Original post Dec. 25 2010 and revisited Dec. 23, 2011
It was just a few weeks before my seventh Christmas. My three year old brother and I were coloring paper Christmas ornaments we had cut from a coloring book. My mother was out on an errand. My dad was working on something under the house that had broken.

One minute we were innocent children excited with the thoughts of Christmas, the next, chaos broke out. My father ran into the room shouting for us to go outside. We balked at the idea of leaving our unfinished projects and going out into the frigid air. It was a short standoff after which we were both tossed unceremoniously out into the night and ordered to run to the neighbor’s house to call for help. The house was on fire!

The rest of the night has remained a vivid memory all of these years. I stood listening as the neighbors kept voicing concern in elaborate detail, saying how the house was a total loss and burning to the ground. I still remember how terrifying it was staring out the window, watching helplessly as the flames flickered high in night sky, knowing our Christmas tree was in there and feeling just a tinge guilty that I had not gotten out when first told.

Fortunately the house did not burn to the ground. The only real damage was in my bedroom. It was bad enough my room was destroyed, but what I did not know at the time was that the top of my closet was the hiding place of the much awaited Christmas presents. Presents, which were burned beyond recognition.  My parents, having little money to begin with and now faced with major home repairs, did not have the money to get new ones. As it was my dad was working two jobs and barely making ends meet so this was an added stress that left them feeling even more helpless. No parent wants to let their kids down, especially at Christmas time.

Mom and Dad sat us down and explained to us that we would not be getting presents this year. I was not worried.  I knew Santa would bring us presents. They tried to tell me that Santa was struggling this year and could not visit but I wasn’t worried. Santa always visited so I didn’t think he would stop now.

We moved into my grandparent’s home while Dad worked his two jobs and then went to the house to work on it. It was not a happy time. We were a family of six cramped into a house that was really only big enough to comfortably fit my grandparents. Not being a close nit family to begin with the tensions were high and we were all ready to return to our home or at least what was left of it.

We returned before the work was completed, but it was livable and again the only real damage was to my bedroom. I slept in another room while dad continued the repairs to my room. I did not know at the time how helpless my parents felt with Christmas fast approaching and knowing there was nothing they could do about the lack of presents under the tree.

Christmas day arrived and sure enough Santa had not left any presents under the tree. I was confused as I had really thought he would make it, especially since he knew we really needed some presents. I had seen him, sat on his lap and made sure he knew he really needed to come.  While we did not have any presents we were greeted by a white Christmas, with lots of snow white fluffy snow. Saddened by the lack of presents my parents encouraged us to go out and enjoy the freshly fallen snow.

Upon opening the front door we were greeted by a small array of toys sitting on the front porch with a note that simply said Merry Christmas, from Santa Claus. I do not remember what everyone else got but I enjoyed my gift for years. My present was a wonderful little table with four chairs. It was painted the color of denim and had the alphabet printed around the edges. It was a simple gift, only a single present on a cold Christmas morning, but it was mine, Santa had not forgotten me.

My mom and dad were brought to tears that Christmas morning so very long ago. Presents were found where there was supposed to be none. They never had the opportunity to thank that anonymous Santa for the joy he brought to four very grateful children but he is remembered to this very day by one grateful girl who truly believes in Santa Claus.

Merry Christmas to all!!

Original Post December 15, 2011
When my book was first released my publisher, being the business man he is, made sure everyone knew that I am working on a sequel. The word sequel gets people excited as they always want to know what is going to happen and if they will indeed have their happily ever after.

While I am glad people are excited to see what happens next with Amber and Dalton I think they are expecting the sequel to be the next book released and seem a bit disappointed when I tell them otherwise. Let me be clear, I am working on a sequel; I’m just taking my time with it so as not to disappoint. How many times have you seen a sequel and been disappointed when it does not live up to its predecessor? I have read books that way and I must admit, it leaves me pretty upset when it happens. No one wants to be let down, me included.

I will be making at least three trips to Kentucky next year for book signings. These are scheduled events with firm places and dates. One of those trips is to Lexington Kentucky where the second book is set. While I have visited the place on numerous occasions I want to explore the area with a fresh set of eyes and look for places I can use to help the story come to life.

If you have read the book and have thoughts of what you would like to see in the sequel. I would love to hear what you have to say. I am not guaranteeing I will use your ideas as I do have several definite things I plan to include but, then again, you never know you could just be responsible for taking the story in a whole new direction!

For now I ask that you remain patient and bear with me a while longer. I have several key “happenings” within the sequel but the key point is getting there. No the key point is to make you, the reader want to make the journey, and more importantly enjoy the ride without asking are we there yet!

Original Post Dec. 8, 2011
Our beloved cat Bobby returns to life in my next book, The Scars Between Us. While reading through the story I can see him clearly and it fills my heart with joy. He may be gone from us in real life, but now he will live on forever in the hearts and minds of the readers that get to know this wonderful stubby tailed cat.

 I feel that is one of the best things about being a writer. Unlike most jobs where if you do not like something you don’t have a lot of choice, in my job if I don’t like something I get to change it.

With the cat, Mr. Bob I was able to recreate a very important member of our family. Mr. Bob or bobby, as he was known to us, shared our home for fourteen wonderful years, after I rescued him from the SPCA. I briefly described that first meeting in my book. What really happened was I was looking for a kitten and when I first saw him he was nothing like the kitten I was looking for. I had my heart set on a calico, like the one I had owned as a child. So here is this scrawny little grey and white tabby kitten. Nothing unusual, as there were at least a half a dozen kittens with the same coloring that day. But then he turned around and there was his tail. Or at least what was left of it, as it was only a nub. That little tail gave that tinny kitten a very big presence. He was like a little Jimmy Cagney, just a tough little guy that stole my heart with one twitch of the tail. He came home with me that very day and changed our family’s lives forever.

When my daughter was two Bobby woke me, something he never did, and was persistent enough to get me to follow him down the hall to my daughter’s room. When I checked on her I discovered she had a dangerously high fever, something I would not have known if he had not woke me. He and my daughter always had a special bond after that. When she was older she would dress him in her baby clothes and carry him around. He never complained and always tolerated being her living baby. Every night Brandy would fall asleep with Bobby Kitty curled around her head.

Over the years he would patiently lie there while my children and the many children I watched over the years would use him as a pillow. We never had him declawed however I cannot remember any instance where he used his claws to harm any of the children.

At the age of fourteen he developed cancer and we made the difficult decision to have him put to sleep. Bobby may be gone from our lives but he will never leave our hearts. And now as he springs back to life within the pages of The Scars Between Us, I hope you will grow to love him as much as we always have. I have said it before and I will say it again. I love my job and I love getting to spend time with my friends, real or imagined and in this case newly resurrected…

Original post Dec. 2, 2011
This week finds us in the final editing phase of my soon to be released novel, The Scars Between us. We are doing the final read through after which time it will go out to the proofers for a new set of eyes to look for any inconsistencies. After that time it will be whisked off to my publisher for him to work his magic.

During the last few weeks it has been amazing to see the story really come to life. My editor ordered me to make some changes in order to have the story flow better. Re-writing is never easy but when she says hey you need to flesh this out a bit or have more conversation here I tend to listen to her. I assure you the end product is well worth the added effort and will be worth the wait for you the reader.

I have spent the last couple of days reading through it and should be finished by Friday Afternoon. I know some of you are questioning what is taking so long as I hear time and time again how many of you can read through a book in a single day. I agree when you put your mind to a task it is easy to do that, but in this phase of the editing process it is very important to take things slow as you are looking for problems. You are looking to make sure the story flows, that the names are spelled right from one chapter to the next. It would not look good if Sylvia suddenly became Silvia or if Anthony is mistakenly referred to as Joseph.

During this time I also get to see the full range of how the story is flowing and suddenly realized that things in my private life are running parallel to something going on in the story.

Without giving too much away Elizabeth, the main character in the book, keeps hearing references to the name Dolly. To find out the significance of this you will need to read the book. Anyway this afternoon I was listening to Christmas music and every time I turned the channel it seemed as though there was a Dolly Pardon Christmas song on. Now I love Dolly but I don’t think she is as current as she once was so I find it very coincidental that she kept visiting me today. In my novel Elizabeth is looking for a sign. Something telling her that everything is going to be okay.

I have heard Dolly so much today that I started wondering if maybe Dolly is giving me a sign of my own. Dolly has had to contend with a lot in her life. She has had a lot of people who have not approved of her for one reason or another yet she is still here and still doing what it is she loves to do.

Could it be she is telling me to stay the course? That no matter what life throws at me I can overcome it?  I got the pleasure of seeing Dolly in concert many years ago. I loved her then and I love her now. She has always done things her way and not caved in to popular opinion.  Maybe it is mere coincidence. Maybe it is truly a sign just like in my book. All I know is the lady has what it takes to survive and if she wants to lead the way I am more than happy to follow!

Original Post Nov. 18, 2011
Someone asked me recently what the editing process is like. I responded that it is a lot like getting your teeth pulled without the benefit of anesthesia. Okay, maybe it is not physically painful but it is painful all the same.

My first manuscript was a lot easier but to be fair I spent a lot of time throughout the years tweaking and making it better. My second manuscript, Somewhere in My Dreams, was not as lucky. I wrote it last year over a three month period and only revised it once before sending it away to editing boot camp. I think the novel got a culture shock as it thought it was pretty darn good. Okay I was the one with the reality check but again, that is not easy to admit.

The good news was I had a great storyline with a good flow and story arch. Basically meaning the manuscript had good bones but unlike TOB, this story has needed a bit of re-writing. Apparently I wrote a lot of what is called back story meaning that I told the reader what had happened or what was happening instead of showing them and allowing them to see for themselves. That is where the phrase “show don’t tell” comes from. A phrase I have come to know intimately.

Another thing I have learned is I tend to get fixated on a word. That is the only explanation I have for the fact that my editor points out how many times I use certain words within a chapter. This is a no-no in the literary world.  

I also got a bit aggravated in one chapter when my editor said she did not understand something I had written. Actually she said it did not make sense. My first reaction was “what do you mean it does not make sense?” I was really upset wondering why I had to change it as it made sense to me, but then I realized if it did not make sense it must have been because I did not write it properly. It was not her fault she did not understand, it was my fault I did not make it clear. I think that was one of those epiphany moments we hear about. Another lesson learned. Just because I can see it does not mean the reader can.

I think re-writes are my least favorite part of the editing process. Not because of the work involved but because my mind was wrapped around how it was and it is sometimes hard to see how it should be. In the end it starts coming to me and things tend to work out.

The thing with the editing process is this, it is not fun, but it is needed. As a writer it is not always easy to look at your work objectively. Unlike painting a picture, which can be abstract and open to interpretation, writing must be clear and decisive. If it is not then it will leave the reader cold and since being cold is not something most people enjoy they are highly unlikely to keep reading.

My editor, Michelle, is my drill instructor. She is the one that tells me that is not good enough, give me more.  She is the person who is helping me to make my writing the best it can be and in turn making me a better writer. While I have the original vision for the story she is the one who truly helps make that vision clear. And in the end isn’t that what it is really all about?

Original Post Nov. 11, 2011
Today is Veterans Day and I would like to take this opportunity to thank the veterans, both past and present, who have defended this great country of ours. I am a proud Navy wife. I have two sons that went through Marine Corps boot camp and earned their eagle, globe and anchor. I have had other family members who have also served our country, in the Army, Navy, Air force and Coast Guard. My husband also comes from a military family.

When our kids were growing up, while other classmates were talking collage, they were talking military. I guess that stems from having a dad who was proud of his service. Even my daughter once thought of joining the Air Force however her eyesight kept her from enlisting. As you can tell we are a very military orientated family. Today however I also want to take a moment and thank the other side of that spectrum. Those wives, husbands, mothers, sisters, brothers and of course the children of the service members, the ones that do not have a say in the matter but who still support the ones they love.

Don’t get me wrong, I fully appreciate that the service member is making the sacrifice and “doing the time” so to speak. I know they work long hours and see things that others cannot imagine but still, in my mind, the family left at home carry a heavy load as well. We have the “luxury” of being able to watch the news, of waiting on word of some unforeseen tragedy. Only when the news post that a bomb went off, a plane went down or troops were killed, they do not always follow up immediately with the details. That means on a daily basis we have to wait with baited breath to find out if our loved one was involved.


If our service member is on a ship it is a bit less likely that something will happen but still accidents do happen and when the e-mail does go down that can be the longest day, week or yes even a month of our lives. There really is no such thing as a safe zone when it comes to war.

Still, all of the situations listed above speak mainly of the military of the present. While the wars are ugly and yes, even deadly, the bottom line is every service member that is serving our country today made the choice to do so. This was not always the case. The veterans of years past had no choice and in my opinion their families are also the true heroes. They did not have the internet, Skype, Tango or even continuous news coverage. They had letters which were few and far between and chaplains coming to the door, which as you can imagine. was never a good thing.

I would like to express my heartfelt thanks to all the veterans both past and present for sacrificing your time, your families and yes unfortunately for many even your life. I also want to thank the families that support them during their quest for freedom. May your lives be blessed and may your loved ones return to you with nary a scratch.

God bless America, and God bless Military families, both past and present!

Original post Nov. 4, 2011
I saw a post on Facebook recently where a person was laminating on and on about the post she saw on the site. She stated that she comes to Facebook to see pictures and see what the other people have been up to. She further stated that she did not go on there to read all the sad stories or see the drama and she did not care what people have for dinner. She asked people to re-post if they feel the same way. The thing is, this particular person has had her share of sad and drama filled post in recent times.

 At first I felt her current post to be a bit hypocritical but then I realized it was her right to post anything she wants. Our first amendment gives us all that right. Sure we have to be mindful of the actual rules of the site and make sure not to use offensive language but then again I myself have seen some words on the site that I do not feel were very appropriate for a public venue.

 The thing is it is not really up to one person to govern the site and tell others what they should or should not be posting. In my opinion Facebook is your own personal venue. It is your podium. It is a place for you. A place where you can tell the world how you are feeling, what you are thinking or yes even what you had for breakfast. Will everyone like it? Probably not. Will everyone find the content interesting? Most likely that is also a no but it is not for others to condone. A feeling is just that, a feeling. No one can tell you how you should feel but in the same vain no one can tell me what I should like or find accepting. That is what the delete button is for. Simply click on the little arrow, hide the post and move on. If you really find the person’s post so highly offensive do yourself and yes even them a favor and delete them as a friend because if you find their post so offensive that you have to re-post something yourself to validate your feelings then you probably are not really their friend anyway…

Of course this is only my opinion, my blog, and my right to say what is on my mind.

God Bless American and God Bless freedom of speech…

Original Post Oct. 28, 2011
If you have read my blogs before you know I feel that I have a team of helpers around me that give me the ideas and subject matter for my books. I know this to be true as I have no doubt that I had help with both my first novel, Tears of Betrayal, and also with my second, Somewhere in my Dreams. There were too many instances where the words just appeared out of nowhere. There are also times when I am writing and a word will come to me; in most cases I have no idea what the word means much less how to spell it. When that happens I find myself on a quest to find out the spelling and meaning of the word. It has happened so many times now that I no longer question whether or not to use it. 

The first time I knew I had help was when I was working on Tears of Betrayal. Back then I did all my writing in long hand, via sharp pencils, clean white paper, and a red clipboard. So there I was sitting on the couch writing when all of the sudden I wrote something that I had never thought of before. It was a place in the manuscript where there was a major revelation and I found out that two other characters also knew about this. In theory, if you think about it, that means the two characters knew about this bit of information before I did. The thing was it made perfect sense that they knew what was going on but that was not the point. The point was I did not know. I was so freaked out at the time that I put my clipboard down and just walked away for a few moments to collect myself. I tried to explain what had happened to my husband but I do not think he totally grasped the point I was trying to get across. This was true at the time, but he has since come to tell me that he gets it now. He actually “got it” while he was reading the book as he told me “you don’t talk like that.” He said I must have had help as a lot of what he read sounded like someone else was writing it.

Having a team of writers to work with is wonderful. Having a team of writers that I don’t have to pay is even better. They are still with me so it seems as though seeing their words in print is the payment they are after. That is a good thing but then this week we had a bit of an issue, as it seems like my team of helpers do not understand copyright laws. All week I have been working on a new romantic comedy which deals with a clown and an Elvis impersonator who is afraid of clowns. Okay, yes, I realize it sounds crazy, but the story is really coming to life and, in my opinion, it is really cute. This week they wanted me to have Elvis sing and while I can use the title I am not allowed to use the lyrics without paying for the privilege. Yea, so explain that to whoever is helping me write.

I am currently working on five separate manuscripts; however I do not choose which one I work on. They do. Okay I know I probably sound crazy and I sometimes think that myself, but I am very serious. I will think I am going to work on a certain manuscript and yet another one will literally take over and demand to be next. I once tried to fight it but it didn’t work, as they will not stop feeding me the information until I write it down. After realizing I am not the only one writing, I decided to give in to the eccentricity and let the voices show me the way. After all, they have not let me down yet…

Original Post Oct. 21, 2011
While I may have found my written voice I now find I have to unearth my speaking voice as well. You may think this would have been a given but I did not realize the two went hand in hand. When I envisioned book signings I literally thought that is what it meant. I would show up, sign books, and thank the people for reading. Granted that is the way it is at some signings but it turns out that is not always the case. In recent weeks I have been setting up at a lot of local craft fairs, selling, and signing my books. During my first event I had a lady approach my table and ask me what the book was about. I smiled and handed her a book, and told her the overview was on the back. She looked me straight in the eye and said “no, I want you to tell me what your book is about.”  I will be honest, that caught me totally off guard so I then proceeded to muddle my way through a brief description of the book hoping all the while that I was doing it justice. While I am not sure I did, the lady did in fact thank me, and in turn bought the first book of the morning. That scene repeated itself several times during the day.

At the next signing, which was again at a craft fair, I was prepared. I had thought it through and knew what I wanted to say. Knowing what I wanted to say and saying it each time is a different story as there was one or two times when, once again, I fumbled my way through the description. Still as the day wore on I felt more and more comfortable talking with people and telling them about my book without experiencing stage fright.

I have also learned that when I go to some signings not only will I be expected to discuss my book but I will be expected to do a reading as well. To be honest this really came as a shock to me. I mean I have been in bookstores and have seen areas set up for readings but never realized that in some cases this is mandatory. I must admit the thought of actually standing up in front of people and reading my book scares the heck out of me. I can write all day and love letting my voice be heard through the written word but letting that same voice be actually heard in the true sense truly frightens me. So much in fact that at a recent open mike event I froze and could not go on. In my defense maybe because when I went I was not fully aware of what an open mike event even was. In reading the description I thought it was poets that were getting up and reading what they had written. Imagine my horror when I found that my publisher, trying to be helpful, had placed my name on the list. I told him I couldn’t go on, more importantly; he would not want me to go on, as I would totally butcher the reading.

As it was my editor, Michelle Johnson, was at the event and graciously stepped up to the plate and hit the ball out of the park with her performance. And it was a performance. She used her voice, and being so personally vested in the story, was able to take the listeners on a journey of emotions in one of the most poignant chapters of the book. I am grateful, not only that she read it, but that she did it in a way that truly brought my story to life. I was able to sit back and listen to how it should be done, how it needs to be done, how is deserves to be done. I have been practicing reading that same chapter, and hope I can evoke the same reaction that the crowd showed that night. I hope that I can find my voice and once again let my voice be heard.