​I’ve had some inquiries in the Jerry McNeal Series group asking me to explain the writing voices. I figured others might also be curious, so I thought I’d try to explain. Try because, much like Jerry, I do not have all the answers.
I did not grow up thinking about becoming an author—to be honest, I did not do well in school, and it was never offered to me as a possibility. I enjoyed writing poetry (the rhyming kind), but the thought of writing more than a short story or greeting card never occurred to me. This is the precise reason why my journey to becoming an author continues to amaze me.
I began my writing career by promising to write a happy ending for a friend who was going through a hard time. Seriously, we didn’t even own a computer at the time, and I wrote everything by hand. All I was planning to do was write a short story to cheer my friend up, thinking we’d both have a laugh, and that would be the end. Fortunately for me, the universe had other plans.
 I began writing what I thought to be a short story when the writing voices showed up, and the story took over.
As I wrote the story, it became clear it was going to be more than a few pages, so I did a little outline.  I didn’t know it at the time, but this was the writing voices jumping in and leading the way. The experience was a tad frustrating at first. Try as I might, the story kept veering away from “my” plot. When I say it took over, I mean it led a stampede- running far away from having anything to do with my friend or what was going on in her life.
Me being me, I went with it. I’m not sure when I realized I was writing a book, but I just knew the story was good, so I kept writing. I was working at the time and would take the story with me, writing every chance I got. I wrote at my desk, during my breaks, and on the couch at night, using a #2 pencil, lined writing paper, and a red clipboard. As the story progressed, it became clear I was writing a book. That is until the day I found out I wasn’t the one writing it. Here is where it gets a little hard to explain. I was sitting on the couch scribbling away when the writing voices showed up and I found out the characters knew something I didn’t. It stunned me that the story knew where it was going, even though I did not. I clearly recall being so frightened that I set the clipboard aside and started pacing the floor. The conversation went like this.
Hubby, “What’s wrong?”
Me, “I’m not writing the book.”
Hubby, “What do you mean you’re not writing the book? I’ve been watching you write it for weeks.”
Me. “I know, but I AM NOT THE ONE WRITING IT. I’m putting the words on paper, but someone or something is feeding me the information.”
At the time, I honestly think he thought I’d lost my mind. However, years later, he told me, “I understand what you meant when you said you didn’t write the book. You don’t talk this way or use words like this.”
I have never seen the writing voices. They do not talk to me out loud. Some might think the writing voices are just thoughts that come to mind. I honestly believe there is more to it as sometimes I only have to ask for help and the writing voices show up. I fully believe I have help when writing. There is more than one voice, each with different tones, depending on which manuscript I am working on. To this day, I continue to write as I go and am often greatly surprised when things are revealed to me. It is fascinating when some little insignificant thing I’d written several books back works its way into the book I’m working on and shows me the reason it was needed.  Things like that can’t be a mere coincidence.  For that reason, I will continue to give credit to the writing voices. I am but a vessel to carry their words and I am grateful they chose me.
Oh, and that short story I was working on to help cheer up my friend became my first novel, Tears of Betrayal. To this day, that not-so-little story continues to find its readers.
*Warning to my readers: this book is not a clean read. I always said if you are like my Mom, you will skip a page or two. If you are like my Aunt Barb, you’ll probably read them twice. 

​Yesterday, I celebrated my 62nd birthday by sitting in my writing chair working on ‘Company Business’, book seventeen of The Jerry McNeal Series, which is due out November 30th.
I had other options, but completing this manuscript and getting it to my editor by next weekend was not only what I needed to do but also how I wanted to spend my day.

My father doesn’t understand what I do. Many times, he’s commented that mine must be a boring life. He’s referring to the fact I sit in an office all day and don’t see or talk to anyone.

Nothing could be further from the truth. I may be alone, but I am rarely lonely as I am always seeing and playing with my friends. My body may be in my office, but my mind is often miles away. Even when I am not in the office, I am often still working.

I can stare out a window and see a movie come to life. Wash dishes and hear conversations between my characters. Take a shower and discover a new story I must hurry to jot down. I can wake from sleep, roll to my left side, and be gifted the key to a chapter puzzle that has evaded me during the day.

I’ve flown on planes, ridden trains, saved the innocent, and killed off villains, all from the comfort of a plush rolling chair. I’ve dreamt of the future and visited the past. I can see and feel things even though I have never been there.

 Through my books, I’ve met people I may never have met otherwise. I’ve made people think and helped them mourn. The words I’ve written have made people laugh, cry, and become so angry they’ve contacted me to tell me the why of it.

I’ve grown confident, learned that something I do matters, and, most of all, I’ve gained a lot of friends who I have never met but who I consider part of my family all the same.
​
This is my world, and I am delighted you are a part of it.
 

 
 December 24,1980, two months after my 18th birthday, Don and I sat in his stepfathers pickup truck in my grandmother’s driveway and devised a plan to elope. There was no reason for a rushed ceremony; it was simply a spontaneous plan we devised to have a small nest egg saved before ultimately having a "real" ceremony.  Don was in the Navy and if married, he would get a little added pay. It was a simple plan- get married, not tell anyone, and save a little extra money.
 Don was on leave from Norfolk and due back to the ship right after the first of the year, so we had to move quickly if we wanted to get married before he left. We chose December 30th for no other reason than it worked within our timeline. This was LONG before the internet, but we worked out all the details; drive to Tennessee, get married and be home by early afternoon, what could possibly go wrong?
I woke early on that Friday morning, as Don was supposed to pick me up by seven for our secret rendezvous.  I was ready on time but Don was nearly an hour late picking me up. Apparently, unbeknownst to us, another couple was having a house moved to its new location on that very morning, choosing to do so early so as not to inconvenience anyone. I am talking about a single story brown brick ranch house. Until that day, I never knew you could do that.  The good news is the house is still there and every time we drive past, we remember the day it found its new home on the hill.
We had told my mother that we were heading to Bardstown to see Don’s father and would be gone most of the day and had arranged for my then sister-in-law, Mary to join us as a witness. So, after the delay, we drove to Mary’s house, waited across the street for my brother to leave for work, before picking up Mary and my nephew, BJ who was just a baby at the time. We dropped BJ off at his great aunt’s house and started for Tennessee, excited that our quest to become husband and wife had finally begun. The drive was uneventful, and we all arrived in Nashville in high spirits.
There was a line at the courthouse; apparently several other couples had hopes of getting married that day as well. When it was our turn, we told the lady at the desk we were there to get married. She smiled and asked for our birth certificates. This was the second thing that nearly derailed our plans, as we had not thought to bring them. Before you chastise us for not being prepared, please remember I had barely turned eighteen, and Don was twenty -one. This was also way before the Internet, so we had been unable to research what was involved.  After a very tense moment it was decided that we could use our driver’s licenses since they had our pictures on them. We were lucky because at that time Kentucky was one of the few states that required photos on driver’s licenses.
Once the clerk established our identities she then requested the paperwork for our blood test results. Glitch number three!  Of course we had not thought to have any blood test taken. Things like this must happen on a regular basis, as the lady directed us to a clinic where we could get our blood drawn and returned that very day.
We drove across town and after several wrong turns -no GPS back in the day- finally found the clinic in what looked to be a rather run down section of Nashville. After arriving, and feeding yet another parking meter, which seemed prevalent in the large city, we entered the clinic to find a waiting room full of people who all turned to see who had entered- this was also long before cellphones to keep everyone occupied. I was terrified as all of those eyes followed us across the room, continuing to stare even after we had signed in and taken our seats, as if everyone in the room knew of our secret.
But now, as I type, I think it was more because we were highly overdressed for the area. Don looked dashing in his leisure suit, my sister-in-law had donned a nice dress for the occasion and I had on a new outfit. One I was extremely proud of as my parents didn’t have extra money to spend on clothes and I had purchased it with my very own money from the new job I was working. I was thin as a rail at the time and I looked good in those flare jeans with pockets trimmed with soft fur and that gorgeous black velour angel sleeve top. It was 1980 and this was extremely fashionable and it never occurred to me that fur-trimmed blue jeans and a black top may not have been the best choice of wedding attire.  But, hey,  this was just our pre-wedding wedding. Right?
Luckily, we were only there for a blood draw and we were called back within a few short moments. They put us in separate rooms across the hall from one another where we each sat on an exam table waving to each other like a couple of love-struck kids. The nurse came into my room first, asked a couple of questions and then tied the tourniquet around my arm. As she was lowering the needle I asked her when the results would be back. As the needle approached the crook of my arm she replied “Oh, not long, we should have them back in the morning.”
I jerked my arm away just before the needle penetrated my vein. “But, we are getting married today,” I exclaimed, while pulling at the rubber vice that still gripped my arm.
After a few moments of chaos, we were sent across town to a blood draw center that could accommodate a same day blood draw. After arriving, and paying the parking meter, again, we made our way to a nice waiting area.  We were the only ones in the room and the receptionist, a very friendly lady assured us it would not take long to complete the process.  After only a few minutes our blood was carted away to the testing area with the word STAT clearly labeled across each glass vile. We were told it would take about an hour and since it was now nearing lunch time the receptionist suggested we take this opportunity to go and get something to eat.
I am not sure how much Nashville has changed, but in December of 1980 it was not easy for three highly stressed and very hungry people to find something to eat. We drove for what seemed like an eternity before finally finding a Burger King. We stuffed our face with burgers and fries, and hurried back to the lab to get our test results. Even though we were out for over an hour, when we returned the results had still not come back. After waiting an additional hour the receptionist called down to the lab to see what was taking so long. It turns out that our blood was misplaced and no-one could find those two tiny glass tubes. A trace was placed on them and we had no choice but to wait.
After nearly two panicky hours the blood was found, and the results finally arrived. Don paid the fifty- six dollars and we were on our way. Unfortunately, instead of being on our way to the courthouse we were headed back to the original clinic so that the resident doctor could verify the results and declare us fit to be married.  We returned to the clinic, walked back through the gauntlet of gawkers, and spoke with the receptionist who placed a call to the nurse who hurried through the doorway, scooped up our paperwork and left without a word. Forty minutes and thirty- six dollars later, we exited the building, paperwork in hand attesting that we were in good health and genetically fit to become husband and wife. Everything signed by a doctor whom we never saw.
By the time we returned to the courthouse it was late, and all of the judges had left for the day. Feeling both physically and mentally exhausted I blinked to keep the tears at bay. Seeing my distress the clerk took pity on us and offered to call over to the night court to see if there was anyone who could perform the service. Luckily there was a judge there who agreed to see to our joining.
We made our way to the courtroom and opened the door to find a room full of people, all of which turned to stare at the intruders which had suddenly disturbed the proceedings. Fearing we have entered the wrong courtroom; we closed the door without entering. Within seconds, the door reopened, and we were greeted by a distinguished man, with incredibly large ears, who assured us we were indeed in the right place.The man introduced himself as Judge Doty and beckoned us to follow. It was terrifying to walk through that crowded courtroom and I was more than relieved when we entered the back chamber.
Judge Doty was a sturdy, kind, older gentleman, with dark eyes that looked as if they had witnessed many years in the judicial system. He seemed rather pleased to be doing something as mundane as performing a simple marriage ceremony. When he asked which one of these pretty ladies was the bride, Don clutched my hand possessively, and proudly stated that I could cook too. He knew this for a fact, as I had made him a spaghetti dinner only a couple months earlier when he was home on leave. What he neglected to say, was that I had used boxed noodles, sauce from a jar, and he never even touched the homemade meatballs that I had slaved hours to prepare.
As Judge Doty began the ceremony he was interrupted by a phone call. After answering, and assuring his wife he would bring home a loaf of bread and a gallon of milk, he continued. A few seconds later a second call had been answered. This call was of greater importance, as it ended with the promise of a fishing trip to take place the following day. When the service continued and Judge Doty got to the part where a ring was needed, my sister-in-law slipped her wedding ring off her finger and passed it to Don who, without missing a beat, slipped it onto mine. Apparently in our haste to get married we had also overlooked this minor detail. At long last, and without any further interruptions, we were pronounced husband and wife and it was made official after we handed over a forty- dollar ceremony fee.
Upon surrendering the borrowed ring, and returning to the van, the first major test of our marriage was soon at hand. The van was nearly out of gas, we were over a hundred miles from home, and between all the parking meters, blood test, doctor's signatures and ceremony fees, my new husband’s cash was nearly depleted. He had a bit of money in an account at home, but that was way before the invention of the universal debit card. I had not thought to bring any money and my sister-in-law only had a couple of dollars on her, so there we were, frantically trying to figure out how we were going to get back home.
As fate would have it, Don had a money order in the van for the amount of six dollars, which he had yet to fill out. He took the money order to a bank across the street, went inside, walked up to the teller and slid the money order under the window telling her he needed money. It was at that time that the guard saw him at the teller window and watched him pass the note. Unbeknownst to my hubby, the bank had been closed for several minutes and somehow no-one had remembered to lock the side door, which is why the security guard assumed my husband was there to rob the bank!
After a few tense moments my new husband was able to convince everyone he was not a bank robber, had just gotten married, and needed to cash the small money order to get his new bride safely back home. The teller, who had already closed out her drawer, took pity on him and gave him cash in the amount of the money order out of her own purse.
With the six dollars from the money order, and the small amount of cash on hand, Don purchased gas, which he prayed would be enough to get us back to Louisville. During the drive home, I, having reached my limit, proceeded to crawl into the bed in the back of the van and sleep most of the way home.
Needless to say, we arrived back at Mary’s aunt’s house to pick up my nephew much later than we originally intended. As we reached the back door, my brother greeted us humming the hymn to the funeral march. As it turns out, my nephew had gotten sick, and his aunt had called my mom looking for us. (Again, this was way before cell phones.) When my mother questioned why we would take my sister-in-law with us to visit Don’s dad her aunt had jokingly stated “maybe they eloped.”
After gathering my nerve, I called my mom, who demanded to know where we had been. There was no reason to lie, so I told her Tennessee. When she asked why, I said “why do you think?” The next thing I heard was a dial tone. At that point I was very glad I had taken that much-needed nap. My brother congratulated us, we had a celebratory glass of wine and we left.
After once again gathering the courage to call my house my younger brother answered the phone and wanted to know why mom had been crying ever since hanging up the phone with me. She refused to come to the phone and told him to tell me if I wanted to speak with her I knew where she lived. An hour later we parked at the church, which was next door to our house, and, feeling as if we were facing the firing squad, slowly made our way across the yard and up the incline to our house.
My mom was still crying. My dad, not typically known for his patience, was so calm it was frightening. He wanted to know why we had eloped. Don spoke up and simply said “because we love each other.”
Dad then asked the million-dollar question, which was whether or not I was pregnant. We of course told them no, which was the truth. Dad relaxed, slightly, and left the room. Many years later I was told by my brother that he had seen dad with a loaded pistol in his waistband just before he himself had been ordered to leave the house. I do not know for certain if this was true, but knowing my father, I tend to believe my brother and think it was a very good thing that an impending pregnancy was not the reason for our hasty elopement.
When dad returned to the room, both he and mom then began a crusade to make us see the error of our ways and get an annulment. They claimed that neither of them objected to the marriage, just the way we had gotten married. They wanted us to get an annulment and then go back the following weekend to get re-married with them beside us. That wasn’t possible as Don had to return to Virginia. Besides, I was afraid if we agreed to this my parents would find a way to keep us from a second ceremony.
Don's refusal was because he was not about to relinquish his well-earned prize. He had nearly been shot at the bank just a few short hours earlier and he was not about to let that experience be for naught.
After a long stalemate, it was decided that I would retire to my room for the night and Don would go home. All parties involved would discuss it further the following day, when hopefully, calmer heads would prevail.
I know there are some that think it utterly absurd to sleep alone on one's wedding night, but by this point, Don and I were so exhausted it seemed like the right thing to do.
There was a lot of discussion that following day, but the final agreement was that we would follow our initial plan to keep the marriage a secret and make plans for a “real” wedding in the summer. As with our elopement, things did not go as planned. We never had the big wedding, nor did I get the white dress. I am happy to report that I did eventually get a wedding band which was replaced with a lovely diamond set on our twenty-five-year anniversary.
When we first got married several people expressed their disapproval, telling us it would not last six months. Thankfully, their predictions did not hold true and today marks our forty-third wedding anniversary.
I guess, truth be told, one does not need a fancy dress, a shiny bauble, or even a lot of money to get married. You only need perseverance, a trip across the state line, and enough money for gas to get you home….

​#Andtheylivedhappilyeverafter #soulmate #elopement #Nashville #43years 
 
 
 
 
 

​**Updated Release Date for Cold Case**

Because I want to make sure to deliver a product I can be proud of, I have decided to push the release date for Cold Case from June 24th to June 30th to allow my team time to edit and proof the book. This was not an easy decision and I hope everyone understands. 
​
Writing and releasing a book a month is not for the faint of heart.

It has its challenges and can get a bit harrowing at times. I began writing Cold Case on May 9th and almost immediately got sick with a combination of bronchitis and strep throat. The crud hung on through three separate courses of antibiotics and wreaked havoc on my time in the writing chair – it’s hard to write when you don’t even feel like being out of bed.

Add to that taking an unexpected (but welcomed) trip to Kansas, where The National Orphan Train Complex awarded me the prestigious Charles Loring Brace Award for my historical fiction series, The Orphan Train Saga. I lost some valuable time in the writing chair but wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

With all of that, I can honestly say that Cold Case pushed me more than any book to date. I know my deadlines are self-imposed, but I still strive to meet them. After regrouping, I promised my editor I would send her Cold Case by the 10th (later than initially intended) and sweated that deadline until the very end.

Yesterday (the morning of my deadline,) I sat in my writing chair at 7 am and finished the last chapter at 9:45 am. I didn’t have time to celebrate as I still had to do the final read-through. It is not a quick process as I look for any issues with the story flow and use my numerous sticky notes to make any changes as I go. I finally finished and sent it off to my editor at 10:09 pm. Usually, there is no greater joy than knowing I am done, but last night, I was too tired to rejoice in finishing another book. Even today, I feel as if I have a book hangover.

My plan is to take the weekend to recover and start on Wicked Winds on Monday. We will be on the road for the next week, heading to my signing in Deadwood. It will be a working vacation in many ways, as I will be working on Wicked Winds and doing research for Spirit of Deadwood. I am not complaining, as I absolutely LOVE my job.

I am very grateful for the writing voices for choosing me and for my readers for taking a chance with an author most had never heard of. Seriously, how amazing is it that all of the Jerry McNeal books have each had orange best seller tags and remained in the top 20 (most of the time much higher- Port Hope is currently the #1 new release in Ghost fiction) of three major categories the entire year!
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THANK YOU for reading. You guys rock!