I’m not a real opera buff, but there are certain operas I listen to over and over. I love Carmen because that’s all we studied in my fourth year high school French class. Tosca is near and dear to my heart because a co-worker who was an opera fanatic walked me through the elements of the libretto and score. Die Fledermaus is light and fun and Willie Stark an awesome three dimensional examination of a flawed conflicted man. Because of my fascination with myths and legends, the four operas in Richard Wagner’s Ring Cycle are particular favorites.

This past summer, I listened to Live at the Met performances of the entire Ring. In one of the between act discussions I learned of a contemporary African-American adaptation of the first opera, Das Rheingold. In that version of the opera, the sought-after gold is James Brown’s first gold record. This inspired me to try my hand at an adaptation of my own. My version would be set during the Reconstruction/Gilded Age.

Imagine my surprise and dismay as I grappled with the issue of incest in the second opera, Die Walkure/Die Valkyrie. Incest? Really? Yikes. But how on earth could I have been surprised after all the times I’ve listened to or seen this work performed? Had the beauty of the music and the splendid interpretations of the artists somehow pushed the issue to the background? Or had my attention instead been focused not on the taboo, but on an injustice highlighted in the story?

I read an article that explained Wagner intended to set true love in the taboo of incest against the immortality of society’s support of loveless arranged and abusive marriages. How could I not side with Sieglinde’s search for true love? How could I condemn her for finding it with her brother Siegmund when her husband Hundig is such a pig? Wagner’s critics and audience agreed. Die Walkure/Die Valkyrie met with tremendous approval when it premiered in 1870 with only one contemporary critic insulted by the absence of morality in the storyline.

The Merriam Webster dictionary defines a taboo as “a prohibition imposed by social custom or as a protective measure,” “something that is not acceptable to say, mention, or do,” and “a prohibition against touching, saying, or doing something for fear of immediate harm from a supernatural force.”

As noble as Wagner’s intent is/was, I couldn’t bring myself to emulate it in my story. I’m not saying Wagner felt incest shouldn’t be taboo. Come on. Who of you out there isn’t creeped out any time you hear Donald Trump’s quote about Ivanka, “If she wasn’t my daughter, I’d date her” or that picture of teenaged Ivanka sitting on daddy’s lap? Shudder. Double ick.

I admire Wagner using his art to force his audience to think about why they railed against incest but didn’t have an equal amount of outrage about marriage as a tool of oppression. No guts, no glory, right?

Using a taboo to throw a spotlight on the hypocrisy of a societal practice is an integral part of Die Valkyrie‘s story. If I want to craft an adaptation worth telling, worth reading, I had to find a way to use a taboo to focus on an issue of injustice. I found my answer in my setting. The taboo in my story wouldn’t be incest but miscegenation.

Anti-miscegenation laws were only one of the vehicles used to control non-Whites everywhere in the United States — and especially the newly freed Blacks — during the Reconstruction/Gilded Era years. It wasn’t until 1948 that a ban on interracial marriage was struck down for the first by the California Supreme Court (Perez v. Sharp) and not until 1967 were bans on interracial marriage declared unconstitutional by the U.S. Supreme Court (Loving v. Virginia). Miscegenation would be the perfect taboo to use in my story about the struggle of African-Americans to survive and thrive in the latter half of the nineteenth century.

I don’t know if my story will have the power and beauty of Wagner’s or any of the works other artists have crafted to enlighten as well as entertain, but at the very least I hope my story will celebrate the triumphs of former slaves and African-Americans born free who claimed their share of the American dream.

One Breath Away

Sentenced to hang for a crime she didn’t commit, former slave Mary Hamilton was exonerated at literally the last gasp. She returns to Safe Haven, broken and resigned to live alone. She’s never been courted, cuddled or spooned, and now no man could want her, not when sexual satisfaction comes only with the thought of asphyxiation. But then the handsome stranger who saved her shows up, stealing her breath from across the room and promising so much more.

Wealthy, freeborn-Black, Eban Thurman followed Mary to Safe Haven, believing the mysteriously exotic woman is his mate foretold by the stars. He must marry her to reclaim his family farm. But first he must help her heal, and to do that means revealing his own predilection for edgier sex.

Hope ignites along with lust until the past threatens to keep them one breath away from love…

Excerpt

Pastor Morton’s wagon pulled away from Harvest Home’s front porch only after Mary bolted her cabin door.

She lit the kerosene lamp then waved goodbye to him and his passengers through the window. The lamp remained on the sill, not in welcome but in warning.

Its glow flickered over the revolver she kept nearby. She’d been taken by surprise in Weston. She’d never be taken without a fight again.

She gave the gun barrel a pat then skipped toward the kitchen, a spring in her step. A hope in her heart. The refrain of Good Night Ladies played happily in her mind.

Good night ladies. Good night ladies. Good night ladies, we have to leave you now.

Home at last, she’d see if meeting Eban meant this night would be good.

Since her ordeal, her sex rivaled the Chihuahuan Desert in dryness. Yet Eban’s gaze had summoned the fragrant flow that even now moistened her core. Could it be her body had finally healed? She swayed, dizzy with expectation.

Buy Links:
Wild Rose Press – https://bit.ly/2HOu3qc
Amazon – https://amzn.to/2VT5u0F

Just as summer begins, it must end. As fall fast approaches, I’m contemplating the beginnings and endings of series. As a writer, I know that there will eventually be an ending to a series, but sometimes it’s hard to say goodbye. I invest so many hours, weeks, months, and sometimes years with a particular set of characters that they become like old friends. But all series eventually come to close.

Some authors have made careers out of following one particular character for years. I admire them for that, but that’s not my writing style. I tend to focus on a group of people—friends, family, or a particular town. My longest series is the Salvation Pack and that was nine books. It was incredibly difficult to let go of this wolf pack. They stole my heart. But the time eventually came when I had to let them go. Maybe I’ll revisit it at some point, maybe not. Only time will tell. I never know when I start how many books I’ll write for a series. The characters let me know.

The Marks Mercenaries series features the Marks family—four brothers and a lost sister. The first book—Rescuing Rory—was written back in 2014, but a publisher closure meant the rest of the series was never written. I couldn’t stop thinking about the rest of the family and finally wrote the remaining four books and found a home for them. I’m thrilled that all five books have finally been published and their story is complete.

If you love sexy space mercenaries, you’ll love the Marks family.

Flynn’s Assassin
Marks Mercenaries, Book 5

When mercenary and space trader Flynn Marks is approached by a woman in a seedy bar, he assumes she’s not just looking for a good time. He’s made enemies over the course of his life. With his family finally safe and settled, he’ll handle this latest threat on his own.

Cerena Phelps has been tasked with killing a man if she ever wants to see her teenage son again. While she’s no stranger to fights—being a woman bouncer is a tough job—she’s never killed a man. Her plan? Lure Flynn away from the bar, seduce him, and kill him when his guard is down. Not a hardship given her unexpected and intense sexual attraction for her target. When her attempt on Flynn’s life fails, they must learn to trust each other if they both hope to survive and rescue her son.

TEASER:

“I tried to kill you,” she all but shouted.

He couldn’t help himself; he grinned. Her lips thinned, and her entire body all but vibrated against him.

“You think that’s funny?” she demanded.

“Little bit.”

“You are out of your mind. You know that, don’t you?”

“You act like you’re the first woman who’s tried to kill me.” She felt so damn good against him. He liked arguing with her almost as much as he liked having sex. She was strong-willed and determined, wouldn’t be intimidated by him. That was sexy as hell.

“Why am I not surprised to hear that?”

Buy Links:
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07XCWZHQV/
Evernight Publishing: https://www.evernightpublishing.com/flynns-assassin-by-n-j-walters/
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/956440
Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/flynns-assassin-n-j-walters/1133314466
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/flynn-s-assassin

About the Author

N.J. Walters is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who has always been a voracious reader, and now she spends her days writing novels of her own. Vampires, werewolves, dragons, time-travelers, seductive handymen, and next-door neighbors with smoldering good looks—all vie for her attention. It’s a tough life, but someone’s got to live it.

Visit me at:
Website: https://www.njwalters.com
Blog: https://www.njwalters.blogspot.com
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Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/author/njwalters
BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/n-j-walters

What’s the last thing you wish you could’ve told your boss and not gotten fired for it? U.S. workers spend more than 13 years working over a 50-year career—about a quarter of their time. People could be so much happier if they could be honest with their employers without consequences.

Characters in novels often have work issues as a big source of conflict. Why? Because people can relate.

Gillian, the heroin in my romantic suspense, Becker Circle, could’ve used a few frank conversations with her accounting firm boss at her first job out of college. Her boss habitually dumped busy work on Gillian because she was single and had time to work at night. What? She also was one of those bosses who jumped all over anyone who arrived at work or from lunch five minutes late. Worst though, she swept a client’s obvious accounting dishonesty under the rug when Gillian found it during an audit, and then pulled her off the project.

The Japanese have it right. Their culture includes a practice called “nomminication” that encourages honesty in the workplace—both ways. It’s a combination of “nomu” or drink and “communication”. Bosses periodically host their employees for an evening out. When enjoying cocktails in this safe environment, employees can share whatever they’d like to say to their boss. Afterwards, employers don’t allow pay cuts or demotions or job transfers as retaliation.

As a marketing consultant who’s spent way too much time working, the concept intrigues me. I’m spoiled working for myself and thankful my job doesn’t force me to deal with awful bosses. I have fired clients. When I still had bosses, one kept piling more work on me because I wasn’t married or a mom and “didn’t have anything else to do,” she said. I told her it was too much. At raise time, she gave me this tiny, insulting salary increase. I walked out of her office and transferred to a more senior position working with a professional leader soon after, and never looked back.

The U.S. unemployment rate is the lowest it’s been in 49 years. Jobs should be fulfilling, not a sentence. Explore other opportunities inside and outside your company. If a reasonable conversation with your boss doesn’t work—with or without nomminication—the grass may indeed be greener, as the saying goes. It definitely worked for Gillian. And in the meantime, read a good novel with a kickass heroine who says everything you’ve wanted to say to your boss.

Everyone has a boss story worth repeating. Share yours!

Here’s a scene from Becker Circle where Gillian squares off with her unfair boss.

Becker Circle

EXCERPT

Just as the next person is halfway through her first sentence, I interrupt. “One more thing. I saw something weird in their books—like money’s disappearing.”

“What are you saying, Gillian?” Kim sits forward in her chair. “Are you implying embezzlement?”

“Well, yes. I don’t have the full trail together yet, but it looks suspicious.”

“We must be absolutely certain before making a claim like that.” She walks to the window and watches the cars on the freeway zip by. “Do you realize how serious this could be?” she turns and spits back.

I know she’ll be pissed at me for saying this, but I do anyway. “With all due respect, it sounds like you’re upset with me.” The entire table of my accountant coworkers inhales a collective breath and holds it waiting for Kim’s response. She stands at the window with her arms folded. Staring. “Isn’t this why we do audits?”

“I know, Gillian, you’re doing your job.” Kim turns back to the table. “But someone with more experience needs to handle this one.” She pauses and scans the faces around the conference table. Everyone’s looking somewhere else but at her. “Get with Bryan this afternoon. He’ll take it from here.”

Buy links: Amazon US, Amazon UK, Smashwords, Apple Books, Kobo, B&N Nook

About the Author

Addison Brae lives in Dallas, Texas on the edge of downtown. She has been writing since childhood and continues today as an independent marketing consultant. She addicted to reading and enjoys jogging in her neighborhood park, sipping red wine, traveling the world, collecting interesting cocktail recipes, binge-watching TV series, vintage clothing, and hanging out with her artistic other half and their neurotic cat Lucy.

Connect with Addison Brae on her website, Tirgearr Publishing, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, BookBub, Goodreads, or YouTube.

For the first few years of my life, I lived in tropical places. I never saw snow except in movies and freezing to me was sixty-five degrees. I loved nothing more than swimming, chasing lightening bugs and having the summer sun warm my skin that was sticky from melted ice cream and sweat.

So, it would be natural to assume that summer is my favorite season. But I love fall. I love the way the air cools and has a crisp edge to it. I love to see the leaves change from green to red, yellow then fall to the ground. I love to walk through the fallen leaves and hear the crunch under my feet. And there is nothing better than to bundle up in cozy sweaters that are more like a cocoon than a piece of clothing,

My love for autumn comes from more from the season and its trappings, it’s something about fall that relates to me deep in my soul. A part is the fact that I’m a late bloomer. I had always wanted to write but was to scared to go after it. When I applied to college, I marked my perspective major as creative writing in all but one university. That was the one that I went to—Syracuse University.

But after all that I was like an aster and my writing career bloomed in my early thirties. Another reason fall is my season is because of the change. When the world goes from ninety degrees to sixty-eight, you feel it. It’s shows in all the world around you, in every part of nature. Another part, I love is cuddling under a blanket and reading a book. I like being alone. I’m an introvert. And this season is for me.

Well, all but pumpkin spice. I hate pumpkins.

What season is your favorite season?  And what do you love about it?

The Chieftain’s Secret

On a windswept Scottish Isle…

Many objects wash up on the shores of the rugged Isle of Mull. The Laird of Lochbuie never expected a pregnant wife to be included in that. Honorable Niall MacLean was wed to his childhood love when she died in childbirth. Now a widower, he struggles to get beyond his grief. Then a dear friend, Ermina Bruce pleaded for his help. His protective instinct came alive and he handfasted with Ermina to save her from an unsuitable marriage and one drunken night has led to forever after and a repeat of his past heartbreak. 

The bonds of friendship…

Noble Ermina Bruce has loved Niall MacLean since he first fostered in her uncle’s home. But he loved another so she settled for the deep bonds of friendship. When her family arranged a marriage she didn’t want she knew Niall could save her from that miserable fate.

One night of passion…

That one night in Niall’s arms led to her pregnancy. Ermina has not told Niall of their secret baby. But his reaction isn’t her greatest fear. Her fear is even greater than the brave laird’s wrath. Every woman in her family has died in childbirth and all know the same fate awaits her. Once again, Ermina knows Niall is the only one who can save her. And if he fails, her last days shall be with the man she has loved since childhood.

Will love have a chance to come alive?

Purchase link: https://www.amazon.com/Chieftains-Secret-Medieval-Scottish-Romance-ebook/dp/B07SD9DKYJ/

Excerpt:

Prologue

The church preached the Lord had a plan for all living creatures. Ermina Bruce wondered about her own divine design. Naturally, marriage, children, and a household of her own were included in the life plan. For Ermina, she would have liked a hint of what else awaited since her life had taken a surprising turn.

“Don’t fall into the fire.”

A scream squeaked from her as she spun around and nearly toppled into the hearth. Niall snatched her back and against his hard chest. She landed with a humph. Her nose and cheek smashed against him. She drew a breath into her empty chest along with the manly scent mixed with wine, leather, and musk. She planted her hands flat on his chest and straightened.

“Niall, you frightened me”—she shoved her palm hard against his chest, not that he wavered from her strike—“Sneaking in here without making nary a sound.”

He shrugged. “The skills of a Highlander.”Niall swayed on his feet.

Ermina grabbed him by his forearm to steady him. “The skill is made more impressive since you are drunk.”

“I am celebrating our handfasting.”He lifted his hand. He frowned as he realized his hand was empty. “I seem to have forgotten my cup.”

Ermina turned away from his empty hand hovering in the air as if it were curled about a cup.  He couldn’t see her tears. He would ask her why she cried, and she couldn’t reveal the truth. Worse than her unreasonable emotions for him, she knew his reason for drinking until the world faded to the edges of his awareness. That knowledge never stemmed the roaring need to scream down upon his head. She hated seeing his eyes heavy from drink, his movement sloppy, and hearing his slurred speech.

“There have been enough toasts tonight. From all the warm wishes, if a wedding had occurred we would have had a very blessed lifetime. ”

That sounds wonderful. A lifetime with Niall.

“Your uncle scowled through the ceremony.”His befuddled voice snapped her free from her thoughts. His stance was wide but that failed to stop him from swaying.

She didn’t reach to steady him. Right now, with the dull ache thumping through her, she decided touching him was stupid.

Her uncle, the fourth earl of Annadale, and head of the family, had been snarling and growling since Niall and she informed him of the handfasting. There was no reason for his behavior to change on this day. “Aye, he did raise his cup begrudgingly.”She ambled to the bed and perched on the edge. “At least, we were both screamed upon but our lives were not in too much danger.” She put her feet up.

“I am accustomed to his temper. You were trembling like a new recruit.”Niall joined her and fell back. He threw one arm over his head and rested the other one on the flat of his stomach.

“I rarely witness that side of my uncle.”

“You thawed his plans but he gave in to your wants in the end. At least you will not be teetered to that auld man. I imagine Bruce will have more care in your next match.”

“I pray you are right. I do not wish to be bound to a man who believes a husband should not spare the rod with a wife.”Ermina fell back beside Niall. He peeked out the corner of his eye and stretched out his arm. She scooted over and propped her head on his muscular forearm.

This wasn’t the first instance that Ermina had been this close to Niall. This time, though, felt different. They were handfasted. Not that that knowledge changed anything. That was a falsehood. It changed everything for her. Her yearning for him sharpened.

She could bury her nose in the crook of his neck and breath in his scent. Just one whiff of his singular scent and a rush of warmth and pure happiness filled her. Then the longing came and the knowledge that she would never have his love smothered every ounce of her desire.

He rested his head against hers and let out a wine-scented sigh.

His lips were less than half a finger length from her own. Their breaths mingled. She could kiss him. She could finally feel the texture of his lips and discover if they felt as she had imagined.

That was wrong. They were friends. He had saved her from a marriage to a man she had no desire to be united with. A kiss would ruin their bond. That was one act she refused to allow.

“’Tis the first time we have lain together on a bed.”

“You make it sound sinful.” She hoped she put enough of a sneer into her voice so he couldn’t hear the rush charging through her.

He rolled his head to the side and wiggled his dark brows. “Most sinful.”

His intoxicated gaze flittered over her face and lost the stressed lines that pinched his face. His warm regard changed to one darkening with desire. His gaze slowly traced over the lines of her face then to her mouth where it lingered, tracing the shape. His mouth parted as if he were preparing to kiss her.

She stilled, unwilling to break the bond between them. Not once in her life had she been the focus of his smoldering gaze. She had seen glimpses of it when he spoke of Siobhan. Now, his narrowed eyes centered on her. His desire was meant for her and her alone. She had never been kissed. For Niall to be the first… Her whole body went hot and slowly melted. She went a little dizzy. He would kiss her. She licked her lips in preparation.

He blinked. Niall let out a heavy sigh laced with a groan. She understood its meaning. Siobhan.More than twelve months had passed since his wife’s death. Naturally, she understood the reasons for him losing himself in drink. Niall had loved his Siobhan since their childhood.

When Niall arrived at Annadale to foster at the age of eight, he had already been—as he said handfasted—to her. When he returned to the highlands as a knight, he had wed her. Ermina never met Siobhan, but she had been entertained and jealous of the highland lass as she listened to his countless stories that always centered around Siobhan. With each telling, she had felt the all-encompassing love he possessed for her. Aye, she understood the reasons for his drinking with each raise of his cup, and her heart ached for him.

“If I were to take another wife, I would be pleased to have you.”

He rolled on his side and placed a peck on her cheek. Instead of putting a proper distance between them, he rested his chin upon her shoulder. She leaned her head against the top of his head and listened to his easy breathing.

“I would be pleased to have you for a husband.”She felt that emptiness inside of her that ached to be filled. The sensation that hollowed her whenever she thought of Niall. If she had to name the turmoil within herself, she might have thought it longing. The corner of her eyes began to burn as if tears were forming. She blinked with such rapidness she could have started a storm. There was no reason for them. Niall would not be the man she would spend her life with.

He lifted his head. His nose brushed along her jaw and across her cheek, halting when he buried the tip in her hair. His lips hovered over her ear. His exhales blew across her lobe. She closed her eyes and lost herself in the lulling sensation.

“Ermina, you are a beautiful woman and shall have all the happiness life can give.”He kissed her—a simple peck that sparked goose bumps across her.

He drew back and stared at her. There was softness, nay, tenderness in his eyes. It wasn’t because of the color but the hooded shape that gave him an earnest expression. The hazy gloss dulled the brightness of his dark, burnished eyes.

“This isn’t right but I can’t stop myself. I don’t want to.”He fitted his mouth to hers with the softest of pressure. She should have turned away. Niall did not know what he was doing. She did.

With his top lip, he nudged apart her shocked mouth. The tip of his tongue flicked against her stiff one. She opened to him. Her mouth filled with the taste of wine. The tart flavor jolted her. The hairs on her arms stood as a current race through her.

This was foolish.

’Tis only a kiss…

About the Author

An Air Force brat, Mageela Troche has lived throughout the world then landed in New York City. She wanted to leave the same day she arrived. Yet, with her stubbornness, Mageela learned to like the place and the libraries were the main reason. Since she was a little girl, Mageela wanted to be an author and an actress, however, once in college, she changed her life plan in the pursuit of money. After all, college loans must be repaid.

 With life’s twists and turns, she returned to writing and focused on the romance genre. Mageela Troche’s first break came when she sold a short story to a magazine. She sold two more before the publication of her historical romance novel, The Marriage Alliance.She has gone on to write four more novels and a novella.

 Mageela is currently writing in the cramped corner of her Big Apple apartment. She is the proud owner of a Black-masked lovebird named Boobula. She loves to hear from her readers and can be found online at MageelaTroche.com

Social Media Links
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blog: https://www.matroche.com
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Mageela-Troche/e/B00CHTIRFW/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7054733.Mageela_Troche

Is reality television altering the way people think about or view romance?

Today’s post starts with a question that may have a frightening answer—at least, for me it may. Before I dive headfirst into this abyss of a rabbit blackhole, let me begin with a brief explanation of what brought this question to mind. Throughout the week, I’m busy with work, but on Sunday evenings, I have some time to relax. It is then that I enjoy engorging my mind on junk tv that doesn’t require me to think too much to get a good chuckle. Several years ago, my television watching began to change—first out of curiosity, then out of choice, and then because out of limited choice. The cable company changed and affordable cable came in a reduced package. Initially, I began watching reality tv to see what it was all about. What was the hype? I enjoyed the elimination challenge shows, the ones where individuals were given some outrageous (but accomplishable) task that needed to be solved by the end of short deadlines, the most. At the time, there still was a variety of sitcoms and dramas. But that began to change. Reality tv went from a novelty to the norm, with no genre being left unscathed until they saturated daytime and prime time.

Not that reality tv was ever a reality, I did enjoy that some elements seemed unscripted and genuine. I felt that I was gaining a sneak peek in someone else’s more exciting life. But the more I watched, the more draining and depressing they felt. Then one day, it dawned on me, this “reality” stuff is all (or the majority) of what millennials may know and respond and what older generations are being forced to adapt to.

I’m about to reveal my age when I say this next because I truly feel old now. I remember when computer dating held a stigma. Now, it’s the status quo. Young physically flawless women are lined on the tv in droves to compete for the affection of a single man and are destroyed to tears after an episode or two when he does not pick them from the liter. Are they truly convinced they are in love? And why would a woman do this? I asked a female friend this who pointed out something startling. She asked me if I’d been to any bars of clubs lately. My answer was no. Then, she asked me why. My jaw dropped as I began answering. In this area where I was sitting, there are no bars. The closest thing to a bar is a restaurant (e.g., Buffalo Wild Wings or Applebee’s) that serves alcohol. A group may go there just for drinks, but more likely, people go mainly for the food. As far as clubs, there are a few, but they are all geared towards the “don’t know I’m not twenty anymore” crowd. What I mean is the target audience is the local college scene. Who shows up are pervs and cougars hoping to pounce on young, tender, inexperienced meat and mothers squeezed into their teenage daughter’s clothes? Fights are almost a constant, and as a result, many of the venues look like Harpo’s place in The Color Purple. Mostly, the college students do not go there, preferring private house parties or fraternity/sorority soirees. However, even if they wanted to go clubbing, many could not afford the jacked-up admission fee that does not include the cost of drinks.

The business professional types largely stay at home, as in the Bible Belt, it is looked upon negatively to be seen in any establishment that serves alcohol, and many surrounding counties are dry. Their recreational excursions revolve around church events. And don’t get me wrong, I’m not knocking church functions. However, the old adage, “meet a nice boy in church” appears mythical. Everyone in church is already coupled-up.

That leaves malls and grocery stores for meeting people. Gone are those days, too. Malls are the graveyards of dying retailers with the few that remain open having few venues and limited stock. It is a sad state that more people are not invested in keeping brick and mortars around and pumping breath into local communities. Let me stop and say that I am a huge supporter of mom and pop stores and buying local. I have been heavily criticized for my position with some citing it as being political. I see it as residents being able to support their families and a check and balance system against blatant monopolies. I do not view anything political about a person wanting to put food on the table, a roof over their head, and non-designer clothes on their backs. If this view upsets people, I do not make any apologies about holding it, but mom and pop stores are one of the cornerstones of this country, which appear to be fading out of existence. In my teen years, malls were booming and place for anyone who was anybody to be on the weekends. But a trip to the mall here is a very different experience.

Instead of stylish display windows, they are covered with paper. An occasional cellphone chime has replaced constant chatter, footsteps, and speaker music. Kiosks have been replaced by vending machines. One would have better luck panning for gold than finding a mate in a mall in this area. Outlet malls once were the diamonds. Now, even those are closing.

The state of grocery stores is similar. Few “grocers” are opened. Most are large chain supermarkets or mega department stores that sell food. Patrons who frequent them are nose-deep in text messaging and are interested in getting out as quickly as possible. Chitchat detains them, and they don’t like that. They are annoyed by the crowds, waits in line, and having to self-check.

In my desperate attempt to think of some hub for meeting, I considered parks, spas, and gyms. Well, there are no spas, so I can cross that off immediately. Gyms are a beast of a different nature. There are basically two kinds in the area—male and female. I don’t think it’s the owners’ intention that they are that way, though. I know that is not how they are advertised. However, if you look into the windows, it rare to see mixed crowds.

There are several parks, but they are all small. The largest one is surrounded by a small walk track (eight laps equals a mile). It gets a lot of traffic for all ages. However, most walkers have earbuds stuffed in their ears as they exercise, likely to drown out the screaming kids that dart across the path on the way to the swings. The thing about the parks is they seem to be all or nothing. Either they are crowded with barely enough room for people to exercise or desolate. There’s not much seating, and the park is divided into three sections. One section has no parking and no paths. The landscape is very uneven and few people go there.

Even when there are city-sponsored events, that area is unused, except for parking. The largest section has a sprinkle of benches and has what is called an “amphitheater” that runs along the outskirt. Even the newly developed dog park is utilized. Only two parks have lights. The first park is used for little league soccer. Those lights are only turned on for games. The other park, the largest one—the one with the three sections, only has one area with lights. In short, unless there is a hosted event, the park is not ideal for meeting new people. In fact, I’ve never heard anyone here claimed to have met their significant other at one of these parks.

After dissecting my current living area, it became clear to me: I’m not in Kansas (or in my case, Louisiana) anymore. My investigative nose got a bug, and I began to question how people found spouses/partners here. What I quickly learned is that most couples are natives to the area, meaning they’ve always known each other, or, at least, have known each other since grade school. A few stated that they met their love interest in college (and there are several colleges nearby) and have been married for years or they are currently enrolled in college. The single scene for adults really does not exist.

But wait. I bet you’re thinking about dating apps. Hmm. I remember when those used to be stereotyped. Now, they’re the norm. But even those are a letdown. In small regions, there are few compatible matches in close proximity. A potential love connection may be a hundred miles away, a.k.a., long-distance relationship.

And that leads to reality tv for people to get their romantic fix. Watching these as the only examples of romance, one begins to normalize it as dating reality. Patience is thrown out with the bathtub, baby, and all the diapers. Insta-love is the belief du jour. Actually, it’s not even insta-love. Forget dinner and a movie or even the three-date rule. There’s one reality tv program that participants meet each other at the altar (or wherever) seconds before getting married. Women wait in droves to get selected as the chosen one to be wined and dined on frozen television dinners by a pool. Not to knock anyone’s hustle, but what real woman (or man for that matter) would put up with that. Well, apparently a lot. However, it is being exposed frequently that many of the persons on reality tv are actors with scripts, which is fine. Or it would be fine. But how about calling a spade a spade as the old folks say? Instead of calling it reality tv where viewers expect some portions of dialogue and circumstances to be a quarter of a centimeter true, say it’s a drama, sitcom, or some work of fiction.

I know I never expected reality television to be “real,” but on some of these “dating” shows, I did hold out hope that what I was seeing was true love—that maybe the situation or setting may have been manipulated but the feelings were real. Now, even my faith in that is shook, as some networks are brassily supporting cheating and adulty. Lies and deceptions are being upheld as reality standards that should be accepted by some networks. Now, I say some and not all. And I’m not pinpointing or singling out any one particular television production.

In all fairness, anyone watching television should not be using television as their only source for a moral compass. However, it does cause one to wonder with the seeming evaporation of romance in many smaller communities and the use of the word “reality”, how are people defining romance?

What are your thoughts on romance? Do you feel that the definition of romance is changing? What do you think is romantic? Have your thoughts of romance changed? I’d like to hear your opinions. Please leave a comment and let me know your opinion. Also, let me know if you like this type of content and would like to see more of these kinds of posts.

*~*~*

Enjoy sports romance? Check out my new adult romance, Defending the Net, released on November 10. It is the second in my hockey series and guaranteed to melt the ice. It will be sold at Kindle, Apple Store, Nook, Kobo, !ndigo, Angus & Robertson, and Mondadori Store. It is the second in my hockey series and guaranteed to melt the ice. Order a copy now at www.books2read.com/defending. Crossing the line could cost the game.

Missed the first in my hockey romance series? Don’t worry. Out of the Penalty Box, an adult romance where it’s one minute in the box or a lifetime out is available at https://amzn.to/2Bhnngw. It also can be ordered on iTunes, Nook, or Kobo. For more links where to purchase or to read the blurb, please visit https://bit.ly/2i9SqpH.

Life’s Roux: Wrong Doors, my steamy romantic comedy, is available at Red Sage Publishing. To order, follow the link to https://bit.ly/2CtE7Ez or to Amazon at https://amzn.to/2lCQXpt.

Copies of all my books and stories are available in paper, eBook, and audio on Amazon, iTunes, Kobo, and Barnes & Noble. The links are listed in my Writing Projects page (https://bit.ly/2iDYRxU) along with descriptions of each of my novels or stories.

NEWSLETTER! Want to get the latest information and updates about my writing projects, giveaways, contests, and reveals first? Click https://genevivechambleeconnect.wordpress.com/newsletter/ and signup today.

Don’t forget to visit Creole Bayou again. New posts are made on Wednesdays. If you have any questions or suggestions about this post or any others, feel free to comment below or tweet me at @dolynesaidso. You also can follow me on Instagram at genevivechambleeauthor or search me on Goodreads or Amazon Authors.

Finally, if you or anyone you know are interested in joining a college Greek life organization, check out my special series posted each Monday for everything you wanted (and didn’t want) to know about college fraternities and sororities. Visit Sorority Bible Table of Contents to view any or all of these posts.

My main character in my short story, “An Awareness of Evil”, is Amanda McMasters, a psychic, living in the small town of Milford, Idaho. One day she senses a girl who is horribly frightened of something. As the days go by, the sensations increase and expand until full-blown visions assail her. Suddenly, there is no question in her mind that she knows the girl and finally, she knows where to find her.

I’ve always been drawn to psychics. When I was growing up in Virginia Beach, I made frequent visits to the Edgar Cayce’s Association for Research and Enlightenment. What a fascinating place! Through them I found a local psychic. She didn’t really tell me much that I found to be personal. But the experience of going was half the fun. When my dad was transferred to Florida my senior year of high school, I visited Cassadaga, a small town known for its psychic community. This visit was much more satisfying. The psychic there told me things about myself and about my boyfriend (and future husband), things no one could have known. I was hooked. And though I haven’t been back to other psychics, I have read about them, a lot. When I think of paranormal, a psychic is what comes to mind first.

An Awareness of Evil
inside Mystic Desire

Amanda McMasters is a psychic living in small town, Idaho. Far from the usual episodes where she can sense a person needing help, Amanda is suddenly thrown into full-blown visions of a little girl who feels threatened. She feels the girl’s terror, sees the poor state of her home, and smells strange and awful things—like the blood pooled around her mother and the faint whiff of a body beginning to decompose. With the help of her visions and Detective Brendan Gilchrist, Amanda races to save the little girl before she meets her mother’s fate.

Excerpt:

“There’s not much more frightening to a child than hearing a parent cry.” Amanda McMasters clutched her purse in her lap and tried to keep from twisting her hands. She stared at the nameplate on the front of the desk. Det. Donny Connor. He looked older than the other detective and probably had more experience but she wished she were speaking with the younger guy, doodling as he listened to her and his partner. He sat sideways to his desk with the chair pushed back onto two legs, looking as though he hadn’t a care in the world. But something told her that he heard every word.

“I can imagine,” Detective Connor said in a low voice. He seemed as though he were trying to sound soothing but a note of frustration hit between his words. “And so, you heard someone crying.”

“Not exactly.”

Detective Connor blew out a breath, laid his pen on the desk and then picked it up again. “Ms. McMasters, you’ve been trying to tell us what’s up for the past fifteen minutes. Why don’t you just say it and let us decide what’s important or not?” The detective looked to his partner sitting at the next desk. Detective Gilchrist gave him a bare nod. So far, that was the most interaction she’d seen from him.

Amanda took a deep breath and braced herself to tell the men what she’d been trying to avoid. “I don’t actually hear crying.”

“You don’t actually hear—”

“More like I sense it.”

The detective slowly placed the pen on his desk again. “You sense it.”

“Right.”

Detective Connor stretched his arms and folded his fingers behind his head. “So you don’t see the person crying. You don’t hear anyone crying. You don’t actually see a child.”

“That’s right.” She knew what was coming but knowing didn’t diminish the frustration. Or the pain in once again not being believed. “I’m something of a psychic.” She hadn’t meant to sound small, but that’s how it came out anyway.

Detective Connor dropped his hands to the desk and jerked the pen off the notepad. “You’re psychic.”

“Yes.”

“I see. And you’re sensing that this child you can’t see or hear is frightened.”

“I know it.”

“Okay, where is this child? We’ll be sure to check it out, won’t we Brendan?”

“Absolutely.”

Now Amanda didn’t bother trying to keep her hands still. She squeezed her fingers and released. Squeezed and released. “I don’t know.”

“Ms. McMasters, what exactly do you expect us to do? You don’t have any idea of who the kid is or how we can find it.”

“Her. I’m sure it’s a little girl crying.” She shook her head and narrowed her brows in worry. “I don’t know. I thought maybe you’d had a report of a domestic disturbance or something I might be able to draw on. I’ve been sensing her for two days now. It’s getting worse. She’s scared and I don’t know how to help her.” Her voice had risen to the point that people at desks around them had stopped to look. Amanda took another deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry. If I had more information, I’d tell you. But I can’t keep this to myself anymore.”

“Can’t keep what to yourself, miss? You haven’t told us anything.”

“Amanda McMasters,” murmured the other detective. “I think I’ve heard that name before. Have you been involved in another police case?

“Yes, last year in Spokane.” She had lived there until moving the eighty or so miles to Milford, Idaho. Once she had helped the Spokane police solve the murder case, she’d lost all privacy. People called morning, noon, and night asking for help in finding everything from lost dogs to lost keys. Or worse, more lost children. The stories had broken her heart and the constant requests had destroyed her peace. When her landlord told her she’d have to move or control the numbers of people banging on her door, she had little choice but to leave the Washington town. She’d chosen a smaller place in the more rural neighboring state. The last thing she needed now was to have the same problem start up again.

“I remember now. The boy lost in the state park. You located him just as he was on death’s door.”

“I am blessed with a gift, or maybe it’s a curse. But I’m not making anything up,” she said defensively.

“I believe you,” the younger detective said, meeting her gaze.

*~*~*

Buy links for Mystic Desire:
Amazon: https://amzn.to/322Ziq3
Universal link: https://books2read.com/u/4j1AD2

Mystic Desire, a supernatural anthology from Black Velvet Seductions is available for pre-order until October 1.

Authors included:
Dee S. Knight: An Awareness of Evil
Zia Westfield: Bewitching the Wolf
Lora Logan: Calling All Angels
Callie Carmen: Dream Catcher
Anne Krist: Life Saving
Patricia Elliott: Love from the Mist and also Love Knows No Apocalypse
Carol Schoenig: Love that Binds
R.M. Olivia: Love’s Ghost
Richard Savage: The Anniversary
Suzanne Smith: The Mortal Vampire
Alice Renaud: The Sweetest Magic of All
Jan Selbourne: Through the Veil
Breanna Hayes: Unconditional Lust

About the Author

A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex. Writing was so much fun Dee decided to keep at it. That’s how she spends her days. Her nights? Well, she’s lucky that her dream man, childhood sweetheart, and long-time hubby are all the same guy, and nights are their secret. For romance ranging from sweet to historical, contemporary to paranormal and more join Dee on Nomad Authors. Contact Dee at dsknight@deesknight.com.

Author links:
Website: https://nomadauthors.com
Blog: https://nomadauthors.com/blog
Twitter: https://twitter.com/DeeSKnight
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DeeSKnight2018
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/265222.Dee_S_Knight
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B079BGZNDN
Newsletter: https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/h8t2y6
LinkedIn: https://linkedin.com/in/dee-s-knight-0500749

No doubt we all remember our ‘first time’, the night or day or whatever when we lost our virginity, but what about when we first became aware of ourselves as sexual creatures? I’m not sure why that question recently occurred to me, but I have the answer.

I was a pre-adolescent, playing with my collection of plastic horses, cowboys, and Indians (yes, I’m that old) pretending my plastic human had caught a wild horse and was trying out various ways to restrain the horse. I tied up a leg, roped two legs together, placed a rope around its neck and tied the poor creature to a plastic section of fence. As I studied the mare or stud I became aware of a tingling sensation between my legs. After looking around to make sure no one was watching, I started rubbing myself there. The tingling increased, became more and more pleasurable. For as long as I remained interested in plastic horses and humans, I continued to encourage the feelings I didn’t understand. Of course I explored other ways of arousing the sensations, but ropes often factored in.

Fast forward about a million years and capture/bondage fantasies still turn me on. I’ve written other kinds of erotica but the majority revolve around some kind of restraint. My publisher Stormy Nights specializes in spanking stories. Even though spanking as a turn on puzzles me somewhat, I’m having a great time using that umbrella to engage my characters in sexual worlds. My heroines find themselves restrained while my heroes focus on enhancing the experience. Equality be damned in this fictional world. It’s all about power vs. helplessness.

I took that dynamic with me while writing my latest release Mastering His Pet. Here’s part of the first spanking scene. To explain, Tanner is a powerful Elite in a world I call The Society while Carra is a lowly Other. No question who’s in charge…

Mastering His Pet

“You want to run,” he said. “You’re like a wild animal that has spotted a trap and is trying to decide what to do.”

He hadn’t asked a question, which she took as proof he knew her much better than he should have. She had to be careful around him, not reveal too much, not show weakness.

But how?

“Maybe you’re wondering whether you can outrun me so I’ll answer. Despite my size, I’m fast on my feet.” He paused. “Call it one more weapon in my survival arsenal. If you let instinct get the best of you, I’ll overtake you. Once I catch you things will get even worse than they’re about to become. For one, I’ll make sure you stay where I decide you belong.”

He was still making statements, maybe not interested in hearing anything from her. Feeling as if she’d fallen into a place and space she hadn’t known existed, she kept her attention locked on him.

“I will correct your behavior. Make sure you never forget this vital lesson.”

It took everything she had in her not to assure him she understood, but she didn’t dare completely give into him. If she did he might take everything from her.

“Unfasten your shorts. Pull them down to your knees. Do the same to your panties, if you’re wearing any.”

“I am.” What did he think? That she dressed so she was always ready to fuck? She’d heard enough about military life to know some women hung around the troops. Most were whores looking to make enough to keep themselves fed, clothed, and sheltered. Her understanding was they made more money with their legs spread than they could otherwise.

Nothing could ever make her do that. Could it?

With a start she realized she’d let her mind drift. Somewhere between embarrassment and curiosity, she did as he’d ordered. She was going to be spanked, no way out of it.

Feeling if she’d separated from her body, she straightened. Her sleeveless top was so long it reached her navel, not that she could take comfort in the pitiful protection. She’d exposed her belly, pelvis area, and upper legs. Mostly her bare ass was there, ready for his hand.

“You should have worn long pants. You’ve got scratches, red marks, and indentations on your knees and shins from kneeling on the roof. Not a smart move on your part.”

He leaned back with his arms crossed, looking slightly bored. Maybe he’d spanked so many women he saw the task as nothing more than a chore. In contrast, she couldn’t think beyond the next few minutes.

“You know what you’re supposed to do. Get into place.”

She was just out of his reach, which meant she still had time to bolt, to—no, she couldn’t. Not sure what she was feeling, she positioned herself close to his legs and carefully lowered herself onto his lap. Her bare skin touched a single layer of denim, trapping heat between them. Her belly rested on thighs that felt as if they’d been carved from stone. Most concerning, the sensitive area between her belly and legs pressed against him. It felt good. Wonderful in fact.

Dizzy from having her head low, she ran her fingers over the rough ground. She closed her eyes, held her breath. This wasn’t happening but it was.

“You don’t have any marks here,” he said, his fingers light on her ass. “Considering your behavior, my cousins never corrected you?”

“No.” Her voice was muffled.

“You better not be lying. It’ll only get worse if you are.”

He’d threatened her. She should take it to heart, but how could she when his hand now rested on her backside as if he had every right, which he did.

“I’m telling you the truth.”

“I’ll make that determination. You have an exquisite ass.” He rubbed it. Her head spun and her pussy tightened and twitched. “Knowing my cousins as I do, I’m well-aware of their mindset where women are concerned. Don’t try to tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“I do.”

“That isn’t enough.” The pressure increased, not painful but impossible to ignore. Arousing. “Tell me, in detail, what takes place during their parties in the rooms without windows and with sound-deadening capabilities.”

“I’ve never been part of it.”

“They’ve never required your presence?”

“No.”

“If that’s the truth it constitutes a serious lack of judgment on their parts. An ass as delectable as this one should be put to use.”

“I’m more than an ass! You have no right saying—”

“Whether I do or don’t isn’t the issue. Might always wins.”

She was still processing his declaration when he slapped her. She jerked. A second blow immediately followed the first. Eyes squeezed closed, she tried to ready herself. Instead of continuing, he left her draped over him. He wasn’t done. She was sure of it.

“Do it!” She clamped a hand over her mouth then let her arm dangle again. What did staying quiet matter? She’d already angered him. “Get it over with.”

“All in good time, or should I say in my time. One way or the other you’re going to learn who is in charge.”

You are. If at all possible she’d keep from admitting that.

Her ass stung from the two sharp blows, the sensation sliding throughout her backside and going deep. She opened her eyes in an attempt to stop thinking about her pussy’s reaction. Weeds covered nearly every inch of the dirt she was looking at.

“Your life’s important.” He struck her a third time, this blow even more intense. “I will not have you treating it lightly. Being careless. If I have to keep you under control to keep you alive I’ll do it.”

“Under control?”

He closed his hands around her neck. “Restrained. Collared.”

Did you read my mind? “You wouldn’t.”

*~*~*

Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07VJ97TS7/ref
Nook: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/mastering-his-pet-vonna-harper/1132617789?
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/mastering-his-pet?

About the Author

What a ride my imagination has taken me on!

Freud, if he hadn’t been so hung up on his belief that only damaged people fantasize, might have tried to understand dom/submissive dynamics. Looks like he left that up to me and other like-minded writers. My most recent releases, Mastering His Pet, Predator’s Pet, His Purchase and His Filly are all spanking stories, but my erotica has covered everything from spanking to shape-shifting, from primitive tribes to science fiction. I honestly don’t know how many sexy stories I’ve had published. It’d probably scare me if I tried to count them. I also write tamer stuff under another name and try to keep the two far, far apart. My free time is spent as a servant to two rescue dogs, hanging out with family and mostly writer friends, and, sadly, selling the family’s mountain cabin. The less I say about this year’s garden the better.

Vonna
www.VonnaHarper.com
https://www.amazon.com/Vonna-Harper/e/B00JAMWDCC/ref=dp_byline_cont_pop_ebooks_1
VonnaWriter@gmail.com