Sometimes we get a quirky character in our head and he fits in to stories as a “comic relief” standup to one of our other hero characters. But this character is fully developed and understood by not only the writer, but the reader as well. I’ve found that fans love them.

I once had my cover looked at by a publicity person, and she said, “Well, he’s not the usual handsome and bare-chested guy, so I guess this book won’t do well.” She wanted to promote one of my other books.

While it’s true, my character, Fredo, his formal name being: Special Operator Alphonso Manuel Esquidido Chavez, doesn’t have what we would call “handsome” face and long tanned torso, his heart is his best feature. That, and he never gives up on the things he believes in.

This was a refreshing change for me to write a character with a unibrow he didn’t think manly to tweeze, a cratered face and wide nose, who didn’t eat anything green but cilantro and chilis, and show him as a sexy hero because of his heart and not his body. I even got fan mail asking me when his book would be out, and wondering why I hadn’t written it yet. He does appear in all other 15 of my SEAL Brotherhood books.

I get the most fan mail about Fredo. In the prequel novella, Fredo’s Secret, he learns he’s sterile. Fredo’s Dream is a continuation of that story in a full length novel to give him his Happily Ever After.

For a limited time, the eBook version of this book will also contain the prequel.

Here’s an excerpt:

They pulled up in front of the house. Fredo sucked in air like his life depended on it. He felt a paw squeeze his left shoulder.

“Tell her, man. Make sure you take that burden off you. If it’s her story, she has to unburden herself. But you don’t take that on for her. You can’t save her from everything. And you’re tough, Fredo. You’re the toughest motherfucker I’ve ever seen on or off the battlefield.”

Fredo didn’t know why, but he thought of something funny.

“Until this thing about the baby, you know what was the toughest challenge I ever had?”

“What?”

“Getting my pants on with a stiffy. Damnedest thing, I’ve been fuckin’ hard ever since she touched me that first time on the cruise. That first time I knew she wanted me for me.”

“See? Normally, I’d give you a ration of shit for that one. But that’s good. Focus on that.”

Fredo glanced down at his lap and grinned as his boner came back to life.

“Some men fuck better scared, so think about that and not what you might find out, either now or later. Doesn’t matter. She loves you. You know—hell, the whole platoon knows—she loves you. Whatever happened, I’m sure there was a good reason. And you know what I think about the testing. Just get yourself goddamned tested, asshole. You’re like those new recruits who cry when they get their first Wompa Shot.”

“Okay, I’m ready.” Fredo grabbed his duty bag and got out of the Hummer. He leaned back into the window to accept Coop’s final words of advice.

“Suck it up, Buttercup.”

Why couldn’t it have been something manly?

“Fredo, you don’t do this, and I’m gonna get Danny and Kyle and T.J. and Jones, and we’re gonna hold you down and tweeze that fuckin’ unibrow. Who knows, under all that hair, you might be a handsome man!”

He swore but was much more pleased with this “normal” sendoff. He started laughing to himself and then remembered one more thing and ran back to the window. “There were two things I struggled with. You won’t believe what the second one was.”

“You wear pink women’s underwear and were hiding it from your wife.”

“In your dreams.”

“Not my dreams, asshole.”

“I actually learned to get used to tofu and stir-fry vegetables. I actually got to like the taste of some green in my diet. Can you believe that?”

Coop shook his head and started the vehicle, shouting back, “Go fuck your wife, Fredo, and quit pulling my leg.” He drove off with a low rumble, screeched his tires at the corner, and was gone. Just before he disappeared, he held up his middle finger.

Get your copy here!

About the Author

NYT and USA/Today Bestselling Author Sharon Hamilton’s SEAL Brotherhood series have earned her top author rankings of #1 in Romantic Suspense, Military Romance and Contemporary Romance. Her characters follow a sometimes rocky road to redemption through passion and true love. Her Golden Vampires of Tuscany earned her a #1 ranking in Gothic Romance.

A lifelong organic vegetable and flower gardener, Sharon and her husband live in the Wine Country of Northern California, where most of her stories take place.

When I was a girl, my mother often called me by my older sisters’ name. It was funny in a way because that usually happened when I was in deep trouble. I once loved that her first instinct was to think of my sister at those times.

Fast forward to 2013 when I was writing my regency romance novel, An Improper Proposal. I had by then come to the realization that there was nothing about my mother’s faulty memory that was funny. Yes, mum still calls me Jenny rather than Heather fairly often, but there were other things she was doing that had crept into her habits that concerned me. The repeated offers of food and drinks, especially to my kids, and frequent calls for help to find misplaced items within their home were becoming a common event.

The changes in mum were so slow at first that I just accepted them like everyone else in my family and carried on in my full-time writing bubble. Until I couldn’t ignore the fact that the woman who’d raised me, taught me everything I knew, was slowly disappearing.

I want my mum back!

My mother has late stage Alzheimer’s, a disease that has stolen her recent memories and jumbled the rest, decimated her skills and experiences, eroded her happiness, and created so much anxiety in her that it is almost unbearable to witness. She has become paranoid, fatalistic, and incredibly insecure about her place in the world.

Readers often ask if I’ve ever created a character based on a real person. I did once. Mum’s earlier behavior certainly defined some of the traits of a side character in An Improper Proposal. At the time I had no idea how bad it could be. There’s nothing I can do to help mum or make her remember her life. The most I can do is try to reassure her that she is loved and wanted.

The last year has been emotionally challenging for me, and I’m easily moved to tears by the smallest things—like writing this post or my mum asking if I have a boyfriend when I’ve been happily married for 25 years.

I’ve learned a few things about stress tolerance and patience in the last six months when circumstances have required me to drop everything to be there for my parents. A full time writing week has become a memory. I miss getting lost in a new story so much, but it is what it is. I have to adapt.

There is nothing comfortable about change. I have let a lot of stuff go to keep my sanity intact, and everyone else’s for that matter. If it is not possible to do everything I want anymore, I certainly intend to do what makes me comfortable. It took me a while to get to find my happy zone, but here’s my suggestions if you are ever faced with a long term complication like mine:

1. Step back and decide what’s most important to do personally, and don’t put your health last just because the dishes are dirty.
2. Delegate or Delete. My kids are old enough to be trusted in the kitchen, so they each cook one meal a week. I’m on hand to offer advice, but I love that precious time of not being responsible. My youngest son is fourteen and does his laundry now too which helps to offset the extra hours I spend each week to help my parents manage their home too.
3. Share. My life these days has become all about writing, but I’ve always been hesitant about sharing too much out of respect for my family’s privacy. However, hiding what’s going on with mum is nearly impossible. I need other people to understand why I might be too busy to help them or perpetually run late.
4. Chill out and shut down. I’m doing the best I can, but life occasionally is just too damn hard. I need to stop worrying. I chill out best watching movies like Wall-E and John Wick.
5. The last one is the hardest and the easiest—let go of what’s been lost, live in the moment and make new memories. Alzheimer’s sucks, and while mum still recognizes me, there is no reason not to help her live the best life possible. That’s my new plan for the future.

Oh, and a word of advice—no matter how horrible it is to think of this stuff get your legal affairs in order so your end of life is less terrifying for the ones you love. One day they might have to make decisions for you because you can’t do it anymore.

Take good care of yourself and cheers!

About Heather Boyd

Bestselling historical author Heather Boyd believes every character she creates deserves their own happily-ever-after, no matter how much trouble she puts them through. With that goal in mind, she writes sizzling regency romance stories that skirt the boundaries of propriety to keep readers enthralled until the wee hours of the morning. Heather has published over thirty stories. She lives north of Sydney, Australia, and does her best to wrangle her testosterone-fueled family (including cat Morpheus) into submission. Connect with Heather at:

Website  |  Twitter  |  Facebook Page  |  Mailing List  |  Goodreads

I write about what I love. From one piece to the next it might include vampires, incubi, an underdog, or a Werecat or two but it always includes music. I tend to crush hard on rockers with amazing voices. My music addiction has given me great joy. In fact, music is the backdrop to the best times in my life.  So many road trips taken in the name of a good concert—or a good record show.

Record shows were large exhibits comprised of dozens—sometimes, hundreds—of dealers of all things music and pop culture. You could find just about any vinyl record you were looking for (domestic and imported) plus compact disks, photos, and posters.  If you were REALLY lucky, you’d find videos. Half of the fun was the hunt for that one rare find.

Today, my partner and I go to ComicCons. Once in a while we find a cool poster or picture, but what these conventions have over record shows is the opportunity to meet the celebrities.  Yes, I’m a fangirl but I don’t get all loopy over just any old star. What about Jason Momoa, you ask? Oh, yes. The last time I had my picture taken with him, he invited me to slip my arm around his waist and I nearly fainted. I didn’t though—why waste the moment?

Still, there was something about rummaging through crates to find that album with the poster in it, or the CD from across the pond with different liner notes.

Anyone remember going to record shows? Man, oh man do I miss them.

House of the Rising Son

Living After Midnight, Book 1
Genre: Urban Fantasy Romance (LGBT)

Cheyenne is a half-human incubus whose star is on the rise in the Unakite City rock scene. His father, the leader of the supernatural races, would prefer he keep a “low profile”, but screw that. Cheyenne has as much music in his veins as royal incubi blood.

Alexander’s future is all set—finish law school, join the family firm, and marry someone who’d be good for business. Not that he has a say in any of it. He’s barely met the woman his father expects him to marry.

As Cheyenne’s musical career takes off, his carefully constructed life begins to unravel, exacerbated by an ex-lover who can’t let go, a crotchety barkeeper with a dirty mind and a pure heart, a drag queen who moonlights as a nanny, and Alexander—who’s not sure if he’s falling for the incubus or the rocker.

Cheyenne denies who he is, while Alexander hides what he wants. Together, they learn that getting what they truly want means being who they truly are.

~~

Excerpt:

While waiting for their drinks, Alexander studied the deep grooves carved into the table, trying to ignore the friction of Cheyenne’s thigh rubbing against his as the musician tapped a heel to the thump of the DJ’s music. Once the drinks arrived, Alexander downed half the bottle before he realized Cheyenne’s large green eyes were staring at him.

“So where’s your girl, Prudhomme? I mean, Prune Danish. No, wait…”

“Prudish. Shit, Prudence,” Alexander sputtered.

Cheyenne’s eyes sparkled. “No, you got it right the first time. Where is she?”

He shrugged. “Home, I guess.”

Cheyenne cocked his head. “Oh, really?” He put his hand on Alexander’s leg. “What’s up? You can tell me.”

“It’s not working out.” Alexander dragged his teeth over his lower lip. “It’s my fault.” He couldn’t keep his attraction to Cheyenne out of his voice. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

Cheyenne put his thumb to his lip and paused. “It’s like the drink.”

Alexander tilted his head, not sure he heard correctly. “The drink?”

“Yeah, that nasty ass bourbon. I bet your father drinks it. Your uncles. All your friends. Everybody, right?”

He didn’t answer, but waited for Cheyenne to continue.

“It was just expected that you’d drink it too. So you did.” His hand moved up Alexander’s thigh. “But now, maybe it’s okay to drink what you like. A different brand, a better vintage. Because you want it. Because it tastes better.” Cheyenne licked his lips. “Because it feels right.”

Alexander cleared his throat and brushed his lap, pushing Cheyenne’s hand away. “I can’t.”

“If you change your mind, let me know.”

“You don’t understand. It’s not that easy. My whole life will change.”

“It already has.”

~~

You can find House of the Rising Son on Amazon and Barnes and  Noble

About the Author

Trevann Rogers writes urban fantasy and LGBT paranormal romances. Her books include HOUSE OF THE RISING SON and its prequel novella, AFTER MIDNIGHT. Trevann’s stories incorporate an unquenchable addiction to music and her love for vampires, Weres, incubi and rock stars. Like these elusive creatures, Trevann learned long ago that sometimes being yourself means Living After Midnight.

You can find Trevann online at:
www.trevannrogers.com
www.facebook.com/trevannr
www.pinterest.com/trevannr
Twitter: @TrevannRogers

Hi Delilah fans –

The holiday season is upon us, and a bunch of us will be traveling to join family and loved ones for the festivities. For many, that means getting up close and personal with complete strangers. Depending on the stranger, that can be a good thing or absolutely awful.

I once traveled back to the States from Asia. We boarded at Hong Kong for the flight to Tokyo. From there I’d take a connecting flight to San Francisco and from there another connecting flight to Dallas. Finally we’re airborne on the big jet and I find myself sitting next to a very attractive man of Asian descent.

After a short time underway as the flight attendants are working their way down the aisle with drinks and snacks, this man nods to me with a big smile and introduces himself. Only I really can’t fully understand what he’s saying. Very heavily accented, his words finally process in my brain.

“Sato Kazuhiro,” he said, nodding and smiling. “Japanese.”

At least, I think that’s what he said. His eyebrows lift, questioning. My expression probably conveys my confusion because he laughs and says, a bit more clearly, “My name,” and hands me a business card.

The card is thick white stock with a minimalist design in black, a stylized lion on the upper left corner with the words ‘Sato Industries’ printed in English beside it and then some Japanese characters. In the lower right are his name in English and more Japanese characters. He’s watching me expectantly.

“Michelle,” I say, not quite comfortable with adding my last name. “American.”

I tend not to get into conversations when I travel. So I adjust my jacket and settle back in the seat, giving him the signal that as far as I’m concerned, introductions are enough chat.

He’s completely not picking up the signal, or he doesn’t care what I want. When the flight attendants stop beside us, he insists on buying me a snack. I politely refuse and sip my ginger ale. He’s making faces and sighing like I’ve inflicted a mortal wound.

I’m thinking this flight can’t end soon enough. I regret that I didn’t bring a book. I know better than to travel without a suitable barrier against such unwanted intrusions.

“I travel,” he says. “Business travel.” It takes me several minutes to decipher what he actually said.

“Traveling today from Bangkok,” he continues, nodding, smiling. “Are you traveling far?”

“San Francisco,” I say. There, that should be the end of it.

“Lovely city,” he says. “Not as great as Tokyo. You let me show you Tokyo?”

What with the delay in comprehending his words and my hesitancy to reply, he finds it necessary to repeat himself.

“Beautiful city, many wonderful things to see. Nice dinner?”

“Uh, no. Sorry.”

“All night before connecting flight, yes? You could take day or two, see Fuji. I show you.”

Another big smile. Very white teeth. Intensely black hair with a hint of silvering at the temples. I’m noticing how perfectly his gray suit fits, no doubt tailored. Manicured nails.

In fact, in my few glances in his direction in order to satisfy my ingrained need to be polite, I can’t help but notice how well built he is. And handsome in that distinctly Japanese way with high cheekbones and intense presence.

For the first time since his flirtation started, I give serious consideration to what he’s saying. I’ve never been to Japan. It’s a place I’d love to explore and he’s probably intent on paying our way to wherever I wanted to go. Not that I would let him. But the food would surely be fabulous. I’ve heard of the wild nightlife in this city, too.

On the other hand, what if this guy makes his money in the white slave trade? What if he gets me in a car and the next thing I know, my life as a free woman is over? It’s insane to even consider his offer.

I try to shut down the conversation and he kind of takes the hint, not pressing further until we’re circling Tokyo. It’s dark. The ground below is a sea of lights. As the wheels touch the runway and we taxi toward the terminal, he starts again.

“Pretty American lady,” he says. “Michelle. Please consider what I say. I want you to see our beautiful city. Japan has much to offer even for one day. Two is better. Please,” he says, gesturing, “let me show you.”

I shake my head. “I have people meeting me at San Francisco,” I said firmly. “I can’t delay.”

He rolls his eyes and inhales through his teeth. Evidently I’ve inflicted another painful injury. “Hai,” he says plaintively.

The jet lurches to a halt. The aisles become instantly crowded. As we stand up, I notice he’s slightly taller than me. Gorgeous, now that I’m really looking. Imperious in his bearing, he leans toward me in a slight bow. “Beautiful Michelle, it has been my pleasure to know you.”

I really don’t know what to say. His eyes convey grief that I have refused his generous offer. I’m wondering if this come-on has actually worked for this guy. I’m wondering how it would be to see him without clothes. How he would touch me. Whether he kisses like American men.

I can’t be the only one—he’s smooth, fully expectant that I’ll experience a last minute change of heart and take him up on his offer. Should I reconsider? My hands are sweating as I clutch my carry on.

Finally we’re slowly shuffling forward to disembark. His hand touches my back. Slightly, almost imperceptibly, as if it’s his unrelenting duty to escort me, see to my welfare. How differently men behave in Asia—I’d noticed it before.

I start to panic that I’ve not given serious consideration to the idea of letting this guy squire me around this amazing city. The terminal hums with activity as we step into the well-lighted space. Music filters through the cool air.

“Sumimasen,” he says with another deep bow. “Sorry.”

“Thank you,” I say, inanely. “You’ve been very generous. Perhaps another time.”

He looks at me and in his dark eyes I see another world, a mysterious culture that I could never fully understand no matter how many years I might immerse myself in its history. What stunning revelations might he offer? I have to admit that he attracts me physically. I flash on how it would be with him over me and flush.

“Hai,” he says again, smiling. “Take care.”

I watch him stride briskly through the exit and disappear into the night. The shuttle takes me to the airport Hilton, convenient for my early morning flight. After being in Sato’s presence for four hours, I feel unexpectedly alone.

Dinner in the hotel restaurant surprises with its perfection. I drop my bag in the tiny room. A nicely folded robe waits for me on the bed. Its soft cotton fabric feels wonderful on my skin after a steamy shower. White rice paper panels cover the window glass. I lapse into ‘what ifs’ as I watch Japanese programs on television, listening to the flow of their words and observing their body language. Some of it reminds me of Sato.

Mysterious. Intriguing. An entirely different universe. As the tension of the flight and Sato’s demands and my internal conflict about what to do start to subside, I find myself regretting my lack of courage to take up his offer.

I’ve thought of it often since. What if I had risked it? Would you?

~~~

For all my times in airports before and after this trip through Japan, I’ve put together a short story that plays on the possibility of meeting someone and actually acting on the impulse. It’s fiction, so there’s no risk of harm. Except maybe to the heart.

Here’s an excerpt from Holiday Journey:

“I assume you’re stuck here like the rest of us,” a man’s voice rumbled.

Giselle startled and turned. Chatting with other passengers ranked near the top of her ‘never’ list. Today especially she wasn’t up to social niceties. She bit her tongue, resisting the urge to unload on this guy. Whoever he was.

The man stood just a couple of feet away, pushing the boundaries of her personal space. She assessed him with her practiced cold once-over, normally enough to send the offender on his way. This guy gazed back defiantly and had the brass to smile.

Why oh why did she spontaneously smile back? It wasn’t her norm, but there was something about him. Disarming. Curious.

Damn fine.

Even as she dragged her gaze away, her mental once-over slowed to a closer examination. As strangers go, he didn’t fall into the sicko or predator category. Tall and well-built, he dressed in a hard-to-read style with jeans, white polo shirt, and dark blue sports jacket. In comparison, she seemed overdressed in her short pumps and smartly tailored gray suit.

Her pulse increased ever so slightly. Whatever consideration she might be giving him must have to do with her absolutely wretched mood, because there was no logic in it. With a lift of her chin, she suppressed her smile. Give him an inch, he’d never quit.

“Flight 289?” she said. “Yes, I think all of us at Gate 12 have that in mind.”

His cocked eyebrow and knowing smile caught her off-guard. “You’re annoyed.”

His expression yelled ‘meet your bet and raise you.’ She huffed and shifted, turning slightly away from him. “Nothing personal,” she said.

“It never fails,” he mused in a conversational tone, turning to look out on the stream of people passing by and releasing his grip on a small bag to drop it by his feet. “Worst possible time of year to travel. And then weather.”

“Hmm,” she replied, not wanting to encourage him. Surely he’d wander off soon. She’d definitely appreciate him wandering off. Heat rose up her chest, an unwarranted reaction to something about him—maybe his aftershave, a scent she didn’t want to acknowledge much less analyze. It reminded her of autumn in the woods, slightly sharp, a hint of musk. And hell, she was analyzing.

“Going or coming?” he ventured, turning his face back toward her with a quizzical expression. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Yes, I mind you asking. I mind you intruding into my privacy. I mind you thinking what you’re thinking.

Which was absurd, she corrected herself. She didn’t know what he was thinking. But then, she really did. There was no way to miss the husky tone of his voice. This jerk was trying to pick her up.

A flash of him kissing her shot through her mind. She couldn’t avoid a quick glance at his mouth. Firm lips, a teasing smile—damn it. Of all the… This was absurd. Whatever little fantasy had wormed its way into the back of her mind, it could just worm itself into the trash bin. Why did she let this guy get under her skin? She was a strong self-assured woman, not some giddy teenager on her first date.

“Going,” she said briskly. “And you?”

~~~

Nab your copy of Holiday Journey at these links. Only 99¢, this short story is a sexy little escape from your holiday stress. Enjoy!

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B019VLNZUU

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/675289

About the Author

I live in the wilds of the Ozark Mountains with three cats, two hound dogs, and whichever child has taken up temporary residence between grad school and relocation. I’ve been writing my entire life and can’t express how wonderful it is to share stories with readers like you. Every book comes from the heart in the hopes that you will find a bit of pleasure within the pages.

Sign up for my free monthly e-newsletter. Liz’s Hot News – Free monthly newsletter with excerpts, freebies, pre-release deals, and much more. Sign up at https://eepurl.com/bHOyS9

Follow me for free erotic short works, hot photos, and the occasional rant on my blog at https://lizzieashworth.com/

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By now, you’ve probably heard that the baseball team The Chicago Cubs won the World Series for the first time in 108 years.  I live in Chicago and can tell you, the energy of the city has been absolutely electric.  The parade to celebrate their win smashed attendance records and was the largest gathering of humans in United States history, the seventh largest in human history.

What does this teach us about ourselves, especially in today’s political climate here in the States?

Here’s five things we might take away from the experience:

1. Hope springs eternal. If we believe a thing long enough, passionately enough, and work toward it enough, it will come true.

Hope springs eternal in the human breast;

Man never is, but always to be blessed:

The soul, uneasy and confined from home,

Rests and expatiates in a life to come.

– Alexander Pope, An Essay on Man

2. Go big, or go home. – Eliza Dushku

Don’t be afraid of dreaming big, because it’s worth it to stretch our ideas of what’s possible.

3. To dream big, we need to risk being laughed at. The Cubs were known as “the lovable losers.”  People loved to make fun of the hubris inherent in thinking they’d win a series.  Yes, it took time.  But so what?  From the ecstasy inherent in the city this past week, clearly the buildup was worth it.

4. As Julia Cameron, noted author and creativity specialist, says, do you know what age I’ll be by the time I learn to do [insert dream here]? Yes, the same age as you’ll be if you don’t.  There’s potent logic in that statement.

5. Keep at it.  The biggest lesson of taking 108 years to win the World Series is this:  the road to achieving our dream may take a long time.  It may take so long that the logic of pursuing the dream is lost.  No one else may believe in it with us.  But if we stay the course, if we keep believing and trying and working toward it, it will happen.  Maybe there’s a reason so many perseverance metaphors are from baseball:  the advice to “throw strikes,” or the anecdote of how many times Babe Ruth was at bat.  But what is the sum of all of this collected baseball wisdom?  It’s the lesson of continuing, of keeping going.  Keep on keepin’ on.

And nowhere is that more apparent right now than in Chicago.

So what about you, Dear Reader?
What might you do if you let yourself dream big?

—

“It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.”
– E.E. Cummings

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If you think Hillary Clinton’s got it bad as a female running for President, take a look at how Victoria Woodhull, the first woman to ever run for President in the U.S. spent her Election Day: in jail.

To gain the proper perspective, we need to go back a few months. The summer of 1872 was very hard for Victoria. She was ill with a mysterious ailment that couldn’t be diagnosed and that recurred several times over three months. Her beloved newspaper, Woodhull & Claflin’s Weekly, shut down due to lack of funds. She had already been forced to sell her Murray Hill mansion, and then was kicked out of several hotels, while others wouldn’t rent a room to her (no one wanted to be associated with her or the controversy that surrounded her). She and her family (husband, kids, parents, brothers and sisters) lived for while in the Woodhull & Claflin brokerage offices, but when the landlord found out, he raised her rent so high they were forced to abandon even that location, so that they were homeless for a few days. In desperation, she sent a note to Rev. Henry Ward Beecher, asking for his help to get one of the hotels to let them stay there. He curtly refused.

Her sister, Maggie, eventually managed to rent a place for them to stay under an assumed name. Victoria was tired and still ill, worn out from the whirlwind of her year, which had started off so promising. In September, at a meeting of the National Convention of American Spiritualists in Boston, she decided to finally spill the beans on Rev. Henry Ward Beecher – revealing her long-kept secret that the married preacher was having an affair with Lib Tilton, wife of Theodore Tilton, Victoria’s former lover.

Not satisfied by this small audience – and perhaps in revenge for Rev. Beecher’s refusal to come to her aid in her hour of need – Victoria began plotting on a larger scale. She and Tennie would resurrect Woodhull & Claflin’s Weekly for one more explosive issue (though this didn’t turn out to be its last, only it’s most famous) that would right two long-hidden wrongs. While Victoria told every detail of the Beecher-Tilton scandal she could recall in a fake interview format, Tennie penned a story about the night a businessman named Luther Challis relieved a young girl of her virginity, likely against her will.

Victoria’s “bombshell” was hidden within a seemingly ordinary issue of the newspaper, but that did not stop people from lapping up the scandal inside. According to my sources, the paper sold for 10 cents but by evening people were paying $2.50. The first run of 10,000 copies sold quickly. Some people rented theirs to read for $1.00 a day. One copy even sold for $40. More than 250,000 copies sold in three days. The distributor, American News Company, refused to replace it on the stands after the first 100,000 copies were sold so newsboys came to their offices to get them in person. Some copies were bought and destroyed by Beecher’s supporters, for the article called in to question the idea of marriage as a bedrock of society.

But in the end, it wasn’t Victoria’s story that landed both sisters in jail on Election Day; it was Tennie’s. In telling her tale of Luther Challis’ lewd behavior, Tennie used a line that, although also quoted in the Bible (Deuteronomy), was considered obscene. “To prove he had seduced a maiden, he carried for days on his finger, exhibiting in triumph, the red trophy of her virginity.” Then, when they were tricked into mailing a copy of the paper to Anthony Comstock, the country’s self-appointed moral guardian, they were arrested for sending obscene material through the mail.

So instead of spending Election Day out attempting to vote for herself and getting arrested – and in the process making history ­– Victoria sat with Tennie in the jail cell of a common criminal. (Normally they would have been given special accommodations because they were wealthy public figures, but both the guest quarters and citizen bedroom were full at the time. And to add insult to injury, Victoria’s one-time-friend-turned-rival Susan B. Anthony made history that day by casting her ballot in Rochester, NY. She was arrested and found guilty but refused to pay the fine. Her sensational trial the following year spread her message of suffrage far and wide – just as Victoria had dreamed of doing on her own.

Forty-eight years before women were granted the right to vote, one woman dared to run for President of the United States, yet her name has been virtually written out of the history books.

Rising from the shame of an abusive childhood, Victoria Woodhull, the daughter of a con-man and a religious zealot, vows to follow her destiny, one the spirits say will lead her out of poverty to “become ruler of her people.”

But the road to glory is far from easy. A nightmarish marriage teaches Victoria that women are stronger and deserve far more credit than society gives. Eschewing the conventions of her day, she strikes out on her own to improve herself and the lot of American women.

Over the next several years, she sets into motion plans that shatter the old boys club of Wall Street and defile even the sanctity of the halls of Congress. But it’s not just her ambition that threatens men of wealth and privilege; when she announces her candidacy for President in the 1872 election, they realize she may well usurp the power they’ve so long fought to protect.

Those who support her laud “Notorious Victoria” as a gifted spiritualist medium and healer, a talented financial mind, a fresh voice in the suffrage movement, and the radical idealist needed to move the nation forward. But those who dislike her see a dangerous force who is too willing to speak out when women are expected to be quiet. Ultimately, “Mrs. Satan’s” radical views on women’s rights, equality of the sexes, free love and the role of politics in private affairs collide with her tumultuous personal life to endanger all she has built and change how she is viewed by future generations.

This is the story of one woman who was ahead of her time – a woman who would make waves even in the 21^st century – but who dared to speak out and challenge the conventions of post-Civil War America, setting a precedent that is still followed by female politicians today.

Get your copy here!

About the Author

Nicole Evelina is a multi-award-winning historical fiction and romantic comedy writer. Her most recent novel, Madame Presidentess, a historical novel about Victoria Woodhull, America’s first female Presidential candidate, was the first place winner in the Women’s US History category of the 2015 Chaucer Awards for Historical Fiction.

Her debut novel, Daughter of Destiny, the first book of an Arthurian legend trilogy that tells Guinevere’s life story from her point of view, was named Book of the Year by Chanticleer Reviews, took the Grand Prize in the 2015 Chatelaine Awards for Women’s Fiction/Romance, won a Gold Medal in the fantasy category in the Next Generation Indie Book Awards, a Gold Medal in the fantasy category in the Reader’s Favorite Awards, and was short-listed for the Chaucer Award for Historical Fiction. Its sequel, Camelot’s Queen, was awarded the prestigious B.R.A.G Medallion.  Been Searching for You, her contemporary romantic comedy, won the 2016 Colorado Independent Publishers Association Award for Romance, the 2015 Romance Writers of America (RWA) Great Expectations and Golden Rose contests and was a finalist in the chick-lit category of the Readers Favorite Awards.

Nicole’s writing has appeared in The Huffington Post, The Philadelphia Inquirer, The Independent Journal, Curve Magazine and numerous historical publications. She is one of only six authors who completed a week-long writing intensive taught by #1 New York Times bestselling author Deborah Harkness. As an armchair historian, Nicole researches her books extensively, consulting with biographers, historical societies and traveling to locations when possible. For example, she traveled to England twice to research the Guinevere’s Tale trilogy, where she consulted with internationally acclaimed author and historian Geoffrey Ashe, as well as Arthurian/Glastonbury expert Jaime George, the man who helped Marion Zimmer Bradley research The Mists of Avalon.

Nicole is a member of and book reviewer for The Historical Novel Society, as well as a member of the Historical Writers of America, Romance Writers of America, the St. Louis Writer’s Guild, Women Writing the West, Alliance of Independent Authors, the Independent Book Publishers Association and the Midwest Publisher’s Association.

Her website is https://nicoleevelina.com/. She can be reached online at:

• https://twitter.com/NicoleEvelina
• https://www.goodreads.com/nicoleevelina
• https://pinterest.com/nicoleevelina/
• https://www.facebook.com/nicoleevelinapage/
• https://instagram.com/nicoleevelina
• https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCyi5-knSn0Abm5ujfpcHgbg/videos?view_as=public

Okay, so I’ve gone back and forth and back again on whether or not to write this, and if you’re running screaming right now, please don’t! I have zero interest in discussing foreign policy or Obamacare or global warming (okay, maybe I’d like to talk global warming, but my happy-little-hippy heart will refrain).

I’m not a particularly politically savvy person. I can admit, albeit with some serious shame, that my knowledge of the inner workings of the federal government is mostly relegated to School House Rocks songs and Scandal (*cough* HAWT *cough*). And, let’s be honest, the latter isn’t exactly the most reliable source of knowledge.

I’m not a political person, but I am a human being, and I’m bringing the election up because I’m worried about me and I’m worried about you. I’m worried collectively about all of us.

And the reason I’m worried is because I feel like we’ve been so overwhelmed by media coverage that is angry, sensationalized, and has the express purpose of fear-mongering. The degree of mudslinging and negativity is taking a toll on me (us, if I may be so bold). I feel stressed (more so than normal, ‘cause hey, I’m kind of a stressy lady to begin with), sad, and anxious. I’m finding myself more prone to snap, and I’m eating chocolate faster than my local Walgreens can stock it. Okay, so the chocolate thing is pretty standard, but the other things are new. *pops more Peanut M&M’s*

In my humble opinion, I, personally, have watched and read too much news; it’s inundating my Facebook feed, and it’s even invading the commercials during my escapism comedies. Not cool, election. Not cool. It’s everywhere. And it took me a couple of weeks of feeling this way to figure out the cause, but now that I know, I’m taking action!

I’m saying enough is enough and pulling the political plug. I realize this may not be for everyone; you may be saying, “But this election is crucial – so much is on the line! How can you ignore it?” And if you want to watch and listen and read, then I fully and fervently support your right to do so. I always will. But for me, I can’t. It’s too much. I’ve done my civic duty (I would argue privilege would be a more apt word) by voting and now it’s out of my hands.

So, I’m going to focus on the wonderful, positive things about this country. I’m going to reread the inscription on the Statue of Liberty. I’m going to flip through old vacation pictures and revel in the majesty of this country. I’m going to hug my family and my fabulous group of diverse friends. I’m going to make an apple pie and hang an American Flag outside my door and watch For Love of the Game or maybe Independence Day because, come on, who wouldn’t like a little Thomas Whitmore for President!?

I’m going to wallow in all the good here in the United States of America because I still believe, from the very bottom of my heart, that come next Wednesday, no matter the outcome, we will still be united. We will still be “one nation under God, indivisible, with Liberty and justice for all.”

And if you’re like me and need a little distraction from the election, might I suggest our Crazy Cat Lady Anthology? It’s nine awesome stories, some suspense, some paranormal, some erotic, some sweet, but all romantic and all offering at least a Happily For Now if not a full blown Happily Ever After! And it’s only $0.99 for a limited time!! That’s a lot of story for under a buck!

Amazon US – https://bit.ly/CCLAmzUS
Amazon AU – https://bit.ly/CCLAmzAU
Amazon CA – https://bit.ly/CCLAmzCA
Amazon UK – https://bit.ly/CCLAmzUK
iBooks – https://bit.ly/CCLiBooks
Nook – https://bit.ly/CCLNook
Kobo – https://bit.ly/CCLKobo
Goodreads – https://bit.ly/CCLGoodreads

And if you love my story, Sanctuary, you’ll want to go ahead and preorder the second part coming in December!

https://bit.ly/SanctuaryTwo

If you’d like to connect with me, here are some ways to get ‘er done:

Newsletter: https://bit.ly/SukiesNewsletter    (Pssst: this one gets you my freebie Wicked originally from Delilah’s Hot Highlanders and Wild Warriors!)
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/sukiechapin
Twitter:  @SukieChapin
www.sukiechapin.com
Email me!! sukie@sukiechapin.com

Contest

Because I want to “Pay it forward” a little during this stressful time and start a good juju chain, leave me a comment below with something that YOU love about our great country (or your great country, if you’re not in the USA), and I’ll pick one winner to receive a $5.00 Amazon gift card! (Bonus points if you pay this forward with a random act of kindness between now and Election Day!!) Let’s make people smile!!