Friday, January 27, 2012

Winner of P. L. Parker's Will o' the Wisp

The winner is Christine Warner. Congratulations, Christine! P. L. will be contacting you soon. Thanks for stopping by and I hope you'll come again.


Tuesday, January 24, 2012

P. L. Parker has a New Release!

If you've not read P.L.'s work, you should. You'll love it, especially if you like paranormal with fantasy and loads of history added. My favorites are Fiona and Riley's Journey, but with Will o' the Wisps she's stepping into the sci-fi genre.I look forward to reading it. Leave her a comment to be entered in a drawing for an ecopy of Will o' the Wisp. Please join me in welcoming P. L. Parker.

I’ve always loved science fiction! The SciFi channel is my favorite channel on TV. My novel Riley’s Journey and the sequel, Into the Savage Dawn, are time travel but in many ways also science fiction. A time portal created by a scientist was the mode of transportation into the past. I am currently working on a third in that series. Recently, I contracted with New Concepts Publishing for my latest novel, The Chalice, another science fiction romance.

My short story, Will o’ the Wisp, was my first conscious step into the realm of science fiction.

Will o’ the Wisp by P. L. Parker


Stalked across the vast reaches of the universe, Tannis, the last fecund female of the clan Light Bringers, takes refuge on Earth, veiling herself within the dying form of a human female. Her energy forces are flagging and to rejuvenate, she must seek the healing properties of the sun’s rays, but by doing so, she risks discovery by the hunter. Time is short and Kadin—the most feared assassin of all—draws near!


The hunt had led him to this place. A primitive planet on the outskirts of a distant galaxy. He’d arrived ahead of the pack, confident his subtle pointers would lead the others in the wrong direction. Convinced he’d caught up with Tannis at last, he’d come upon her at the moment she’d entered the host body, seeking to mask her presence. Such was the act of desperation, born of her inexperience and misguided information. Her energies pulsed bright and compelling, far too tangible to hide in the husk of the former occupant.

His lips curved in a self-deprecating smile. He could heal the female body with a simple touch. The shell’s hold on life was tenuous but if Tannis flew, the hunt would commence again. He grew tired of the hunt, tired of the unending frustrations. Now he wanted closure, craved an ending. But until he caught her, it was not to be.

He glanced down. A single human male also watched the vehicle’s progress. When the transport disappeared from his line of sight, the human turned, starting up an overgrown pathway into a wooded area. Kadin touched on the human’s mind, taking in information at light speed.

Excerpt 2

“Hold her down while I sedate her.”
“No!” Tannis screamed out. “If I sleep, he’ll find me!”
“No one is going to hurt you,” the woman soothed. “We just want you to calm down.”
“You don’t understand! I can’t sleep,” she cried. “If I do, he’ll destroy me.”
“No one’s going to destroy you,” Laura said as she reattached the tubes. “We won’t let them,” she glanced at the other two. “Will we?”
They shook their heads. “Not on our watch,” one replied.
“But…but you won’t even know he’s here until it’s too late.”
A hand squeezed her shoulder. “You’re in ICU. No one gets in here without us knowing about it.”
“You can’t know…,” she moaned as more drugs entered the body’s system. “He won’t rest until I’m eliminated.”

Buy link:

About me:

Offbeat is a perfect word when describing me. For many years, I taught, performed, as well as choreographed, dance. I am a dreamer and an avid reader of fiction, a sometimes gardener and an inept crafter. I love to travel, always returning to my beautiful Idaho where I reside with my husband, Jack, my children and extended family, Jared, Travis, Zachary and Tannis, two huge cats and a toy poodle. I am a member of Romance Writers of America and the local chapter, Coeur d’Bois.


Blog site:

Thanks for being my guest today, P. L. Readers, leave P. L. a comment to be entered in her drawing.

Happy Reading and Writing!


Thursday, January 19, 2012

Linda LaRoque's Amazing Author Event

Thirteen days of blog posts for you to visit. Perhaps you'll meet someone new, find new reads, and better yet, win a book. Follow along each day and leave a comment. Read the blurb and excerpt carefully. On the last day, January 24th, submit your answers on Ginger Simpson's blog. If you need to refer back to the first day, January 12th, go to Caroline Clemmons blog.

A Marshal of Her Own is the second story in this series set in Prairie, Texas. It is available at The Wild Rose Press and


Despite rumors of “strange doings” at a cabin in Fredericksburg, investigative reporter Dessa Wade books the cottage from which lawyer, Charity Dawson, disappeared in 2008. Dessa is intent on solving the mystery. Instead, she is caught in the mystery that surrounds the cabin and finds herself in 1890 in a shootout between the Faraday Gang and a US Marshal.

Marshal Cole Jeffers doesn’t believe Miss Wade is a time traveler. He admits she’s innocent of being an outlaw, but thinks she knows more about the gang than she’s telling. When she’s kidnapped by Zeke Faraday, Cole is determined to rescue her. He’s longed for a woman of his own, and Dessa Wade just might be the one—if she’ll commit to the past.


Dessa resisted the urge to scream again. She bit her bottom lip as a reminder to stay silent and not draw attention to herself. Her heart thundered in her chest, threatening to jump from her body. This couldn’t be happening. God, please tell me I’m dreaming. Wake me up. Please...please... Just in case God wasn’t listening, she was getting out of Dodge.

On her hands and knees she crawled toward the safety of the trees and the shadows. Afraid to look up, she continued forward as fast as her limbs would take her. Rocks and debris scratched her hands and gouged into her kneecaps, but she didn’t care.

She bumped into something and shifted to the left but whatever was in her way moved with her. Uh, oh. Dread inched up her spine. She stiffened. She might be caught, but she darn well wouldn’t go peacefully. After all, she was a victim here. Tilting her head up slightly, she eyed a pair of well-worn boots. As her eyes moved upward she noted faded denims, sculpted muscled thighs and...oh my...just below his gun belt. She blushed and pushed herself up to sit on her haunches, putting a little distance between them.

From that angle, she got a full view of the man. His wool coat bore a silver star. She gave a sigh of relief, then a gasp. He was a lawman, a darn good-looking one, at that. Focus Dessa. She’d been saved. “Thank goodness. I’m so glad you’re here.”

Her smile vanished at the expression on his face. Steel blue eyes assessed her beneath the black felt hat. Rugged planes displayed a scowl that didn’t bode well for her, nor did the shotgun held loosely in his right hand.

A Law of Her Own is book one in this series. It is available at TheWild Rose Press and
The third book in the series, A Love of His Own, will be available May 16, 2012.

For this event, I'll be giving away a copy of A Law of Her Own. To be entered, answer the questions on Ginger Simpson's blog on January 24th.

Continue following this blog event tomorrow on Jacquie Roger's Romancing the West.

Good luck with the drawings and Happy Reading and Writing!


Sunday, January 15, 2012

Amazing Author's Event

Starting Jan. 12, thirteen AMAZING AUTHORS will host a blog tour. Visit each author's blog and read through their post carefully. At the end of the tour there will be a test - but instead earning an A or, gasp, an F, you can earn PRIZES: amazing stories by these AMAZING AUTHORS, as well as some other cool giveaways. Thanks Anna Katherine Lanier for this catchy intro and Ginger Simpson for organizing this event.

Here's the AMAZING AUTHORS lineup:

Jan. 12. Caroline Clemmons -

Jan. 13. Beth Trissel -

Jan. 14. Roseanne Dowell -

Jan. 15. Cathie Dunn -

Jan. 16. Maggie Toussaint -

Jan. 17. Patsy Parker -

Jan. 18. SG Rogers -

Jan. 19. Linda LaRogue -

Jan. 20 Jacquie Rogers -

Jan. 21. Karen Nutt -

Jan. 22. Anna Kathryn Lanier -

Jan. 23. Barbara Edwards -

Jan. 24. Ginger Simpson -

I know I'm late in posting this. Sorry about that but you can go back and post late.

Thanks for stopping by and Happy Reading and Writing!


Thursday, January 12, 2012

Visit with Liz Flaherty

Linda, thank you so much for having me here today.

I never think that much about technology. I’m in my 60s, so I’ve lived more of my life without a computer and a cell phone and a Kindle than I have with them. I sew, I cook, I walk, I’m active. Unlike some people my age, I like learning electronic ins and outs, though I’m not good at them. I love my I-phone with its pretty purple case and my Kindle that weighs a lot less than a suitcase full of books, but I’m not dependent on them.

At least, not exactly. The following is what I wrote yesterday.

Here I sit without benefit of a keyboard or a screen. Even my phone is unavailable. I can’t check email, read blogs, or Google myself. I can’t open a file and write.

Goodness knows, I need to do that! In these days of promoting myself and my new book, ONE MORE SUMMER nonstop and ad nauseum, I’ve written no fiction. I haven’t gotten closer to my protagonists. Haven’t laughed or cried or said, “Let’s wait just a damn minute here” when they’ve led down an unexpected (and sometimes unwanted) garden path.

But, no, here I sit…. It’s beautiful outside, warm and sunny. I hope I will have time to walk later on this most un-Indiana-like January day. The grass is even green below the window I’m seated next to, the sky a strong, bright blue that belongs in mid-March—maybe even April. I would write about this, wax poetic about the spring-like beauty of the day. If I had my computer. Or, for that matter, anybody’s computer.

But I don’t. I’m at school, halfway through the first three-hour session of the only class I’m taking in the second semester. The instructor gave us a break, even though there are no vending machines or coffeepots or break areas on this satellite campus. Therefore I have time to sit here with a dozen or so barely post-adolescents who are busily texting and wish I’d brought my cell phone to class. I’ll write all this out in longhand and type it on my laptop when I get home. And I wouldn’t think much about this, except for one thing.

The course I’m taking is a computer class.

How about you? Have you had a wakeup call that let you realize how electronically-dependent you’ve become. Or did you realize that you’re stronger willed than I am and would be perfectly happy going back to pen, pad, and—oh, Lord—typewriter?

ONE MORE SUMMER is the book of my heart and I hope you like it, too. Thanks for coming by.

I’d love to have you visit my website or where I hang out with some of my best writer friends.


Grace has taken care of her widowed father her entire adult life and the ornery old goat has finally died. She has no job, no skills and very little money, and has heard her father's prediction that no decent man would ever want her so often she accepts it as fact.

But she does have a big old house on Lawyers Row in Peacock, Tennessee. She opens a rooming house and quickly gathers a motley crew of tenants - Promise, Grace's best friend since kindergarten, who's fighting cancer; Maxie, an aging soap opera actress who hasn't lost her flair for the dramatic; Jonah, a sweet gullible old man with a crush on Maxie.

And Dillon, Grace's brother's best friend, who stood her up on the night of her senior prom and has regretted it ever since. Dillon rents Grace's guest house for the summer and hopes to make up for lost time and past hurts - but first, he'll have to convince Grace that she's worth loving...


It was no use.

Grace had taken her lengthy bath in the claw foot tub, shaved her legs and nicked her ankle right on the bone where it hurt most, and put on her chenille robe. She’d poured a tumbler full of the expensive wine Steven had brought a case of and sat on the couch with the book she’d gotten at the library when she’d read to the kids earlier in the week. Louisa May slept on the couch back, twitching her tail occasionally and smacking Grace in the face with it. Rosamunde dozed contentedly in the baseball cap Dillon had left on the lamp table. The window behind the couch was open, affording Grace a cooling breeze scented by the rain that had fallen that evening.

She’d already gotten up once and closed the pocket doors between the living room and the dining room. But she could still hear it.

Laughing. There were Jonah’s guffaw, Maxie’s theatrical trill, and the husky whoop that was always such a surprise coming from Promise’s soprano throat. Now and then another laugh slipped in, quieter than Jonah’s but no less gleeful. Dillon was there too. They sat on the screened porch, a good forty feet from where Grace sat with her feet up, and still she could hear them.

They were playing Monopoly. Grace hadn’t played that since the day before her mother died. She remembered that last game, the board balanced on a bed tray across Debbie Elliot’s legs in the room that smelled of Cashmere Bouquet talcum powder and sickness and medicine. Faith had sat on one side of her mother, Promise on the other, and Grace at the bed’s end.

“Sit on my feet a little, baby,” Debbie had said. “You keep them so nice and warm.”

Grace had won the game, and the next day—when Debbie was dead and life for the rest of the Elliots had irrevocably changed—she had hated herself for buying Boardwalk and Park Place and forcing her mother into bankruptcy.

“I made her die,” she’d told Steven.

“Her heart made her die,” he’d responded, but Grace hadn’t really believed him until he became a cardiac surgeon.

Sometimes, she still wondered. If Debbie had napped in the evening as she often did, would that hour of rest have made the difference? If Grace hadn’t sat on her mother’s feet with her eighty-five pounds of almost-twelve-year-old exuberance, would the final heart attack not have happened?

But she refused to think about those things now, nor would she consider the game of Monopoly with an inward shudder of dread. She thought instead of the laughter that was dancing along her nerve endings, and wondered if anyone else was using the little iron as their token for moving around the board. The iron had always been her favorite. She liked the way it felt between her fingers.

If she just got off her couch and wandered toward the porch like she was bored with her own company—which she was—would anyone make a big deal out of it? If Promise or the others acted surprised by her presence, Dillon Campbell would think she’d joined them just because he was there. Which was nonsense.

Of course it was.

She remembered how Dillon’s hand had felt when he pulled her to her feet the night before. She’d avoided unnecessary touch all her adult life, and one squeeze of Dillon Campbell’s fingers had her wondering if that hadn’t been a mistake.

More nonsense.

She tried again to devote full attention to the book, but finally gave up and laid it aside. She sat in the harsh light from the reading lamp and sipped her high dollar wine and listened to the laughter of the others. Isolation and loneliness wrapped around her, not new feelings by any means, but somehow deeper and darker tonight.

Maybe this time, as Promise often accused, she was excluding herself and the loneliness was of her own making. Maybe if she stepped onto the back porch, no one would make a fuss and no one would make her feel as though she didn’t belong. It was, after all, her porch.

Carrying her glass, she whispered open the pocket doors and strode barefoot through the deserted dining room and the kitchen with its ever-present light over the sink. After a moment’s hesitation, she pushed open the door to the porch.

“Replacement power. Just in time.” Promise’s smile was wide and brilliant. Welcome to the human race. Grace heard the words she didn’t say. “Now that I’ve been trounced, Grace can take my place while I make popcorn. No one’s using your iron, so have at it.”

Grace sat in the chair Promise vacated, taking the little metal iron from the Monopoly box. It still felt nice between her fingers.

“I’m the banker,” Jonah informed her, passing money around the table. “Since I’m better at losing money than anyone else, I was unanimously elected.”

“I don’t even know why I play.” Maxie sighed, fluffing her blond hair with heavily be-ringed fingers. “I seem to spend all my time in jail. Unless Dillon rescues me with his ‘get out of jail free’ cards,” she added with a flutter of eyelashes.

“I’m just a soft touch for a pretty lady.” Dillon smiled at her, his eyes glinting silver in the dim, yellow light on the porch.

Grace’s heart hammered against her ribs.

Geezy Pete, Grace, grow up.

Thank you for being here today, Liz, and sharing One More Summer with us. Ah, those books of the heart, they're keepers and yours sounds like one I'd enjoy.

Readers, I hope you'll leave Liz a comment or question.

Happy Reading and Writing!

Monday, January 9, 2012

Mary Marvella--Expiration Dates on Books or Food

Hey, Linda! So clad you invited me to blog for you. I loved your visit with the Pink Fuzzies.

Expiration dates on books or food.

Do you clean your refrigerator often or after you find food that has been around so long you don't remember when you served it? I admit I don't purge food more than a week old, as some folks say they do. I do sometimes check for food that doesn't look familiar anymore. That I do toss. Sometimes I find colorful growth inside containers. With no kids in my house I have no need for science projects and I don't enjoy identifying kinds of mold, so those go.

I know folks who toss food on the sell-by date. What a waste.

About those manuscripts you wrote years ago. You know, the ones you had rejected time after time by editors and agents. Got any you didn't have the nerve to submit because your critique partners didn't love them or contest judges scored them closer to freezing temperature than summer heat? Maybe there were some between-the-lines comments that translated to "Don't quit your day job."

Do manuscripts have expiration or sell-by dates? I don't think so. Brush the dust bunnies off one of your old manuscripts and read it again. If reading them reminds you why you loved the characters or the story, clean it up and replace the rotary phones in the story with cool gadgets.

You take those manuscript folks said were ugly and that you dressed funny and spiff 'em up. Get new glasses or better hairstyles for those characters you love and toss 'em back into the pool. This time they might swim, even if you have to slip a toe into the dark side of the publishing pool, Indie publishing. For that matter you could just jump in and swim.

I have self-published 2 novellas and 2 novels since May of 2011. I still have manuscripts I don't believe will sell to publishers. No, I haven't sold a lot of copies, or even given away thousands of copies of the free novella, but some folks have bought copies and said good things. As long as they languished on my computer, no one could read them.

Haunting Refrain is a paranormal romance with ghost facilitators and reincarnation. At one point I was told there were too many elements. For today's paranormal market the book doesn't have enough elements, No vampires, superpowers or demons. Bummer! But wait! There might be readers who still like this type of story. Barnes & Noble


William has tried not to become sexually involved with Sarah. He doesn't do long term sexual relationships. He has loved Sarah since forever. She has been his friend and he didn't want to screw up their friendship. (Pun intended.)

William smiled as he drifted into consciousness. He smelled Sarah’s fragrance on his pillow. He listened for her breathing. “Sarah?” Nothing. Sweeping his arm around he felt for her. Where was she? In his bathroom? No he didn’t hear water running.

His alarm shrilled. Hadn’t he just fallen asleep? Was Sarah in his kitchen? He could surprise her by slipping his arms around her and ...

Rational thought burst that vision. She’d be back at her house. After all, she had parents who would expect her to sleep in her own bed, more’s the pity. He’d enjoyed having her share his big bed. Well, after last night things had changed.

It had to be at least ten o’clock. He’d planned to sleep late, then head for the school library to continue his research.

He rose and punched the snooze button, then plopped back in bed. Stretching, he remembered something had bothered him when he and Sarah had made love.

Oh, yes. Now he remembered. In all the years he and Sarah had been together, he had seen her in all kinds of bathing suits. None could have revealed the birthmark under her breast, yet he had known it was there. How?

There had been something so familiar about her responses to his loving. Maybe her responses had just been like those of his recent erotic fantasies of her. Yeah, that could explain it.

He’d made love to other women before. Each had been different, but last night had made him understand why he hadn’t stayed with any of them. The psychologist in him had thought the term “love-making” was a euphemism for having sex, especially with someone he respected and cared about.

Now he knew better.

Last night had been the first time he had really made love. It hadn’t been about something he wanted to do. It had been about something he desperately needed to do. It had been about sharing his heart, his soul. Sarah was his heart. She was his soul. He needed to tell her.

The snooze shrilled again. Energized, he turned the alarm off and showered. For the first time he could remember he sang in the shower. Maybe he was capable of loving and being loved. He nearly cut himself shaving around his insistent smile.
Mary Marvella Barfield on Facebook and Mary Marvella, Author on Facebook


Saturday, January 7, 2012

Review for A Law of Her Own

Woohoo, another review for A Law of Her Own. Please take a look.

Review: "After reading A Marshal of Her Own, I couldn't wait to get my hands on book 1 in the series. I was fortunate enough to win it in a contest. Yay!

I absolutely adored Charity and Turner. Charity is such a strong, independent and very likeable character. She took charge and saved Turner from hanging for a crime he didn't commit.

There were laugh out loud moments, murder and action. We do learn early on who the real killer is so there wasn't any suspense involved. My only complaint is that it was too short. More!!

Just like with A Marshal of Her Own, the ending on this story choked me up as well. I cannot wait until A Love of His Own is released in 2012."

By Sarah L. at Romancing the Book.

To read the full review go to Romacing the Book.

Buy Links for A Law of Her Own.
Barnes and Noble
The Wild Rose Press

Happy Reading and Writing!


Monday, January 2, 2012

Who won the Rhinestone Frog Pin?

Margie T. is the winner of my Born in Ice contest and receives this rhinestone frog pin. Congratulations, Margie! Send me your snail mail address and I'll get it in the mail to you.

Happy Reading and Writing!