So what happened?

Life happened. And sadly, death, too.

Two weeks post conference, I was still riding the high. It all changed with a phone call, as I learned that my uncle, who had been fighting terminal liver cancer for several month, had taken a sharp turn for the worse.

My parents made hasty flight reservations to travel from Texas to Iowa, and I made the four drive from where I live to join them where he lived in order to have one last visit with him and say our goodbyes.

I’ve always believed that people can will themselves to hang on for a certain point before ultimately succumbing, and I believe that to be especially true in this case, as I was able to enjoy a very nice visit with my uncle when I got there. The next day, he was barely conscious, and passed soon after.

I will forever cherish that last visit and the chance to say goodbye, but it comes with regrets, too.

My uncle worked as writer and freelance editor and had close-knit group of friends in his community that were active with him in TM (Transcendental meditation) and martial arts. I learned he has some writings ion these topics that a friend hopes to publish posthumously.

It was a life he never shared much with the family, much as I have not, until recently, been very forthcoming about my own writing, except outside  a small circle.

What is it about writers that we tend to keep the secret from those around us? Is it fear of failure? Fear that no one will understand?

Whatever the reason, I greatly regret that I never got the opportunity to talk more with my uncle about writing and learn more about his work, as well as share more about mine, no matter how vastly different they were.

Perhaps in another time, we will have that chance, but for now I am left only with regret and a renewed vow to embrace my writer self.

I’m a writer, and I’m proud of it.

Courtesy of karylmc/WANA Commons

The Dandelion. It may look harmless enough. Some even call it pretty. But it’s multiplying in my yard.

I’m not really what you’d call a yard person. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love the idea idea of having a yard out of Better Homes and Gardens, with lush green grass that is free of weeds. I think that would be fantastic.

I just don’t have/want to take the time to get it that way. I’m a writer, not a landscape artist. When I do have free time, I’d rather spend it working on my books.

We had a long, cold winter in Iowa.  In fact, thirteen days ago when I left for a writer’s conference in Dallas, it was snowing.  The late frost didn’t kill the yard, though. I got home after the weekend trip to find that the grass grew about four inches.

This past weekend marked the first mowing of the season. I love a freshly mowed yard, and I was pleased with my efforts.

I even mowed up the few dandelions that had popped up.

Oops!

Dandelions multiply, and spreading their seed around with the mower just means more of them come back.

They’re annoying, prolific buggers.

In the event of an apocalypse, zombie or otherwise, I am convinced that some of the last things left on earth will be cockroaches, disposable diapers and dandelions.

So what to do with the dandelions? Arm myself with the Weed B Gone and see if I can defeat them? Or surrender to their superior powers and enjoy their cheerful, sunny yellowness?

Why the rush? Kristen Lamb’s class on Blogging started at 8 a.m. I had the opportunity to attend Kristen’s class on Antagonists at last year’s conference, so I know what a fabulous speaker she is, and she’s like the jedi of blogging and social media. No way was I missing this class! It didn’t disappoint. I already suspected that I was not blogging effectively, and this confirmed it. I really liked Kristen’s lesson on compiling an ‘ingredient list’ of who you are and incorporating that into blog posts that actually connect with people and get a conversation going. I have a long way to go to be an effective blogger, but I’m thrilled to be armed with Kristen’s tips. She was also the first speaker that day to state, unequivocally, that pre-programmed/scheduled tweets are a very bad practice.

Attending the blogging class caused me to miss half of Kelly Simmons’ class on Marketing.  The worst thing about this conference is that there are just so many awesome classes, it’s impossible to attend them all. That’s a good problem to have! Since I have a lot to learn about the marketing side of the business, I hated to miss part of this, but was able to get notes from someone (Thanks, Sarah!). For the second time in an hour, I heard that automated tweets are a bad practice. I began to sense a trend.

After that, It was time to focus on craft for a bit, with a class on writing dialogue. Although I think I am  fairly good at dialogue, there is always room for improvement. While there were no earth-shattering reveals that will change my life in this class, overall it was helpful and informative. I left about five minutes early because I did not want to be late for the highlight of Sunday- the small group romance workshop.

These genre-specific small group workshops were new to the conference this year. They were limited to ten participants, who were able to read a query letter and first two pages of a MS to two agents/editors. I’d been looking forward to this one ever since I heard about it and woke up at 8 a.m. on a Saturday last month to sign up. It was worth it!

We got started with a little humor, when one of the professionals super glued her finger while attempting to fix something on her shoe. Yes, literary agents are people, too. And they even sometimes super glue their fingers.

I spent quite a bit of time trying to perfect my materials for this class, and I thought I had something pretty good. Two pages is not a lot, though. It reinforces how fast you have to hook people. My results were a mixed bag. My query letter was bad. The agent said it lacked conflict and any sense of what was at stake for the characters and did not have a strong hook. It stung a little, but it was something I needed to hear. I think there is ample conflict in my story, but I see now where I failed to present it effectively in the query. This is something I obviously struggle with and need to work on. A lot. Query letters are an art form I have not mastered, or even come close to mastering.

My first two pages fared much better. I got some laughter- in the right places- from others in the room as a I read and a quite enthusiastic “I love the voice” from the editor. This made me want to turn cartwheels in the room, as I have made conscious efforts to strengthen my voice over the past year since realizing at last year’s conference that it needed improvement. It’s nice to know my efforts have paid off, and this should serve me well- assuming I can draft a decent query and get my pages in people’s hands.

It was lunch time, then, and I ran into my fellow Iowan and we sat together and enjoyed fajitas (It was Cinco de Mayo after all) and a keynote address by Michael Capuzzo.

After lunch, I attended another workshop with Kim Boykin, this time on writing for women. There was brief discussion of the romance and chick lit (which I learned is becoming a bad word) genres, but the main focus was on women’s fiction.  There was a little overlap with Kim’s class on texture from the day before, but lots of new, helpful information, too.

The last class of the day was on social media, and wouldn’t you know it- third time that day I heard that you should not pre-program tweets. I think it’s sinking in now! The instructor, Piper Bayard, collected everyone’s blog/twitter/facebook information to distribute so we have a group of friends to connect with and help each other out. The DFW Tribe. Great tips in this one.

The DFWCon grand finale is The Gong Show. Conference attendees submit anonymous query letters which are read to a panel of agents who bang a bong at the point they would stop reading. This is a valuable learning experience in what agents are looking for or not looking for. (Hint: They hate rhetorical questions). Out of 22 queries that were read, 1 made it to the end. It’s a harsh business, folks!

So what’s the most valuable thing I learned from the conference experience, besides that I will never be a morning person, In N Out Burger is still awesome and the Hampton Inn Hurst doesn’t get NBCSN?

While my writing continues to getter better, I still have a lot to learn and improve on in order to truly succeed in this business. And attending great conferences like this one is the best way to learn and improve.

See ya next year, DFWCon!

So here’s the recap on an amazing weekend:

Last year, I had a late flight into Dallas and did not even get to my hotel until after eight, so I did not get to attend any pre-conference meet-ups. This year, I wanted to have that opportunity, so I booked an earlier flight and managed to get to the hotel by 5 p.m. There was a pre-conference mixer at 7:30. With more than two hours to spare, what did I do?

I went to In N Out Burger (always fabulous) and settled in to watch some playoff hockey. Much to my dismay, my hotel did not have NBCSN. Are you seriously kidding me? It’s playoff hockey! Thankfully, I found a game on CNBC and indulged my hockey addiction a bit before it was time to head next door (as in the neighboring hotel) for the mixer.

This was a time to meet fellow attendees, exchange business cards and talk about what we write.  I met a lot of great people, including two writers from Austin (where I went to college) and a fellow Iowan. It’s a small world, indeed. I stayed for a couple hours before heading back to my room unwind and prepare for the next day.

I rarely sleep well in hotels, and Friday night was no exception. I’m sure part of it was conference nerves/excitement, but I don’t think I got more than three hours of sleep. 6 a.m. on Saturday came all too soon. I practiced my pitch in the shower, grabbed a quick breakfast at the hotel and headed down the street to the conference center.

The first class I attended was called ‘Breaking Out of the Writer Shell.’ I’m an introvert by nature, as many writers are, and mingling and working a crowd does not come naturally to me. Last year I met one lovely person early in the day and stuck with her for most of the weekend. It meant I didn’t eat lunch alone, but this year I vowed to do better, especially since last year’s buddy wasn’t attending and I had to start over. This session allowed me to talk with new people and relax a little bit and feel more comfortable in the surroundings.

After that, I went to the second half of a panel discussion on the publishing industry. I mainly went because the agent I was consulting with in an hour was on the panel and at least wanted to know what she looked like.

I then had about half an hour to kill before my consultation with said agent, so I decided to check out part of a class on the art of improv. This proved to be a mistake, not because the class wasn’t good, but because it almost caused me to be late for my consultation.

We were told to check in 15 minutes before our agent appointment. When I got there about 20 minutes early, they were already looking for me. I expected to have a few minutes to relax and review my pitch, but they seemed to be quite ahead of schedule and my session started 10 minutes earlier than scheduled.

This threw me off a bit, especially when the agent said I was her first pitch of the day. I froze for a second because I was there for a consultation on an unfinished manuscript rather than to pitch a complete project and I wasn’t sure whether to launch into a prepared pitch (I had one), wait for her to start a conversation, or bumble around like a fool.

I chose the latter (I’m an idiot like that), but thankfully the conversation soon recovered and I was able to get some valuable feedback on a project that—while I think has great potential—has troubled me a bit because of some polarized reaction from my crit group.

The agent was nice, down to earth, and helpful and asked me to send her the MS when it was done. She then said she had a total business card fail and forgot to bring them, so she wrote her contact info on a Post it note, which I stuck to my iPad case. I don’t know whether she asked for the MS because she is actually interested or just to be nice, but either way the positive experience set a good tone for the rest of the day.

After a successful consultation, I headed to another workshop. David Corbett, one of our keynotes, was teaching on the art of creating believable characters. I stayed for thirty minutes of this class and enjoyed it, but then wandered to the next room for Kim Boykin’s class on texture.

I needed this one, as texture and sensory description is something I know I lack in my writing. Kim was charming, and the class was very helpful.  I have made a conscious effort over the past year to strengthen my voice and I feel like I have done so, but there is still improvement to be  made. Adding texture will help.

Next up was lunch. I didn’t have specific plans to sit with anyone, so I just plopped myself down at a table. Thankfully they were nice, and one of them was also attending the eBook formatting class I was signed up for, so we sat together for that.

Since I have already self published a few books, I wasn’t sure what I would get out of this class, but it was actually quite helpful.  If I self publish in the future, I think Russell’s tips will make it easier.

I attended a class on taking idea to story next, which was fun for a pantster like me. I doubt I will ever outline, but this helped set out how much of a plot was needed before successfully flying by the seat of my pants.

My last class of the day was on writing love scenes. I really needed this and learned a lot about when they are necessary, when not, and which words never to use (hint: member and loin, and not all men are generously endowed). This was an excellent session on love scenes and writing in general. Thanks, Roni!

Next up: Two hour break before the cocktail reception. I went to Quick Trip for tacquitos and a six pack of Ziegenbock (no. I did not drink it all in one night) and tried to find a hockey game on the tube. I still didn’t get NBCSN. Imagine that!

At last year’s cocktail reception, I did a lot of ‘Buy a drink, stand in the corner and watch and wait for people to talk to me.’ Oh, and I bought a nice purse (missed the silent auction this time). This year was better. While I doubt I will  ever be bold enough to approach an agent, say ‘Can I pitch you’ and jump into my pitch, at least I met new people and engaged all night rather than stand in the corner and watch.

Special thanks to Kristen Lamb for passing me toilet paper! You’re awesome, even if you did almost wind up in Wichita Falls when picking your 3 yr old up at preschool.

After three hours of socializing, I went back to my room. I tried to find a hockey game but still didn’t get NBCSN.

Next: Day Two of DFWCon, including my failure at blogging and queries. But at least my voice improved!

When top Caribbean reporter Lauren Anderson gets on the trail of a major story involving government ties to drug cartels, she steps into a world where nothing is as it seems. Her aunt, who happens to be a government minister, has some of the answers, but is staying tight lipped. Business magnate Logan Armstrong, a member of the island elite, has some answers, too. But can he be trusted?

When her aunt asks her to deliver a mysterious package while on a trip to London, Lauren finds herself drawn further into the intrigue. As she digs deeper she starts to uncover an international conspiracy involving drug trafficking, hired assassins and deadly political plots. But can Lauren untangle the web before it’s too late? And what is the dark secret she and Armstrong will eventually share?

When and why did you begin writing?

I’ve been a writer virtually all my adult life, though I never planned on being a writer. A friend who had an ad agency roped me into it. At the time, I was a fashion designer and was thinking of a career change, but not such a drastic change. I’d written a few poems and short stories, but I had absolutely no qualifications for a writing job. But my friend recognized my potential and took a chance on me. As it turned out, the gamble paid off, particularly for me.

When did you first consider yourself a writer?

I write, but I don’t think of myself as being a writer. I know that’s a bit of an oxymoron, but I don’t really define myself by my career. It’s just one of my facets as a person. Aside from that, I’ve been painting ever since I could hold a paint brush, I dabble in stained glass, and I make costumes for a local theater from time to time. Writing just happens to have been my chosen career path.

What is your writing process? Do you follow a regular routine?

I’m terribly undisciplined when it comes to my fiction writing. I pretty much only write when I’m in the mood, though when I’m in the mood I’ll write for up to 12 hours a day for weeks. Not having a routine is probably some kind of subconscious rebellion against those grueling deadlines when I was in advertising.

How did you come up with the title of this book?

One day while weaving together that complex web of plots, I stopped to clear my head and sighed, “What a tangled web I’ve created.”

Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?

You wouldn’t think of a Romantic Suspense/Thriller as a likely book to carry a message, but yes, The Tangled Web with its cast of rich and beautiful people does have a message. It’s delivered by various characters. Maria, while walking into a ritzy restaurant flanked by her bodyguards, whispers to Jorge, “I’m a prisoner of my own making.” Logan, a businessman worth multi millions, finally understands the point his grandmother was trying to make when she quoted from Ecclesiastes, “…and behold, all was vanity and striving after the wind and feeding on it, and there was no profit under the sun.” The message is basically wealth doesn’t guarantee happiness.

Are the events in your book or your characters based on someone you know, or events in your own life?

No, but some of the events in the book are factual and there’s more truth to the story than I realized when I was writing it. For example, there was a real life counterpart to Maria, my drug boss. Though Maria seems tame in comparison to Griselda Blanco, the real Cocaine Godmother and mentor to the famous drug kingpin Pablo Escobar.

If you had to do it all over again, would you change anything in your book?

I try not to read my book because there’s never a time I read it that I don’t see something I would change. There’s one chapter I would get rid of and I’d also probably create a dangerous situation for the main characters, Logan and Lauren. Right now, it’s not a true thriller, in the sense that the main characters aren’t in any serious danger. But when I was writing it, I wasn’t working within the perimeters of any particular genre. I was just writing a story as it came to me. The story as it stands is credible. It’s suspenseful, but it’s something that could happen. And it shows a slice of life a lot of people aren’t aware of. People like the characters in The Tangled Web do exist.

What was the hardest part of writing your book?

The hardest part was keeping the plots all lined up and making sure I didn’t give anything away too early. I also struggled with the chapter where one of the assassins breaks into an office at night. I can’t tell you how many times I re-worked that chapter.

Do you ever suffer from writer’s block? If so, what do you do about it?

I’ve had writer’s block on very few occasions and that was in the past. And it only happened at the start of a new project. The thing is to start writing. You can always go back and edit. But I’m not sure I understand why anybody writing on their own time would force themselves to write when they’re not in the mood. Writing is a craft, but it’s also an intuitive process. A writer is constantly pulling from their subconscious, and maybe even beyond that. That’s not the kind of thing you can just switch on. It’s either there or it’s not. Yes, a certain amount of discipline is necessary to achieve a goal, but how much of a muse is your goal proving to be when you sit down to write and nothing comes?

What do you like to do when you’re not writing?

It’s variable. The only three constants are getting together with friends, reading and gardening. I have a beautiful garden and I enjoy working in it.

Thanks for stopping by and good luck with your book!

Purchase The Tangled Web:

Amazon http://www.amazon.com/The-Tangled-Web-international-ebook/dp/B007Z5Y3ZQ/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1340281483&sr=1-1&keywords=The+Tangled+Web%3A+an+international+web+of+intrigue%2C+murder+and+romance

Smashwords https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/246393

iBookstore http://www.ibookstore.com/products.php?i=B007Z5Y3ZQ

Connect with J.P. Lane on the web:

Website www.jp-lane.com

Twitter https://twitter.com/jpLANEauthor

Facebook https://www.facebook.com/author.jplane

Goodreads http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4158170.J_P_Lane

Robin Sullivan is given a magical book where she can
experience a better life in a new world called Tearmann. She can
finally escape the terrible reality of life with an abusive, alcoholic
father, her mother’s schizophrenia, and her best friend’s Leukemia.
Robin must choose between deserting her real life or living in a world
promising a better one. Events come into play forcing Robin to make a
decision. Will she be able to save those she loves and still save
herself?

Welcome, Jennifer, and congratulations on your new release!

Do you recall how your interest in writing originated?
I believe the art of storytelling inspired me to write. My memories of writing go back to the days I started holding a crayon. I have many writers in my family and I just think it was a natural thing for me to do the same.
What is your writing process? Do you follow a regular routine?
I would love to have a routine, but my life lends to know routines at all. I own horses and I have a job that requires odd hours at times. I write when the inspiration hits me and I definitely don’t try to push it. When I do, I find myself writing more junk than good material.
How did you come up with the title of this book?
My stories are written according to my titles. The name of a book always comes to me before the idea of the book even surfaces. I know this may be backwards but it’s how I’ve always done it. Fly Away just came to me one day and the story for this book came in small sprouts and was even suppose to be a thriller. However, it turned into a fantasy.
Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?
I tend to always write messages in my books without even thinking about it. Fly Away’s message is that, “A person can’t run from their problems. They must stand and face them.” I think in our world today many people try to escape from the issues that plague them, but like the main character in my book finds out trouble follows you and will surface no matter where you go – even if it’s a fantasy world.
Is there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing?
I believe sometimes I write more than I should. I had people explain to me that sometimes my writing reminds them of watching a movie. Everything is handed to them. I’ve tried to back off this some as of late. I’m a very visual person so sometimes my writing follows suit.
What was the hardest part of writing your book?
The hardest thing for me is always the editing. I hate it with a passion. I was the kid in grammar class who didn’t believe the teacher when he said I would need to know this stuff when I was older. I always hate when I have to eat crow. It’s not very tasty.
Do you have any advice for other writers?
My advice would be to never let writing become a chore. When it does, it loses its innocence and shows in the writer’s voice.
What are the most important elements of good writing? According to you, what tools are must-haves for writers?
Hmmm…for me, I have to have a synonym finder and a emotion thesaurus. I tend to use the same motions and words for emotions quite often so the emotion thesaurus has helped me a great deal in order to come up with more unique ways of expressing feelings.
What do you like to do when you’re not writing?
I am a photographer so I’m always looking for that elusive shot. However, my photos also help me describe scenes in my stories. It helps utilizing all the senses in the writing. My other hobby is my horses. My daughter barrel races.
Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?
I’m an open book and I appreciate any and all reviews or comments concerning my stories. I respond to it all. Just drop me a line. Fly Away sounds like the common story, but it’s best described as Dante’s Inferno meets The Neverending Story.

To purchase Fly Away:

Ebook Link:
http://www.amazon.com/Fly-Away-ebook/dp/B00CEGHLPA/ref=sr_1_5?ie=UTF8&qid=1366331860&sr=8-5&keywords=jennifer+donohoe

Paperback Link:
http://www.amazon.com/Fly-Away-Jennifer-Donohoe/dp/1480114146/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1366331823&sr=1-1&keywords=jennifer+donohoe

Connect with Jennifer on the web:

Website: http://jenniferdonohoe.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jenniferdonohoeauthor
Twitter: @donohoejennifer
Author of: The Legend of the Travelers: Willow’s Journey
Now available at Amazon: http://amzn.com/1475033664 (Paperback) http://amzn.to/TMEYn9 (Ebook)
Now available at Barnes-n-Nobles:  http://bit.ly/SNurs8

A family can be torn apart in an instant. Putting it back together is a harder task.

 A relapsed addict opens the door to find a cop with a search warrant, setting off a chain of events that will cause four lives to intersect.

 Devin Lenox has already lost one child to the system and this time she vows it will be different. If she’s going to make it, though, she’ll need something she’s never had before- someone on her side.

 Her battle with depression behind her, Elisa Cahill looks forward to resuming her legal career. Devin’s case seems like the perfect opportunity to do that, and bury her own past demons in the process, at least if old grudges don’t prove to be her undoing.

 Child protection worker Taylor Ross struggles to balance a social life with her demanding job and has little sympathy for people like Devin, at least at first. When Taylor starts to see Devin in a new light, she finds herself at odds with her superiors. Will she be willing to go to bat for Devin, and what price will she pay if she does?

 Sarah Canfield is a compassionate judge who is not afraid to make difficult decisions, but will her past link to Devin undermine her objectivity and cause her to put her own family at risk?

 A look inside the child welfare system, the people who work in it and the lives it impacts, Aggravated Circumstances is a story of despair, hope and recovery.

Chapter 1

New Hampshire

2013

I hear the sound of a baby crying, but I can’t tell where it’s coming from. Is it close? Far? I open my eyes and glance around the room. Everything is hazy, out of focus. That’s the thing about the rush. It’s never long enough, and once it fades, you just feel… well, you’re just sort of there.

It starts with the nausea. That only lasts a few seconds. Any longer, and the allure wouldn’t be as great, but the rush is so powerful that five seconds of nausea is a small price to pay to get there.

Someone once described the rush as feeling like a thousand orgasms. I didn’t believe them until I tried it myself. Then I thought they understated it.

It’s not long enough, though. Ten, twenty minutes at most, followed by jelly.

That’s where I am now. My arms feel like jelly.  My legs are heavy, like they’re attached to cement blocks.

I hear another cry and I try to get up, but the cement wins. I slump back against the couch.

I don’t know if it’s minutes or hours before the pounding penetrates my haze. As it gets louder, I realize it’s knocking. I try again to pull myself up, and this time my legs aren’t so leaden.  I drag myself to the door and pull it open.

“Devin Lenox?”

At the sound of my name, I nod, but my neck feels heavy, too.

“Officer Hunter, Concord PD.” He flashes a badge and thrusts a piece of paper at me. “I have a search warrant.”

***

Taylor Ross stood in her underwear, fresh from the shower, trying to decide between the blue dress or the red. Neither appealed to her. Blue seemed boring, red clichéd. Black, maybe? No. Black said funeral, and this was no funeral. This was Colin Radcliffe.

“Red,” Taylor declared, and pulled the dress off the hanger. She’d just stepped into it and was fighting the zipper when her phone rang.  Expecting it be Colin, she lunged at the phone sitting on her dresser and glanced at the display.

“Shit.” Not Colin, and not good. Taylor tapped her finger on the screen to answer and held it to her ear. “Please tell me this is a cruel joke.”

“No joke,” her supervisor said before rattling off an address.

“I have a date tonight, Margo,” Taylor protested.

“Not anymore you don’t.” Margo laughed mirthlessly. “You shouldn’t make dates for nights you’re on call. You know that, Taylor. Get there ASAP.”

The other end of the phone went silent. “Shit.” Taylor kicked off the red dress, leaving it in a heap on the floor. She threw on jeans and a hoodie and ran a comb through her still damp light brown hair. No sense in dressing up for this. She grabbed her car keys from the hook by the door and texted Colin as she walked to her car.

Sorry. Crisis time. Call u later.

Seventeen minutes later, Taylor pulled to a stop in front of a familiar address. As she got out of the car, a uniformed police officer came down the front steps of the mobile home.

Taylor held out her state ID card, which hung around her neck on a lanyard. “Taylor Ross, Division for Children, Youth and Families.”

He nodded. “Alex Hunter. Thanks for coming.”

“Not much choice.” Taylor walked with him toward the mobile home. “What’s the scoop?”

“Unsolicited, credible report of drug use. Concerns about a child in the home,” Hunter explained. “Got a warrant and here we are. Mom’s higher than a kite. Kid’s crying in the corner in soiled clothes. Syringes everywhere.” He shook his head as he held the front door open for her.  “I hate this part of my job.”

“Yeah. Preaching to the choir.” Taylor sucked in a breath before walking into the house. This never got any easier.

She scanned the room, noting the worn furniture. She glanced at the coffee table, finding it littered with drug paraphernalia. The officer hadn’t exaggerated. In the corner by the kitchen,  a toddler was being comforted by a female police offer. Taylor started in that direction.

“No! You’re not going near my kid!” The woman jumped up from the couch. She grabbed for Taylor’s arm, missed and stumbled back.

“I’d settle down if I were you,” Hunter warned. “Unless you want to add assaulting a state employee to your list of charges.”

“She’s a fucking baby-stealing bitch!”

Yeah. Devin remembered her. Taylor assessed the tracks on Devin’s arms and her pin-sized pupils, seeing all she needed to. She walked to the officer holding the child. “What’s your name?” she asked, crouching to the floor at the little girl’s level, even though she figured the child was too young to answer. Brown eyes. Reddish-brown hair. Tears running down her face. Probably scared to death.

“Her name’s Hannah,” the police officer answered. “We’ve confirmed that much. Age twenty-two months. We talked to the neighbor. There’s no other family. As far as she knows, the father’s in prison.”

“Peachy,” Taylor muttered, but she wasn’t surprised.

“We’re taking mom into custody.”

Taylor pulled herself to her feet. “And that’s why you called me.” She retrieved her cell phone from the front pocket of her sweatshirt and walked to the door. “I’ll be right back.”

“You’re not taking my kid!” Devin yelled.

“That’s not up to me, Devin.” Taylor went outside and scrolled through her phone directory and tapped the number she wanted.  She sat down on the front step as it dialed through.

The judge answered on the second ring. “Sarah Howton-Canfield.”

Taylor glanced at her watch. Six-thirty. Colin Radcliffe had probably long since given up on her. The judge was probably in the middle of a family dinner. Just one of those nights. “Hello, Your Honor. It’s Taylor Ross from DCYF. I’m sorry to bother you after hours.”

“It’s part of the job,” the judge said. “Hi, Taylor. What have you got?”

“Twenty-two-month-old child. Mom high on drugs. Police raided the house, and she’s being taken into custody on charges.”

“Are there any relatives available who can care for the child?” the judge asked.

“None that we’re aware of.”

Over the phone line, Taylor heard an audible sigh. She knew the juvenile court judge hated this part of the job as much as Taylor did.

“I’ll verbally authorize the removal. Be at my chambers first thing tomorrow with the completed paperwork, and we’ll have a protective custody hearing.”

“Yes, Judge.” She’d get to work on that paperwork right after she found a placement for the child. In other words, it would be a really long night.

“Is there anything else?”

Taylor hesitated. “It might not be important, but maybe you should know… the child’s mother is Devin Lenox.”

Silence followed on the other end of the line.

“Judge? Did you hear me?”

“I heard. I don’t see how that changes anything about the facts of the case.” Her tone was clipped.

“It doesn’t, no.”

“Then it’s not important.”

“Yes, Your Honor.” I just thought you’d want to know. Apparently not. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” Taylor stood up from her perch on the step, shoved her phone back in her pocket and opened the door.

She nodded at the police officer holding Hannah and went to her, trying to avoid eye contact with Devin.

“No! You’re not taking my fucking kid!”

Taylor turned around, Hannah perched against her hip. “I’m sorry. I have to. Judge’s orders.”

“Ms. Lenox, you can come with me,” Officer Hunter said. “We’re going to get you a nice, cozy cell downtown.”

Taylor tried to block out Devin’s screams as she carried Hannah to the car and strapped her into the car seat in the back. No, I don’t have kids myself. I just always have a car seat handy in case I’m court-ordered to take someone else’s away. She rolled her eyes. Was it any wonder her social life sucked?

She settled into the driver’s seat and pulled out her phone again, sending a quick text to her back-up worker to meet her at the office to start searching for foster homes. With that out of the way, she scrolled through her other messages.

Four from Colin, but he’d have to wait. Taylor tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. As she turned the key in the ignition, she glanced in the rear-view mirror at Hannah’s frightened, tear-stained face.

“It’s okay,” Taylor said. “We’ll find you a safe home.”

***

I wake up shivering, but drenched in sweat. I scratch at my arm, sure that something is crawling on me. All I see are needle marks.  My leg spasms and I kick at the bed.

Bed? Wait a minute. Where the hell am I?

I glance around, disoriented, and notice the bars. That’s when I realize where I am and what it means. “No!” The scream shakes me.

A uniformed guard appears on the other side and holds a plastic cup through the bars. “In case you’re thirsty,” she says.

I get up from the bed and grab the cup from her, gulping the water down. “Thanks.” Extreme thirst is one of the worst parts of coming down. I pass the cup back through the bars.

“Don’t mention it.”

“Where’s my daughter?” I ask. “Do you know?” Fear grips me. I don’t want to hear the answer.

“No clue.” She gives a shrug and glances at the clock behind her. “You have a court hearing in about five hours. I’m sure you’ll find out then. Might as well try to sleep in the meantime.”

Sleep. I’m supposed to sleep? I stumble back to the bed, but sleep isn’t an option.

I bury my face in my hands and let the tears come. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

To read more:

Amazon/Kindle:  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00C479UY4

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Paperback: http://www.amazon.com/Aggravated-Circumstances-Michele-Shriver/dp/1483955087/ref=tmm_pap_title_0

Add the book on Goodreads: http://bit.ly/12iptVn

Left an orphan, Kendíka cries herself to sleep and startles awake in a Regency castle. Terror consumes her, and she attempts to escape only to discover the new world is her prison. Having no choice, she attends a ball given by her guardian, Lord Deverow, to introduce her into society. He admonishes her to follow the rules and promises to protect her from the wrath of the strange, hazy set of eyes spying on everything. But when she ignores his warning, Kendíka learns firsthand what it means to be disobedient.

Chapter One

Startled, Kendíka sat up in bed and scanned the moon lit room. Perspiration beaded her forehead, and her heart pounded against her ribs. The last thing she remembered was boarding the plane with Mr. Vetrano, her mother’s lawyer. He had told her he would be taking her to a relative.

“Why do I need to go with anyone?” she said. “My parents left me a beautiful home and plenty of money. Why can’t we just hire a housekeeper to take care of the house and me until I turn eighteen?”

He drew in a breath. “I’ve explained everything to you already. You’re a minor, and your parents stated in their will you are to go with your father’s cousin.” He took out a little pillbox and held it in his hand. “You are quite distraught, my dear.”

The pill he had given her to settle her grief must have knocked her out, and the nausea from lack of sleep no longer taunted her.

Holding her breath, she glanced around the unfamiliar room. When her lungs burned, she exhaled the air a little at a time. The butterflies came back to unsettle her. She slid out of bed and shuffled her naked feet along the stone floor, hands held out to make sure she didn’t bump into anything.

At the opposite end of the room, she could make out a dark blob, which she hoped might be the door. Somewhere along the walls, near it, she would find a light switch. She advanced slowly, making sure not to stub her toes. Her fingertips ran along the smooth wood. The handle felt cold. She pulled on the knob, but it didn’t budge. Strange! Her heart missed a beat. Why is the door locked?

With all her strength, she pounded on the door. “Mr. Vetrano? Is anyone out there?” She beat on it with her fists a few more times, but when no one came to investigate the commotion, she slid to the floor and buried her face in her hands. Think, girl, think. Standing, she moved her hands around the smooth walls at the edge of the molding, feeling for a light switch. What the heck, no switches? She tried again…nothing but wall. Why is no one coming?

Hunched over, she scuffled across the icy floor to the open window. Below, she spotted a quaint lake nestled in the middle of an English garden. A cool breeze swept her hair away from her face, invigorating her heart.

In the light of the moon, she glanced down and paused. This isn’t my T-shirt and boxers. Staring at the knee-length nightgown she wore, she ran her hands over the fabric from her waist up to the low-cut neckline, fingering the lace. Her father’s family was weird.

Her back stiffened, and her heart drummed OMG, I don’t remember getting off the plane or coming to this room. Why would Mr. Vetrano bring me to such a freaky place? Fear and the thought of her parents’ death brought fresh tears to her eyes.

Life had been good to her, the daughter of the US Ambassador to Italy, where opulence had been the way of life. She rested her head on her arms, and cried in frustration. With her mother gone, she wondered how she would deal with life without the benefit of her advice. She wiped a tear ready to trickle down her face. For the time being, she was stuck in a locked room until whoever owned the place let her out. Oh gosh, what if that person meant to harm her? The hair on her neck stood as the sensation of being watched assaulted her. Startled, she glared through the dimness one more time, sweeping her gaze around the shadowy room to make sure she was alone.

Nothing moved.

She leaned out the window to see if she could find a way of escaping—no trees, no ladders to aid in her plight. Wow, that’s a long way down. I’d probably break my leg if I jumped. Defeat washed over her, and she bit her lower lip to fight the threatening tears.

The toughness her mother always spoke of came to mind.

“My dear, no one will step forward and protect you if your father and I are not around. You must learn to protect yourself.”

Hope swelled her heart, and she gazed at the horizon. Yes, Mother. We shall see how much I’ve learned from you and Father.

The fog wrapped around her mind cleared, yet she still couldn’t remember when or how she got into this crappy nightgown. Oh no! Someone dressed me while I was unconscious. A shudder ripped through her body, and shaking her head, she refused to think about it any further. At least she was alive and unharmed, and that was all that mattered for the moment.

To distract herself, she looked out the window again. She slipped off one of the many elastics she wore around her wrist and pulled her hair into a messy bun. On the lake below, three white swans swam, followed by a single black one. Swans were her favorite animals. She identified the white swans as belonging to different species—a Mute, a Trumpeter, and a Whooper—and they paddled away from the black as if warding off an omen. But the peaceful scenery did nothing to calm the apprehension bubbling inside her chest, making her heart flutter like a bird in a cage.

Too keyed up to sleep, she continued to observe the swans, losing all sense of time, and soon dawn splashed pink and orange on the horizon. The room brightened, dispelling all shadows as well as her jangled nerves. Stretching her stiff limbs, she shoved to her feet to find her jeans, camisole, and cardigan. She would be dressed and ready for when Mr. Vetrano unlocked the door.

Now, where was her iPhone? Not finding her clothes or cell lying around the room, she walked to the massive armoire and peeked inside. What’s this? Puzzled, she ran her fingers across the soft silks and velvets but stopped as she noticed the style. Within the ancient cabinet hung a line of white dresses, each with high waists, puffy sleeves, and satin ribbons. What the hell are these?

She lifted one for a better look. It resembled something out of a fairytale. The low square neckline trimmed with delicate lace, the bodice and sleeves adorned with small-embroidered flowers. The overall effect was chic, beautiful, delicate…but not something she would be caught dead in. She shook her head and frowned. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, flew up her throat, and she giggled them out. Nerves always made her giggle.

After a quick glance at the dresses, she grabbed the plainest one, tugged the horrible thing on, and sat on the bed, her heart thumping. The rattling sound of metal filled the air. She glared at the knob, frozen, wondering about the reason for being locked in the room. The clanging of keys moved on, but the door never opened.

Without wasting time, she hurried out of the room, determined to make her getaway. Only the rustling of her dress and the slapping of her bare feet against the stone accompanied her as she jogged down the hall. On the landing, she froze. A full-figured woman, dressed in black with a white apron, ambled up the stairs. Strands of gray hair escaped from beneath the shower cap she wore as a hat. How weird.

The woman stepped onto the landing and curtsied. Kendíka giggled. What a creepy thing to do.

“Good morning, milady. It must be novel for you to be in such a magnificent mansion.” She motioned for Kendíka to follow.

Since the woman didn’t look dangerous, she decided to ask a few questions. “Excuse me, who are you?”

The woman stopped and curtsied again. “I’m your abigail, milady. My name is Cordova.”

She raised a brow. “My what?”

Frustration skewed the woman’s face. “Your personal maid. Please follow me. His Grace Duke Deverow does not like to be kept waiting, and breakfast will be served soon.”

The woman wobbled down the hall. Kendíka ran after her and blocked her way. “Where is Mr. Vetrano?”

“He left last night to return to Italy, milady.”

She frowned, and a pang in her heart left her breathless. Even the lawyer had abandoned her. “Why did he leave me here?”

“The duke is your guardian now.”

“But I’ve never met this duke.”

“You will.” The abigail motioned her to move along.

“Where are you taking me?”

“A proper lady must bathe after traveling so far.”

To hell with baths. Remembering her original plan, Kendíka turned, ran down the stairs, and headed straight for the front door. It didn’t matter her feet were bare. She was getting the heck outta this loony bin one way or another. Grabbing the ornate knob, she gave it a hard twist.

Locked.

Anxious, she dashed down the hall, bursting into the first room, and discovered a vast living area with French doors on either side of a marbled fireplace. Desperate, she tried to open one set of doors only to find them locked. She tried the other, finding it secured as well. Frantic, she searched around for an object to smash against the glass. On a small table, she spied a vase. Perfect. She snatched it and aimed at the French door.

“His Grace would not appreciate you breaking his lovely things.”

She spun around to face the maid, who planted her fists at her hips and sighed. “It is too late for a bath. We shall remedy the situation after breakfast.”

Stung by the sharp reproof, she set the vase back on the round table.

The woman curtsied. “Please follow me into the dining hall.” Without waiting for a reply, the maid turned and exited the room.

Kendíka glanced at the French doors and huffed. Fine. I’ll meet this duke she kept babbling about. She stomped after the maid. And he’d better have answers to my questions.

The long corridor seemed to never end. Her stomach knotted, and she balled her hands. Don’t you dare clam up. I have to ask all my questions., Breathing deeply, she let her hair down, returning the elastic to her wrist. She stood taller and pushed her hair behind her shoulder. Call on the courage. Girl power!

Before walking across the threshold, she inhaled and rolled her neck, releasing some of the tension. Seated at the long dining table, a man in a stiff, high-collared shirt with something that resembled toilette paper wrapped around his neck and tied in a knot stood and bowed his head.

“Good morning, Lady Kendíka.” He gestured to his right.

A man wearing a white shirt with high collar and bow tie came forward and held the chair next to the duke. “Charles Emory, the Duke of Deverow invites you to breakfast at his side.”

“That is Wordsworth,” Cordova whispered in her ear, pushing her gently toward the table.

Flustered by all the pomp, she curtsied and sat. Damn! Did I just curtsy? She couldn’t understand what drove her to such crazy actions. For sure, she had been reading too many romance novels.

The duke shook open a white napkin and laid it across his lap. “I hope you rested well.”

“Yeah, sure,” she lied.

Grabbing the napkin sitting next to her plate, she stared at it and plopped it on her lap. She stole a surreptitious look. Why am I so nervous? He doesn’t look like a serial killer. She rolled her eyes. If he was going to kill me, why feed me breakfast?

Wordsworth returned with a platter. With his free hand, he picked up her napkin, shook it open, and laid it back across her lap. His stooped back showed signs of a growing hump. She focused on her plate, mindful not to stare, and fiddled with her gown.

“I hope your room is to your liking,” the duke said.

“Yes, thank you.”

“You look lovely.”

She lifted her head, her gaze shooting to his. Oh, my God! Did he order those dresses for me? Heat rose to her face again. “Thanks.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, how old are you?”

She glared at him, but he looked at her with a calm stare of his own. His eyes reminded her of the ocean on a clear summer’s day, a great contrast to his tousled black hair and dark olive complexion.

“I’m sixteen.” The intensity of his gaze made her look away.

“I was told you were older.”

“No, I’m still only sixteen.”

“Well, then, I need to take measures, so you can complete your education.”

“What for?”

“For marriage, of course.”

She giggled, rattled by her nerves.  Marriage? She grabbed the glass of water and drank to force down the food stuck in her throat. She glared at him, too shocked to respond. Instead, she focused on slowing her breathing. None of this made sense. These people were loony. Her mind rushed through different possibilities, trying to figure out a way to escape. But there were too many people around. She wouldn’t take her two steps before they’d grab her.

Suppressing a shudder, she concentrated on the food in her dish, and bit her lower lip to ensure she was awake before putting more sausage in her mouth. Being alone in the world sucked. Important to her survival, she needed to remember all the lessons Mother taught her. With her parents’ passing, the lawyer had explained her legal guardian would be her father’s cousin, but the man sitting next to her seemed much too young.

“Since you know my age, do you mind if I ask yours?” Picking up her napkin, she wiped the corners of her mouth, avoiding his stern gaze. “Did you know my d-dad?”

“No. Perhaps you refer to my father, the previous Duke of Deverow?”

She glanced up at him. “So, where is he?”

His face darkened, and his gaze swept the dining hall as though he searched for ghosts or spies. Seconds passed while he regained his composure. “He is…indisposed.”

If he’s sick, why can’t he just say so? She shook her head, deciding to get down to the business of having her questions answered. “Am I a prisoner?”

His nervous laugh echoed off the walls. “What makes you think that?”

“The doors are locked.”

“You will find them unlocked after breakfast.” He dabbed the corners of his mouth with his immaculate napkin and placed it on the table. “Please excuse me, but I have business to attend to.”

Angst caused her fingers to clutch her skirt. She might not get another chance to question him once he left the room. “What do you do?”

“I govern the Duchy.” He walked out.

What the heck was a duchy? Some of her hopes sank, feeling as though somehow she had stepped into the past. Still flustered from the weird formal encounter, she reprimanded herself for not asking what she considered important, such as why were they dressed in such ridiculous clothes, or why Mr. Vetrano had left in such a hurry.

When Kendíka finished eating, Cordova forced her back to her chamber. Driven into the tub, she couldn’t even test the temperature before she found herself soaking in steaming water that turned her skin red. She closed her eyes to collect her thoughts. The vapors relaxed her tight muscles, drifting her mind to a foggy place where the events of the morning made no sense. She still couldn’t remember how she’d gotten here, when she’d walked into the mansion, or how she’d gotten into bed. With only a vague recollection of the plane ride with Mr. Vetrano, she trembled in the hot water and squeezed her temples with her fingertips.

And the marriage. Had her parents’ lawyer known about that, too? Yeah, like I’m gonna get married to some freak. I’ll be gone before they know it. Tonight even.

The image of the swans appeared in her mind. She sank deeper into the soothing water, watching them swim around her psyche, the black one trailing behind. Frowning, she whispered, “Why do you exclude the black swan?”

In response, the three white ones opened their wings and flapped, putting greater distance between themselves and the outcast.

A chilling breeze swept across her face, and she shivered. Opening her eyes, she stared at the window. It stood closed. She sat up and looked around, finding herself alone.

Shrill screams reverberated off the tiled walls. Startled, she jumped to her feet and stepped out of the tub. Cordova rushed in, picked up the towel she had placed on the settee, and wrapped it around Kendíka.

In the chill of the room, she shook and pulled the plush towel tighter, her heart racing. “Did you hear that?”

The agony in the scream echoed in her head. Will I ever be able to get out of here?

The woman lowered her head and remained silent, but the fear in her eyes before she’d lowered them, shocked Kendíka.

“Do you know who screamed?”

The maid didn’t respond.

Hurrying to her prison cell, she shed the towel. The abigail brought out silk stockings and laid them on the bed. She also brought out a pair of lace up mid-calf boots with half-inch heels.

Kendíka twisted her mouth. That’s what my grandmother used to wear.

The maid helped her into the creepy clothes and then brushed her hair. “You have such lovely, long, thick tresses, milady. The duke admires long locks.” She tied a bow around Kendíka’s hair to keep it from falling in her face.

“Do you have a hairdryer?”

The woman frowned, confused. Kendíka moved away, taking the brush from the maid’s hand. She combed and French braided her hair, slipping the elastic from her wrist to secure the braid.

“But, milady, Dukegt Deverow….”

She rounded on the woman, giving her a hard stare. “I don’t want my wet hair to soak the dress. It makes me cold.”

Cordova shook her head and curtsied. “You might want to go outside and get some fresh air.”

“Yeah, what good will that do if I’m a prisoner?” she mumbled.

********

Although born in the United States, Annamaria Bazzi spent a great deal of her childhood in Sicily, Italy, in a town called Sciacca. Italian was the language spoken at home. Therefore, she had no problems when she found herself growing up in a strange country.

Upon returning to the states, she promised herself she would speak without an accent.

She attended Wayne State University in Detroit Michigan, where she obtained her Bachelor of Science in Computers with a minor in Spanish.

Annamaria spent twenty years programming systems for large corporations, creating innovative solution, and addressing customer problems. During those years, she raised four daughters and one husband. Annamaria lives in Richmond Virginia with her small family where she now dedicates a good part of her day writing.

You can visit Annamaria at:

http://annamariabazzi.com blog

https://www.facebook.com/Author.annamariabazzi facebook page

annamariascorner@yahoo.com email

https://twitter.com/AMBazzi twitter

Links to Annamaria’s book

White Swans: A Regency Era

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/The-White-Swans-Regency-ebook/dp/B00BMXLKVM/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1362486278&sr=1-1&keywords=white+swans%3A+a+regency+era

A Simple Matter of Justice

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/A-Simple-Matter-Justice-ebook/dp/B00APCB9N0/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1359345080&sr=8-1&keywords=a+simple+matter+of+justice

Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-simple-matter-of-justice-annamaria-bazzi/1113992043?ean=2940016095110

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/265991

Revelations of Abaddon:

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Revelation-of-Abaddon-ebook/dp/B00BCRB1H6/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1362486218&sr=8-1&keywords=revelation+of+abaddon

Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/revelation-of-abaddon-annamaria-bazzi/1114317527?ean=2940044305984

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/283345

Tips On Making Your Daily Word Count

 Every author has a problem making their daily word count-whether it be once in a while, or an every day thing. This is a huge problem for me. It’s not the creativity part of things, but the whole ‘finding the time’ side that really gets me. See, I’m not just an indie author, I’m also a professional freelance writer who works between 20 and 40 hours per week from home. I also take care of a husband, three year old daughter, disabled step father, two guinea pigs, a turtle, and  fish tank. I cook, clean, run errands, and try to somehow fit a bit in seeing other family and friends. Where on earth do I find the time to write in the middle of ll of that? Truth be told, it takes  lot of sacrifice, and a bit of finagling, but I’ve managed to figure out some things that work well for me. I manage to come out with two to four books each year, ranging from 20,000 words to 80,000 a piece.

The first thing you need to do is figure out what works for you. There are plenty of opportunities to snag a bit of writing day throughout the day. Even if you can only take fifteen minutes here and there to write a couple of words, it can really add up! Here are some times of day when you can try to get in a few words towards your daily goal:

1.  Wake Up Early. I know, I know. I’m not really a morning person either, but like I said, it takes some sacrifice. Even if you only get up half an hour earlier than usual, you have found yourself half an hour of writing time. That could be as few as one hundred words or as many as 500 words. It just depends how those creative juices are flowing.

2.  Nap Time For The Little Ones. If you’re a stay at home/work at home mom or dad, you can snag a little bit of time for writing when your little ones are napping. I know that this is the time when you like to clean, get things ready for supper, etc. But try to take half of whatever time your little one is sleeping and write.

 3.  Break Time/Lunch Time. If you work, you can use your break or lunch time to write. Jot down a few sentences while you’re eating. Even if you can only squeeze in, say, 20 words somewhere into that time, it adds up! 20 words a day, five days a week, is 100 words a week. In a single year, you could have used that time for 5,200 words or more!

 4.  Stay Up Late. Personally, this is when I get the most work done. My daughter’s bedtime is 9:30. I usually don’t fall into bed until midnight or one A.M. I know that not all people are night owls like I am, but even snagging an extra hour before bed can help a TON.

So that’s when you can catch some writing time, but here are a few tips to help you out:

*  Set a reasonable goal. I know some authors who only have a goal to write 200 words, but personally, my goal is to write 1,500. It just depends how much time you can manage, and how much sleep you’re willing to sacrifice.

* Don’t get frustrated. If you miss your word count once in a while, It’s not the end of the world. Move on and make sure you make it the next time.

* Don’t be afraid to take breaks. If you want to take a week off between books, go for it. Every once in a while, your brain needs a ‘refresh.’

* Don’t let writer’s block get you down. Find out what helps you to break it. For me, I start another story and within a day or two, I’m ready to get back to my original story.

I hope these tips help you to make your writing goals! Do you have any other tips? Have you tried any of my tips out and want to share how well they worked for you? Let us know in the comments below! We can’t wait to hear what you have to say!

Chelsea Falin

www.CFalinHammond.wordpress.com

www.Facebook.com/CFalinHammond

www.Twitter.com/CFalinHammond

A decorated police officer, more intent on justice than following the letter of the law, lands in trouble when a schoolteacher finds a dead body on the beach.

 Officer Donovan Andrews knows how to have a good time—ask any woman in town. But when it comes to men abusing their wives or children, Donovan takes it upon himself to make them regret it.

 Madeline Scott is unlucky in love. All she wants is a quiet place to heal, away from cheating, womanizing men. However, her life is far from peaceful once she stumbles across the body and witnesses someone fleeing the scene.

 Terror spreads in Pleasant View when the small community hears a killer is on the loose. All evidence points to Donovan, and he realizes someone is trying to frame him. When troubling suspicions from his past surface, even fellow officers believe he’s guilty. Madeline might be the only person who can clear his name, but first he has to win her trust.

 The body count rises and no one is safe. The murderer makes it clear Madeline is next. Soon, Donovan’s whole world is focused on protecting her and keeping himself out of prison. The more time he spends with her, the harder it is to fight his growing attraction. Since she’s been burned by love, convincing Madeline he’s interested in something more than hot sex may prove harder than keeping her alive.

Tell us about your newest release, Crime & Passion.

My heroine, Madeline Scott, has just moved to Pleasant View, only to find a dead body on the beach. When Donovan Andrews responds to her 911 call, she can tell straight off he’s a womanizer, and wants nothing to do with him. However, there’s an attraction there she can’t deny. For his part, Donovan has been an officer for twenty-two years and he’s just discovering who he truly is and why he shies away from relationships. He’s ready to change and become a better man, but Madeline’s heard that line before and doesn’t trust him.

Things between them are further complicated when the killer strikes again. Madeline thinks the killer is trying to frame Donovan. She never believes he’s guilty of the crime spree, but most people in their small town do. Discovering who is framing him and why is harder than either of them anticipate. Madeline’s life is at stake, and it is all a result of Donovan’s past mistakes.

 Your first book, Always & Forever, featured a psychotic stalker. Now you have a psychotic killer. Why the change? What inspired this book? Did you just want to to kill someone (albeit on paper)?

Haha – this question made me laugh. Maybe I do have murderous intent. I didn’t actually have an exact plan when I started this book. Madeline kept coming to me while I was trying to finish writing Always & Forever. She was standing on a beach over a dead body and kept screaming at me to pay attention to her. Of course, I had to ignore her to finish the other book. When I started, I only knew it would be about Madeline and a police officer, and I knew the police officer was the prime suspect.

One of the things I loved about the book is how you kept me guessing as to who the killer was along several possible suspects.  Did you know who the killer would be when you started writing, or is that something you figured out later? If so, how far into the writing before you knew? Did you seriously consider any of the other suspects or were they just there as red herrings?

Each suspect at some point, in my mind, was going to be the killer. I think the thing I had the most fun doing in this book was planning the motives of the people included as suspects. A few people I thought were going to be suspects ended up not being important and a few who I never knew were suspects became very important to the story. After Madeline’s attack, about the last third of the book, I knew from there on who was bad and what their motives were.

Do you have a favorite line or scene from the book? What is it?

Madeline came up with some great stuff. She made me laugh a lot. One of my favorite scenes is in the second chapter. Donovan comes to Madeline’s house and she’s wearing a short silk robe. He’s being very inappropriate, obviously checking her out. Determined to be a good hostess, she offers him tea, and he rudely says if she doesn’t have coffee that will have to do. She could make him instant coffee, but decides to bring him a brimming cup of tea, which she shoves into his hand forcefully and burns him. Her response is, “Oopsie.” I loved that entire scene.

What have you learned during your self-publishing journey?

The road to self-publication is a marathon, not a sprint. I’ve talked to many self-published authors who get frustrated because their one or two titles aren’t selling and they get discouraged, feeling like they should give up. I’ve fallen into this trap myself, but I also think about the kinds of authors I tend to pick. I look for authors with lots of titles on their shelf, because if I like them, I then have many books to buy and enjoy. I think the secret to success is to continue writing. I try not to worry about sales as much and focus on writing the next book. As people discover my work, they can then enjoy all the titles I have, and hopefully tell their friends!

Great advice. I try to follow that myself, although some days are easier than others!

Who is your favorite author and what is it that really strikes you about their work?

I’m an eclectic reader, liking many different genres. I have many favorite authors. You’re included in that list and a few of Indie’s I’ve met in the last year. Traditional authors who inspired me before I started writing include Mary Higgins Clark, Charlaine Harris, and Stephen King. In my genre, my favorite author is Jayne Ann Krentz. Her mystery element is awesome. I rarely know for sure who the bad guy is until the end, even if I suspect them. On the more straight suspense titles of hers, I’m always enthralled from start to finish. I think what I love most about these authors is the connection I feel with their characters. And, of course, regarding Ms. Krentz, I love her sizzling romance scenes.

What is your next project?

I’m actually working on my new novel right now, Love & Deception, which will be available in early winter 2013. Nick Kendall works as a spy, fighting the war on terror on American soil. His newest target to investigate is Carlie Hollis, a suspected terrorist leader. The only problem is, while trying to learn her secrets he falls in love with her. Then, he gets new orders from his boss: Kill the target.

Sounds great. I know I’m going to enjoy that one as well.

Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?

Thanks for taking a chance on my books. I hope you enjoy them. Also to the people who have contacted me saying they enjoyed them, an extra big thanks. Knowing I’ve entertained someone totally makes my day – it makes all the work worth it!

Thanks for inviting me here, Michele. I can’t wait for your upcoming release, Aggravated Circumstances. I loved the first-draft version I’ve read, but I’m anxious for the final copy!

Thank you! And that final copy should be in your hands within a week.

Purchase Crime & Passion:

Amazon Kindle: http://amzn.to/Z24vsP

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Author bio:

Chantel once thought a great mystery or fantasy book with strong romantic themes was the highest level of reading bliss. After reading her first romantic suspense novel, she never looked back. Before long, the need to create her own stories took over. She spends her daytime in the clinical profession of medical transcriptionist, but her passion is in the blissful hours she spends with her characters in the evenings.

Chantel lives in the western United States. When she isn’t writing, she loves playing cards with her family and snuggling with her lazy kitties.

Want to connect with Chantel? You can find her here:

Website: http://www.chantelrhondeau.com

Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Chantel-Rhondeau/e/B008ZSM1KQ/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1

Twitter http://twitter.com/ChantelRhondeau

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/ChantelRhondeau

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6444354.Chantel_Rhondeau

E-mail: ChantelRhondeau@gmail.com