the chance to dream of Marc and pretend he wasn’t gone. Now, she had Sam.

Sam…

Ash drew a deeper, sharper breath. He hadn’t been happy about her being pulled from her training with Charter to be part of this team, but the company had wanted a woman along, and she was one of the first female operatives they’d hired. He’d been supportive of her decision to apply for a position with his company as a field operative. Naively, she’d believed that being part of Charter, rather than remaining with the New Orleans Police Department, would mean they’d see each other more often. And she’d needed a change. A new job. New home. Without constant reminders of what she’d lost or the time she’d nearly lost herself grieving after Marc’s death. When Charter had tapped her for this mission, she hadn’t hesitated.

Two of the hostages were nuns—not wealthy tourists like the rest. And Charter had decided she’d make the women more comfortable during the rescue and transit. But her team never made it to the drop zone, a click from the kidnapper’s jungle encampment. Although they’d flown well below radar, someone had alerted the well-organized, well-funded group holding the hostages.

Her helicopter had been in the lead. She’d already shuffled toward the open door, ready to drop down a rope when they’d been hit. She’d had a split second to react. Thought she’d heard a voice in her ear, telling her to jump. Marc’s voice, but that had to have been a dream. Her subconscious prodding her to take that leap of faith.

Her landing had been cushioned by deep, soft vegetation. She’d landed on her feet. Sort of. Her bottom making contact a split-second later.

Even if she’d suffered a break or a spinal cord injury she couldn’t yet feel, she was far better off than the men who’d been aboard her helicopter. She’d had time to jump from the left door when the right side of the helo sustained a direct hit from an RPG. The rest of her team, whom she’d met only two weeks before, hadn’t been so lucky.

She drew deep, ragged breaths. Lungs expanded. No hitch, so her ribs were likely fine. Inside her combat boots, she wiggled her toes and felt them scrape hard leather. Time to move. But she was still afraid. After a few wasted moments, at last, she rolled to her right and came up on her knees. Everything appeared to be working, but maybe she’d sustained internal injuries. Gingerly, she dropped her pack and unlatched the cover, feeling inside for her headset. Her hands closed around thin bands. She donned her headset then the night vision goggles, set her mike beside her mouth, and tapped ON, using the team’s call sign to identify herself. All actions were performed by rote, because if she’d had to think, she would have frozen. “Do you read me?”

“Jesus, fuck!”

She almost smiled at hearing Sam’s break with protocol. But his curses, so harsh in her ear, relaxed her. For the moment, she felt his reassuring presence.

“We see one heat signature a distance from the helo. That you, babe?”

“Yes. I don’t think anyone else made it out.”

“The second helo just crossed back into Viet Nam.”

Which meant she was alone. If anything had gone awry with the mission, the pilots had been ordered to return to Charter’s base camp. She swallowed hard to still the panic rising in her throat.

“Are you hurt?”

She heard the soft note of hesitation in his voice. Knew he was bracing for the worst. Not sure, yet. “No,” she said, more firmly than she felt.

“Fuck. More heat signatures. Nine of them. Coming from the West.”

Her stomach clamped. Men from the kidnapper’s encampment. “Roger,” she said, her voice clipped. She knew what she had to do. Run.

“Head northeast. You’ll be in deep jungle. It’ll give you cover.”

She checked the illuminated dial of her wrist compass, took her direction, and pushed up into a crouch. As quickly and as quietly as she could, she streaked toward the tree line.

Their marriage was supposed to be a business transaction. Only love wasn’t factored into the contract. And he never expected he would fall in love with his husband.

One of my favorite tropes is the marriage/relationship in trouble. I like to see people/characters fighting for their relationships and the love they share. Struggling with life circumstances but working their way back to each other. I think that is because I am a character-driven writer.

Characters come to me first.

The Marriage Contract started as a completely different story. But the characters would not cooperate. Over the years, I’ve learned not to argue with my characters.

It’s useless. So I let them guide the story. And more often than not, turns into a better story than I originally planned.

Grant Thornton and Tristan Castillo are the heroes of the story. And as far as characters go, Grant was more stubborn than Tristan. Tristan was just dark, broody and scared. And one night as I was watching television, Tristan popped into my head and this version of the story was born.

Then I started peeling back the layers. I looked at the character histories, their flaws and baggage and use that to plot the scenes and develop the story.

And then the puppies got involved. Not one puppy but two.

The Marriage Contract is about to flawed, vulnerable men who are afraid to take a chance on love. But also afraid not to try to love.

Thanks to Delilah for having me on her blog. As a bonus, here’s the reveal of the new cover for The Marriage Contract.

To find out more about the Motor City Romance Series – Subscribe to the series newsletter here: https://eepurl.com/cgnZxT
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Tristan Castillo wants to make his marriage work, but there’s one problem— his husband. Not only is Tristan coming home, he’s bringing a surprise, a puppy named Apollo. But when he arrives home, he gets a surprise of his own. Grant adopted a dog too. And when he hears Grant named his puppy, Zeus, he figures it for a sign that they are meant to be together.

Tech mogul and closet jazz musician, Grant Thornton needed a husband to get past the codicil in his grandfather’s will. It was supposed to be a simple business transaction. Only love wasn’t part of the bargain and Grant doesn’t know if he loves Tristan or the things he does to his body.

As a former Marine and Michigan State Trooper turned chocolatier, Tristan is used to going after and fighting for what he wants. Sure, love wasn’t in the contract but it’s not something you can put a value on either. He came back to win his husband and he’s going to pull out all the stops to get Grant to open up to the possibility of love and a happily ever after with him.

With the help of Zeus and Apollo, Tristan and Grant start their journey towards forever. But old demons and old habits threaten to keep this union a true marriage of convenience.

LINKS:
Apple/iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id1419339545
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-marriage-contract-42
Google Play: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Danie_Ford_The_Marriage_Contract?id=PcFmDwAAQBAJ
Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-marriage-contract-danie-ford/1127276066;jsessionid=D5133EF8ABBCDE31F3FFC3DF229DF32B.prodny_store01-atgap10?ean=2940155688273
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B075GWY8VH

The title confuse you? It’s not an alien invasion, although that idea is sparking an idea in my mind… I just wanted to make sure I had your attention!

Today, I want to let you know about a story I wrote quite a while back, but which has received a facelift and a brand new look. It’s the first of two stories in a super sexy paranormal series entitled Veiled Alliance. I’ll publish the two I have then give you time to read them. If you want more in the series, let me know! There are demons (skinwalkers!), a psychic, and a fallen angel in this one, and you’ll get a glimpse inside a secret police precinct that deals in the woo-woo stuff. I had fun revisiting this one. I hope you love it, too!

Sin’s Gift

Veiled Alliance, Book #1

When police officer Sinead O’Rourke returns to duty months after being shot in an incident that claimed her partner, she knows it’s not going to be easy. Despite being cleared of any negligence, her fellow officers still wonder whether she’s responsible for his death. One more problem is that everyone knows she claims to have seen his ghost. After months of rehabilitation and lying like hell about the fact she’s not seeing spooks anymore, Sin’s determined to get back into the saddle.

Jake Chappa doesn’t want to partner with Sin. Been there, done that—couldn’t keep his hands off her the first time around. She’s too much of a distraction, and her penchant for rushing into trouble scares the heck out of him. Despite wishing she’d quit her job, he’s still deeply attracted. When an armed robbery goes down and something happens that rattles Sin to the core, he’s right there—ready to cover her back and her sweet body.

Get your copy here!

Writing short fiction suits my personality. It’s kind of episodic. You gotta get in quick and figure stuff out fast. I approach it the way I do my daily work-outs. I try to mix them up. Example, today I shot a bunch of hoops, then in between, ran through an obstacle course, did some weighted hula hooping and finished up with a bunch of push-ups, all while throwing frisbees to my three Golden Retrievers. I just finished a two-week flash fiction class where we wrote a 500-word story every day then posted it online so members of the class could make comments. At first, I was so stressed. That’s just me. I’ve been writing a long time, but to do new things under a quick deadline with strangers commenting on your work can be scary. The surprise was that I got such wonderful feedback.

One writer said my work was beautifully cinematic. Another said I was a sentence-level writer. I had to look that one up. I took it to mean I love putting words and phrases together in a lyrical way, which I do. Someone else said my writing had beautiful movement, a quick rapid-fire pace and startling imagery. I was lucky. This was a really kind group. If any of you are wondering what the definition of flash fiction is, the instructor described it as combining the prism of the poem with the just slight indulgence of a short story. For the past year I’ve been working on my third book, a collection of short fiction called Little Earthquakes. Here’s an excerpt from a story I’ve titled “Teyana Lee”:

She spits her gum out in my hand. I don’t know how old she is. She could be 20, she could be 17. Her father/director/boyfriend/captor hands me his gunmetal grey suit jacket. No eye contact. Mr. GQ flies First Class often. My work husband James gives me the side-eye when we both realize the girl is barefoot with a brand new white band-aid on her pretty face. With much work to do for both of us on this New York to London flight, I forget about them.

The take-off is shaky, storm winds, a flock of birds maybe. I struggle to push my cart of drinks down the aisle. James will follow with warm nuts and exotic cheeses. Mr. GQ asks for two glasses of Champagne. It’s late. 

The girl came onto the plane with no carry-on, so probably no ID. I pretend both drinks are for him. The girl looks at me, her eyes waxy raw, her body turned into itself. Her feet are filthy. She’s not a girlfriend or his daughter. I sense this girl is playing a dangerous game. ‘I was the Trivia Dancer today on Kelly & Ryan,’ she tells me. Mr. GQ smiles. His eye mask is around his neck, ready to block out the world for the next eight hours. ‘They let me co-host during the Win-A-Trip segment,’ she says. ‘I wanna be a co-host for real someday.’

The plane hits a bit of weather.

‘She’s got quite the imagination,’ Mr. GQ says.

The girl lifts her hand to her face as if suddenly the overhead light is revealing too much. She quickly turns it off. Before their mini-suite goes midnight dark, I read the word SECRETS on her see-through skin. James snatches the drinks off the tray table. ’That’ll be all, miss,’ Mr. GQ says to me, covering himself and the girl with a blanket. In our stewardess training program, the instructor said to think of turbulence as angry air wrestling its demons. Smooth air is never far away. The girl pokes out from under the blanket, lights a match, holding it very close to her face. 

I reach over and blow it out. The girl pinches my cheek hard. ‘Hey,’ I say, ‘that hurt.’ I push her arm away. ‘It means I like you,’ she says defiantly. Something keeps me standing there. ‘Should I worry about you?’ I ask the girl. ‘No one ever has,’ she tells me as if she was a piece of sky…

Thanks for having me, Delilah and readers! Find out more about me on my website: www.rp-author.com/MKE
I’m on Twitter #Word Actress or on Instagram @wordactress

BONUS: If any of you like entering writing contests, check out the Soul-Making Keats Literary Contest: www.soulmakingcontest.us
Deadline is November 30th. I’m the Flash Fiction Judge.

Other categories include: Novel Excerpt, Short Story, Poetry, Humor, Memoir, Young Adult Poetry & Prose.

Winners come to San Francisco to read from their winning stories. I’d love to see you there!

Three Quick Reminders!

The offer of a free book, Stepbrothers Stepping Out: With His Pack, is still live! Get your copy here! I’ll be closing it down very, very soon!

Diana Cosby’s tote and mug giveaway is still open! Be sure to head here to enter: Fall —  A Magical Time of Year

My giveaway is ongoing, too! For a chance to win a free Night Falls story, enter here: Coming Tuesday…

My Lazy Sunday

This morning, I rose at 6:00 AM, late for me, actually, since most mornings I’m up between 4:30 and 5:30. The extra half hour was nice.

I didn’t have to make breakfast for the house. That was nice, too. So, I reviewed my email, updated a couple of my work/schedule charts, then started editing.

No new words, today, so that’s a bit of a break, too.

Since my dd and my SIL are doing yard-work at my place this morning, I packed my laptop and headed across the street to her place to baby-sit the little ones while their parents work. They are watching Jurassic World, and not asking for my attention, which I usually give in spades, so a break again. I can complete this blog, and then head back into edits.

I hope to close down when their parents come and enjoy a blissfully aimless afternoon. We’ll see.

My issue is I’m a writer. I work from home, so I never escape my work. Ever. And that’s how I like it. I chose this life. I don’t have a job as a ______ (FILL IN THE BLANK). I am a writer/editor/teacher of writers. My work is never done.

Kind of like being a mom, huh? We work from dawn to dusk—and beyond. I wouldn’t chose another life, would you? But if you do crave the occasional, REAL break from work, how do you manage it? I’d really love to  know… 🙂