Yoga and an erotic romance novel – how does that work? Simple. It was through the calming meditation at the end of class that broke the block that was keeping me from finishing What Happens in Bangkok.
I adore yoga. I go to a minimum of 3 classes a week. I’d go to more, but it’s a very long drive into the yoga studio. I do Hatha, Yin, Restorative and the occasional Power yoga class.
Yoga is great for your body and your mind. It is especially beneficial to writers as we spend a large amount of time sitting hunched over our laptops.
Hatha and Power yoga are more physical. Restorative is bliss and Yin is a head game. Yin is my favourite. Partly because of the incredible personality of the teacher and partly because I recognize how good it is for me.
In Yin, you hold a posture for about 5 minutes. IF you can. That’s what’s so important. You have to listen to your body. Most days I can hold sleeping pigeon for longer than 5 minutes. I could probably fall asleep in it. Then there is the odd day when after a minute, my mind is screaming, “This hurts. Get out. Lay down.”
That’s the head game. Am I just being lazy and don’t want to do the work? Or is something really hurting? New people in Yin class fidget and distract everyone else. They don’t get it and they can’t relax. Yin isn’t physical. It isn’t like running a marathon or doing a hundred push ups, but quite often my body feels like it’s worked that hard.
So when my body/mind is protesting, I try talking to myself, inhale deep calming breaths and try to relax the sore spot. If that doesn’t work, I concede and relax into savasana until the teacher tells us the next pose.
A while back, I damaged my knee. I sprained, strained every ligament and tendon and ripped the meniscus. Did it in a belly dance performance, but that’s another post. It has taken months of physiotherapy and yoga to get back to where I was before I hurt myself.
I let my physiotherapist know, the goal was to be able to get down into sleeping pigeon and hold it for 5 minutes and not be cringing in agony. And I am there.
I know there will still be days when the knee protests and I can deal, but I credit my physiotherapist and my yoga teachers for getting me out of pain and almost completely back to full recovery.
You don’t have to be flexible. You don’t have to be super thin. Yoga is for everyone. Everybody type. Don’t say – I’ll drop 10 pounds and then join. Go find a beginner class. If it doesn’t work for you, go find another studio. At some point, you will click with the teacher – it’s like a bond. And once you are going to yoga and feeling yourself come alive and opening up then you will understand how fabulous this is for you.
Photo – me on vacation. Took my mat to Florida and did class on the deck. This is sleeping pigeon. The damaged knee is the bent one.
There is another connection between yoga and What Happens in Bangkok—Erika and Darien do a class together. So yoga is not only part of my life, but my characters’ as well.
What Happens in Bangkok
To save Darien’s life his brother asks, “Can you walk in high heels?”
Erika Bailey, owner/manager of a drag queen club in Bangkok, Thailand has happily settled into all aspects of her new life, except for her lack of a love life. When a new diva auditions, Erika is bewildered over her instant attraction to the blond God, Apollo.
Darien Scott is on vacation after a world tour and mistakenly figures the safest place to be is at The Black Dragon with the head of a Triad. When the club is hit, Darien is the only person to get out alive. Now he’s running from the police and a Triad. Mistake number 1.
Disguised as a drag queen, he’s hired by Erika, but falls hard for his new boss, then struggles with not coming clean with her. Mistake number 2.
Can he fix his mistakes and find a life filled with love or is he headed straight for mistake number 3?
5 Stars—Really must read this one…., (1 line review)
“I thoroughly enjoyed this book, the chemistry between Darien and Erika was so hot that I thought my kindle would melt!”
Excerpt
Scene set: Erika is doing a strip for Darien – they are both in the shower. You have to read the book to find out why – lol
Erika straightened, reached up and slid off her right bra strap. Darien’s fingers ached to peel down the left strap. She lowered it to the side, releasing the front clasp. Pulling it open, she flipped it off and let it drop to the floor. Darien hissed. Having forgotten about the shower, he tilted his head back and sputtered when the water poured onto his face. He shook his head and blinked, then groaned. She’d turned, facing him, but had crossed her arms and covered her breasts with her hands.
That was wrong. It was his hands that needed to feel her nipples pebble against his palms. He shifted to move, but caught himself. He didn’t want to break the spell. WTF? Who was he kidding? He wanted to shatter the spell, grab Erika, and back her up against the shower wall, drowning her in kisses. After nibbling his way up her thigh, he craved burying himself deep inside her and when both had screamed out a release, he wanted to do it all over again.
In romance novels, as readers, we quickly decide if we like the hero. More times than not, at first we may not find much to like. After all, the author needs to give him some serious issues to overcome before he can win the heroine and achieve a happily ever after.
Every woman in the world, at one time or another, may have fantasized about making a bad boy good. I know I have. But in reality, few of us want a certified bad boy. One who is self-centered and incapable of love. No, we want one who falls so hard, he’ll do anything to win the heroine’s (our) heart.
I say “our” because, I don’t know about you, but I actually become the female lead in every book I read (or write). I put myself right there in those uncomfortable situations. Those smoldering hot, tension gripping, heart stopping, tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth scenes where everything is humming and strumming like a honky-tonk country band on a Saturday night.
The deal is, maybe the heroine doesn’t know her hero is actually beginning to change because he doesn’t show her….yet. But as the reader, we get to know that before she does.
For example, in my latest book, Chirp, the hero, Rance shows up at the house his grandmother left him and finds a strange girl living there. He’s determined to make her leave but he’s met his match. He’s rude, messy, and gets rid of the four cats living in the house, (which belonged to his grandmother, not the girl). Yeah, and I’m sure when that happened, cat lover readers everywhere wanted to scratch his eyes out.
As time passes, he starts to change. Then, he gets her a puppy but doesn’t take credit for it. Just lets her think it’s a stray and agrees to let her keep it. Holy crap! When that happened, I wanted to rip his clothes off, throw him to the floor, and have my way with him.
For me, nothing makes a man hotter than showing an act of kindness expecting nothing in return.
So what makes you think a hero is hot? Is it a chiseled body? Gorgeous eyes? Money? Tight jeans?
Let me know in a comment. I’ll choose one answer in a random drawing* and send the winner a “Come Fly With me to Bluebird, Texas” tee-shirt. Just like the one Rance gave Blaze.
*Sorry, due to out of country postage rates, the contest is for US residents only. 🙁
However, if I have an out of country winner, I’ll send an audio of my best-selling book, Tell Me a Secret. 🙂
Be sure and go here to enter my Rafflecopter giveaway to celebrate the release of Chirp, April 4. Giveaway runs until April 15. Below is the code for your site.
Heiress to the largest steel company in America, twenty-year-old, socially awkward Blaze Bledsoe hides out at Dessie Bishop’s farm. For the last three years, Blaze has eluded one investigator after another, but just when she thinks she’s safe, a PI closes in. Her luck is about to run out in more ways than one.
A man running from his past….
Rance Keller, a tough, hard-living ex-con, fresh out of prison for a crime he didn’t commit, arrives to claim the house his grandmother left him. Finding a strange girl living there, his plans for a solitary life take a turn. Her lack of modesty, no filter, and word of the day fetish baffles him, but those big green eyes and sweet mouth have him losing sleep.
Welcome to Bluebird, Texas
Where two damaged people with secrets, discover trust can lead to passion.
Award winning and Amazon Best-Selling author, Ann Everett embraces her small town upbringing and thinks Texans are some of the funniest people on earth. When speaking at conferences and to writing groups, businesses, book clubs, and non-profit organizations, she incorporates her special brand of wit, making her programs on marketing, self-publishing, and the benefits of laughter, informative and fun.
Her short stories have appeared in The Green Silk Journal, Snag Today, and Story Teller Magazine.
A top reviewer on thenextbigwriter.com, she lives on a small lake in Northeast Texas where she writes, bakes, and fights her addiction to Diet Dr. Peppers.
She’s been featured on:
Proud of East Texas with Joan Hallmark, KLTV-TV, Tyler, Texas
East Texas Live and Mid-day, KETK-TV, Tyler, Texas
KTSS-TV, Hope, Arkansas
The Authors Show with Don McCauley, Internet radio show
The Chandler & Brownsboro Statesman, Chandler, Texas
The Daily Tribune, Mt. Pleasant, Texas
Tyler Morning Telegraph, Tyler, Texas
InMagazine, East Texas
Ten things you won’t know about Ann by reading her bio:
She’s been married to her high school sweetheart.
She loves shopping at thrift stores.
She doesn’t remember her first kiss.
She hates talking on the telephone.
A really sharp pencil makes her happy.
She secretly wants to get a tattoo.
A charter member of National Honor Society in high school remains one of her proudest moments.
She’s thankful wrinkles aren’t painful.
She sucks at math.
Ann’s Books:
Tizzy/Ridge romantic suspense trilogy
Laid Out and Candle Lit You’re Busting My Nuptials Tied With a Bow and No Place to Go
Contemporary romance companion books
Tell Me a Secret Two Wrongs Make a Right Say You’ll Never Love Me
Non-fiction
Strong Verbs Strong Voice: A quick reference to improve your writing and impress readers (Amazon best seller) Body Language: A quick reference for character action and description Sweet Thangs: Southern Sweets from Two Sassy Sisters
Hi, Delilah. Thanks for having me here today. And greetings to your readers.
I’m one of those writers who actually holds degrees in writing. Because I have a master’s degree, I’m qualified to teach on the college level, and I did so for a couple of years. The moderator of one of my critique groups was fond of saying that degreed authors as well as writing professors wrote terrible novels. That was two strikes against me. Three and I was out before I even started.
Funny thing is, writing was always a stress-reliever for me, so it was never something I considered as a career. Because of that, when I started college, I was a business major. Hated that—math, statistics, optimization. Ugh. Despite having no design portfolio, I managed to switch to architecture, which I loved then. Still do, actually. But they were training us to be commercial designers, and I wanted to design homes. That necessitated another change. I thought about interior design or landscape design, but again, I had no portfolio. Then I seriously considered art history or archaeology, because I thought working in a museum would be amazing. But I also wanted to graduate before I was fifty. I was two years into my college career, and I didn’t have any course credits that would apply toward those degrees.
So, I did the only thing that made sense to me. I became a writing major. If I overloaded for a few semesters, I’d be right on track and would graduate in my four-year window (which I did, by the way). Once I had my bachelor’s degree, I could get a graduate degree in art history or archaeology and go on to be a curator.
Two things wrong with that. First, curators spend a lot of time in the business aspect of museums, and I already knew I hated that. Second, I freaking LOVED writing. So, when it came time to get a master’s degree, I stayed with what I knew and loved.
Why am I boring you with this biography? Because it’s relevant to fiction.
I wrote a novella (When We Finally Kiss Goodnight) with characters who are archaeologists. One works in the field, the other in a museum. I got to explore the parts of archaeology that interest me while avoiding the tedium of business management.
I’m also in the middle of a four-book saga (the Medici Protectorate series) with characters who are in the building business. I have an architect in Bleeding Heart and a construction pro in Mind Control, and when I finish the series, I will have an interior designer in Body Armor and a landscape designer in Tortured Soul.
Maybe my critique moderator was onto something. It’s not that writing majors and professors can’t be good authors. It’s just that people from other professions have different experiences and interests to draw on that make their writing richer.
Doctors write medical dramas. Lawyers and police write crime fiction. Military personnel write war stories. You get the idea.
I have plenty of interests. Maybe I shouldn’t have become a writing major. Maybe I should have studied architecture or archaeology. I might have been professionally content. (Note the stress on might.)
But this way, writing fiction, I can be all those things—be anything. Writing lets me live vicariously through my characters. I can be a sea captain, cryptozoologist, doctor, or astronaut. Maybe a wizard or an alchemist.
Actually, I get to be an alchemist in the Medici Protectorate series, too. As well as a mergers and acquisitions executive, a lawyer, an IT guru, and a security specialist. Yep, those of you who have been counting have it right. I’ve got nine different vocations going on in that series, and I get to have fun with each and every one of them.
What is an alchemist like, especially one who mastered immortality and has been alive for five hundred years? Is he experienced, wise, and benevolent? Maybe jaded, calculating, and bored with society? How do you think an architect gets along with a business mogul? A construction foreperson with a lawyer? An interior designer with a hacker? A landscaper with a security expert? Do opposites attract? Do careers even impact interpersonal relationships?
If you’re interested in finding out all those things and more, I’m running a sale right now. For a limited time, Bleeding Heart is on sale for 99¢ and Mind Control for $1.99.
Medici Protectorate Series Premise: The four Notaro sisters are the secret legacy of the Medici, famed rulers of Italy. Michelangelo promised his Medici-benefactor that he’d always watch over the family, and as such, he formed the Medici Protectorate to guard them throughout the generations. Now, Italy is in political turmoil and revolution is imminent. The people are calling for new rulers, and the Notaros are poised to assume control. But a nefarious opposing faction wants the power for themselves. Never was the family in more jeopardy. The four sisters are protected by the Brotherhood—four elite warriors of the Medici Protectorate prophesied to keep the family safe until they fulfill their destinies. They journey around the world in an effort to keep the family safe and the future of Italy secure.
Reading fiction is fascinating because it lets us escape our personal realities and become someone or something else. Writing it is even better, though. It’s the best of both worlds because it allows us to do what we’re good at (telling stories) while exploring our other interests.
It took me a while to declare my major, but I’m convinced I made the right choice. I get to be something different every day. How many careers offer that kind of flexibility and excitement?
Looks like the only third strike I’ll be getting is if I write a baseball-themed novel.
About the Author
Staci Troilo has always loved fiction, ever since her parents read her fairy tales when she was a young girl. Today, her interests are much more eclectic. She loves getting lost in sci-fi battles, fantasy realms, horror worlds, suspenseful intrigues, and romantic entanglements.
As goes her reading, so goes her writing. She can’t pick a single genre to focus on, so she doesn’t even try. She’s proud to say she’s a multi-genre author.
When she’s not reading or writing, she’s spending time with family and friends, possibly cooking for them, or maybe enjoying an afternoon in the pool. To learn more about her, visit https://stacitroilo.com/.
I have a confession to make. I originally wrote Drunk on Men before I wrote hot romances. Many things in the book got overhauled, including the sensuality level. How did I do this? I listed all the love scenes, analyzed the dynamics that should be there, including conflict and emotion, and expanded them. It was almost like writing them from scratch but harder because I had to fit them in with what was already there. It was also a lot more fun than I thought. The story really came alive in ways I’d never envisioned the first time around. Usually when writing a new book, the hot scenes are intermittent. But here, I spent a few days rewriting nothing but one hot scene after the next. At the end, I needed a cold shower!
Drunk on Men by Afton Locke
1920s interracial romance ~ monthly serial ~ get addicted!
Release Date – Volume One: 1 April 2017
series page: https://www.aftonlocke.com/DOM.html
You may think it’s sloe fizz gin But honey we’re sober, just drunk on men
When three African-American women meet at a resort on the Jersey Shore in the 1920s, they say goodbye to their old lives. Finding men as intoxicating as bootleg liquor, they pin their futures on happily ever after. But love can be worse than a hangover when the men’s flaws threaten to destroy them.
Hannah knows it’s time to replace her fiancé who died in the war, but the abrupt white man who rescues her from rough surf hardly fits the bill. Belle longs to ditch her latest meal ticket, but is the rich African-European owner of an upscale hotel out of her league? And while Edie struggles to face her upcoming arranged marriage, a rugged Hispanic-white fisherman decides to stake his own claim on her.
This 8-volume serial is a heady romance cocktail stirred with addiction, abuse, betrayal, and scandal. These women aren’t perfect and neither are their men. If you think you can handle it, read on and watch three steamy interracial relationships explode across the pages.
Playlist
Hannah:
Wait Till The Sun Shines on You – Gary Puckett & the Union Gap
He sighed and made a rude gesture with his hand and chin. “What did you think, Belle? The booze simply drops out of the sky into my bar? I am performing a necessary service for the town of Ocean Promenade.”
Excitement rippled down Belle’s arms and legs. Tonight’s joyride was the most thrilling thing she’d ever done.
“How much booze does this town drink, anyway? The Sands is the only place I see that’s even wet. I have a hard time believing you could buy a car like this on that speck of business.”
“I see you are shrewd businesswoman.” He leaned between the front seats and shot her an admiring glance. “I am much impressed. Since you ask, the product also gets shipped to Washington, Philadelphia, and New York City.”
“So, what happens next?” she asked. “Where’s the booze?”
He slid his jacket sleeve upward with two fingers and glanced at his watch. “It’s coming. Please join me in the front seat where I can see you.”
“Not with the gun lying there. A girl could get her cha chas blown off with a thing like that. Besides, how do I know you’re not planning to bump me off for knowing too much?”
“You are too beautiful to kill,” he crooned as he moved the monstrous weapon to rest against his door. “However, you have become heavily involved. I wanted to protect you from this.”
“It’s okay,” she said, shrugging as she scrambled to the front passenger seat. “I’m a big girl. I’ll survive.”
He reached over and grabbed her chin, forcing her to face him. Adrenaline flooded her body. Without thinking, she smacked him across the face.
He reared back in his seat. “What was that for?”
“Don’t manhandle me,” she said coldly. “I don’t care for it.”
She hadn’t pegged him as abusive, but she wasn’t about to take any chances. Especially in this abandoned place. She’d do a lot for money, but she refused to tolerate violence.
Please tell me you’re not one of them, Raoul. I don’t want to have to give you up.
“Bella, please. You shocked me, and I think you broke my jaw.” He stuck out his bottom lip like a little boy and dazzled her with another smile.
She couldn’t help laughing. “Oh, you’re all wet. I did not.”
“I’m only trying to make you understand something.” He leaned closer but without touching her this time. “You will see things and people who don’t want to be recognized. If you do not keep your pretty kisser shut, you could endanger your life and mine.”
Belle took a shaky breath. “Understood.”
“And it means you are my lady. You cannot walk away from me. Not after tonight.”
As if she wanted to. They sat in silence for a moment. He caressed her hand and then the thigh it lay on through the thin hem of her dress, making her breath draw in with a hiss.
“I want to show you my hotel room soon,” he said, lazily stroking. “I have a circular tub with flowing water. It is like the ocean, yes?”
“Sounds divine,” she whispered.
“We don’t have much time, and I need you to show me your loyalty.”
Loyalty?
Belle watched, fascinated, as he reclined his seat until it lay almost horizontal.
His voice dropped very low. Very soft. “Come here, Bella.”
Coming Soon
Turning the Tide: A Siren’s Revenge – Wiccan Haus series – Decadent Publishing – paranormal
Kira Duval, US Army Special Forces, never expected to fall in love with any man while she worked with an A-team in Afghanistan. But she did. And she never let anyone, not even Weapons Sergeant, Garret Fleming, know what lay in her heart for him.
She didn’t know if it was reciprocal because every man on the A-team treated her like their favorite sister. They treated her as an equal and they trusted her without question. Kira knew that if there was any hint of intimacy with Garret, it would fracture the team. And there was no way she was going to do that.
But Fate has a way of intervening and their worlds explode on them during a Taliban attack. Kira saves Garret after he is wounded. In the end, they lose track of one another for three years. Broken by PTSD, Kira is out of the Army and trying to find a job at a Wyoming ranch. And again, her life turns upside down.
EXCERPT from Chapter 1, Wind River Cowboy by Lindsay McKenna:
“Ambush!”
Sergeant Kira Duval’s earpiece rang with the warning from Army Captain Aaron Michelson, the Special Forces A team leader. The night was black and an RPG exploded right in between the two Humvees they were riding in. The twelve-person team halted and all hell broke loose. Kira exited the vehicle, hearing the hollow thunk of another RPG being fired in their direction. She heard more orders in her earpiece as she threw herself on the muddy Afghan ground, hands over her head, mouth open.
The night erupted into red, yellow and orange flames as the second RPG hit the first Humvee, which Aaron was in. She wanted to scream, but the blast lifted her off the ground, hurling her several feet, and she started rolling to minimize the impact. Keeping her mouth open to equalize the pressure between her lungs and the outside air so they wouldn’t melt into jelly, Kira had the M4 strapped in a harness across her chest. She fell hard on her side, the weapon jamming into her rib cage, making her cry out.
Another explosion erupted. Her eardrums were pounded. The pain in them caused her to grunt. The shouts, screams and orders roared into her head. She saw dark shadows exiting her Humvee, the other four men trying to escape and run for cover.
Someone jerked her up by the shoulder of her uniform harness, dragging her along, heading for a group of shadowy rocks. Gasping, Kira struggled and then lunged to her feet with the help of Sergeant Garret Fleming, who was at her side. He was screaming into his mic for the four operators, ordering them to get to the safety of the rock fortress just ahead of them.
Another RPG was fired. AK-47 fire was like a fusillade slamming into the escaping Special Forces survivors. Kira didn’t have time to cry. The first Humvee was twisted metal, flames roaring into the dark sky, sending long, dancing shadows across the muddy soil. She slipped, but Garret kept a tight gloved hand on her uniform, keeping her on her feet as they raced three hundred yards to safety. They had to get cover or they were all dead.
Her mind spun. There had been six men in that first Humvee. Had any of them made it out? She heard Garret yelling into the mic for Captain Michelson, but there was no answer from their leader. Oh, God! She’d lived with this team for three years. Each of these men were like beloved brothers to her. They couldn’t be dead. The just couldn’t!
Sobbing, tears burning in her eyes, Garret suddenly went down. She heard him curse. He released her shoulder, sending her spinning and falling to the left of him. Bullets were digging up mud all around them, geyser spouts flung into the air. They were not only ambushed but surrounded on half of the area where they were scrambling to find cover. Landing hard on her knees, she twisted around, the mud making everything slippery. Kira saw the shadows of two other A team members running in their direction.
Bullets mowed them down. Screaming, Kira lunged for Garret, who was grabbing his left leg, blood spurting from his calf.
Just as she reached Garret on her hands and knees, a second bullet struck him in the head. He suddenly collapsed, lifeless, on the ground.
No! I love him! You can’t kill him! You can’t!
Kira grabbed Garret’s shoulder. The man was six foot two inches tall, two hundred and twenty pounds without counting the seventy pounds of gear he wore on his body. Jerking at him, she managed to get to her feet. Adrenaline gave her the strength of two men and she hauled Garret behind the rocks that stood five to ten feet tall in a semicircle around them. She called for their 18 Delta medics.
No answer from either of them. There were two on each team. Were they both dead?
Thank you so much for having me at your lovely site today, Delilah. I’d like to introduce my new romantic suspense, Lapses of Memory, and tell you a little about the background.
My traveling life began at the age of six months, when my family moved from New York to North Carolina. Soon after we were winging halfway across the world to Turkey in a Boeing Stratocruiser, just like my hero Elian and my heroine Sydney did. Since then I’ve lived or traveled in Europe, the Middle East, Africa, the US, Central America, and South America. Like Sydney and Elian, I’ve seen the Golestan Palace in Iran and walked the Hamra in Beirut. Like them, I’ve ridden a bus down the switchbacks of the eastern Turkish mountains past Mount Ararat. I’ve even begged for cigarettes from the sailors on a battleship in the Port of Tangier—just like Sydney and Elian. It’s been an adventure.
Sydney Bellek first meets Elian Davies in the 1950s on a Boeing 377 Stratocruiser when she is five and he is seven. They run into each other every few years after that, but while he knows from the start that she is his true love, she does not. Later, as rival journalists, they vie for scoops on international crises from the Iranian revolution to the Lebanese civil war. The handsome and intrepid Elian beats her out at every turn, even while keeping his love for her secret. Only after years of separation does she finally realize they are meant to be together, but this time, in a twist of fate, it is Elian whose memory of her is gone. Will he remember her before she loses heart or will their new love be enough to replace the old one?
By luck or accident, Eddie’s parents had chosen the hotel next to Sydney’s apartment building, so they saw him every day. She and Eddie spent hours scouting the beach for what Eddie dubbed valuables—shells and sharks’ teeth and interesting flotsam. They kept their treasures in a shoebox under Sydney’s bed. Life seemed as good as it would ever be, or so Sydney told her diary.
The day before he had to leave for Marrakesh, Eddie met her at the front door of the hotel. “Let’s go down to the port. Ali says he has a surprise.”
They made their way to the bustling docks. Dwarfing the usual jumble of fishing boats and ferries at the wharves, a huge gray destroyer lay at anchor, its American flags flying proudly. “Wow, what’s that?”
A sailor passing by them said, “It’s the USS John Paul Jones of the Sixth Fleet. She’s come in for a weekend’s leave. See that little kiosk over there? You can get tickets for a tour if you like.”
Sydney started to head toward the kiosk, but Eddie held her back. He pointed at a gaggle of local kids standing near the ship pointing and yelling. “There’s Ali. Let’s see what’s going on.”
They ran along the pier, gawking at the sailors in their brilliant white uniforms who stood at attention on the decks. A couple of the other kids waved their arms, calling the sailors. Eddie grinned at Sydney. “You wanna jump in and see if they’ll throw us something?”
“What? Eew!”
“No, it’ll be fun. Ali says he and Yusuf do it all the time.” He took a flying leap and landed butt first in the oil-ringed water. He came up spluttering and waved at her. “Come on in, the water’s disgusting!”
When you’re thirteen years old and in love, you sometimes do the darndest things. Holding her nose, Sydney dove off the pier. She made the mistake of opening her eyes before she surfaced and was nearly blinded by a silt soup thicker than the Nile at flood stage. Something nipped her toe. She shot up out of the depths, kicking frantically at whatever slimy sea creature lurked in the muck. Together they swam over to a couple of brown-skinned boys and waved and shouted along with them. “Hey, sailor! Throw us sumpin’!”
“Hey, mistah!”
Pretty soon, they had a crowd of uniforms hanging over the railing, tossing cigarettes to them. Sydney wondered what her mother would do if she saw her little Pollyanna screeching and spitting out scummy water while she fought over soggy Winstons. To be on the safe side, she yelled in French. That way the headlines wouldn’t read “Underage American girl caught fraternizing with the Sixth Fleet.” One sailor leaned far out, pointed at her, and sent his Dixie cup hat floating out. She lunged for it, but instead her head slammed into Eddie’s. Dazed, she threw her arms out hoping to find something to grab on to and hit a bare chest. Two arms went round her, and before she could struggle out of them, two lips came in contact with hers. A moment later, they were gone. A hand took hers and guided her to the dock. “You okay?”
“Eddie!” Then she couldn’t think of anything else to say.
He grinned at her. “We’d best get back.” He pulled her out of the water.
They picked up their towels and walked home. Sydney kept her mouth closed, the better to savor the tingling feeling the kiss left on her lips. At the door to her building, he stopped. “We’re leaving tomorrow morning early. I’d…I’d like to see you tonight. Can you get out?”
She shook her head. “I’ve used up my three late nights. I have to stay in.” She hoped the tear that welled up wouldn’t fall.
Eddie’s face fell instead. “I don’t want to say goodbye, Sydney. What happens if…”
“If we never see each other again?” A sudden weight crushed her sternum, reminding her of that first climbing ascent in a plane when she was five. Never?
“Look, I’ll figure something out.” He checked the sun. “I’ve got to go. I promise, I’ll see you tonight.” Before she could move, he bent forward and kissed her again, then threw his towel over his shoulder and strolled jauntily away.
Although M. S. Spencer has lived or traveled in five of the seven continents, the last thirty years were spent mostly in Washington, D.C. as a librarian, Congressional staff assistant, speechwriter, editor, birdwatcher, kayaker, policy wonk, non-profit director, and parent. After many years in academia, she worked for the U.S. Senate, the U.S. Department of the Interior, in several library systems, both public and academic, and at the Torpedo Factory Art Center.
Ms. Spencer has published ten romantic suspense novels, and has two more in utero. She has two fabulous grown children and an incredible granddaughter. She divides her time between the Gulf Coast of Florida and a tiny village in Maine.
My daughter is in Italy attending a real estate seminar. She is also a coach, just like I was for several years. She works for the same mentor I loved, and who trained me to be a great saleswoman. Without his backing, I knew I was going to be trampled to death with the highly competitive field of knife-throwers-in-the-back. I felt I was too nice to sell.
I learned so much, and laughed so much, hearing all the mistakes people make in that business. I laugh about all the mistakes I’ve also made in writing. Some of the naïve views I had about writers and the writing process.
So Christen dropped the bomb that my mentor told a story about me in the seminar today. I’m just a bit obsessive about these sorts of things. I’m dying to know what the story is. Was it the bathing suit story? Or the time I sold a condo to a couple who looked like they were both women, and the title company informed them California (at that time) didn’t allow them to take title as husband and wife. And when one of them stood up, grabbed the back of her pants and said, “But I am a man,” we thought we were going to see the full Monty, but she got out her driver’s license, proving she was in fact, a man.
One of my old pals reminded me that I used to sleep under the stage at these big events, before I was one of the ones on stage. That way, I got a front row seat! Or the fact that I taught a whole bunch of agents I was training how to ride the service elevators so we didn’t have to wait to be part of the crowd waiting for one and running out of time to pee.
I also remember my son, who became a Navy SEAL, was 5 and spoke to my mentor at that time. “You know my mom, Sharon Hamilton?” And of course he did. “I think she’s a great Realtor,” Mike answered. My son replied, “Yes she is. She’s the best Realtor in the whole world. Did you know that?” He walked out of the ice cream store without looking back, satisfied he’d laid the proper facts on him.
Our past makes up so much of our stories. All the people we met, the families we raised, the seminars we went to, and churches we attended. Strange family gatherings. It’s all soup and it goes into the writer’s toolkit, right?
Award winning and Amazon Best-Selling author, Ann Everett embraces her small town upbringing and thinks Texans are some of the funniest people on earth. When speaking at conferences and to writing groups, businesses, book clubs, and non-profit organizations, she incorporates her special brand of wit, making her programs on marketing, self-publishing, and the benefits of laughter, informative and fun.
Staci Troilo has always loved fiction, ever since her parents read her fairy tales when she was a young girl. Today, her interests are much more eclectic. She loves getting lost in sci-fi battles, fantasy realms, horror worlds, suspenseful intrigues, and romantic entanglements.
By luck or accident, Eddie’s parents had chosen the hotel next to Sydney’s apartment building, so they saw him every day. She and Eddie spent hours scouting the beach for what Eddie dubbed valuables—shells and sharks’ teeth and interesting flotsam. They kept their treasures in a shoebox under Sydney’s bed. Life seemed as good as it would ever be, or so Sydney told her diary.
