Well, it's that time again. I haven't had a contest on my blog for a while and so I figured that it would be great to do something this holiday season!
Here's the scoop. To enter this contest, all you have to do is follow this blog (Benston Blogs) and then send me your story about the most ridiculous Christmas gift you ever received. The winning story will receive a brand new Kindle E-Reader as well as Keeping the Faith and This Side Up for Kindle. And, I'll include your story in an upcoming Rona Shively book. Easy! Follow, share, win!
Deadline to enter is December 10th. Winner will be announced on December 15th right here on Benston Blogs!
As I've said, proceeds from all sales of the Rona Shively Stories goes to help my women's empowerment ministry, Higher Ground Ministries. With that in mind, please consider purchasing all five Rona stories for just $50. This price includes shipping. Just e-mail me to order! If you don't want to order all five, my newest Rona Shively story, Now You See Me just came out on October 31st so, it's a great time to order the latest story if you've read the rest. You can get your copy of this book or of any of the Rona Shively Stories for just $10 (includes shipping)!
Good luck to those who enter and thank you for following Rona!
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Saturday, November 5, 2011
New Contest: Tell Me Your Story and you might win a Kindle...
Sunday, June 27, 2010
From the latest Rona Shively Story...
Here's a preview of my new Rona Shively story:
I waddled into the restaurant, mentally ordering my pancakes, eggs, and sausage as I scanned the dining room for someone who fit my client’s description of herself. She had said that she was tall and thin with dark brown hair. She said that she would be wearing a red leather jacket. I spotted her almost immediately. Her hair was short, in a stylish bob. She was almost too conservative-looking to be meeting with the likes of me. I walked up to the table and made one of those “Ahem” noises to get her attention. When she looked up, the expression on her face went from calm to catty in something like seconds.
“So, you’re Rona Shively,” she said, her tone extremely unfriendly.
“So, I am,” I said, “What’s the problem? Are you Susan Fleming?”
“That’s right, and I’ve got a bone to pick with you,” she said getting to her feet. She jabbed a finger in my face as she continued her tirade. “Where do you get off trying to take money from helpless, old ladies?”
Now, I’m not generally speechless. This is especially true when some hag is pointing her gaudily painted fingernails in my face as this woman had done. A few months ago, she would have been on the receiving end of a nasty ass-whooping for this kind of behavior. Today, however; I was feeling generous. Whether it was the nature of the accusation or the instability of my hormones that made me stop and think before taking a swing is not important. What’s important here is that I simply stepped back and calmly asked, “What are you talking about?”
“You know very well what I’m talking about,” she said loudly. People were starting to watch our exchange and with my reputation, I really didn’t need this kind of publicity. “I’m talking about Esmerelda Haynes, my grandmother, the woman you convinced to sign over $5,000 of her retirement money for a phony insurance policy.”
Okay, now she was just being ridiculous. “Esmerelda Haynes?” I asked. My patience was wearing thin and since she was making it very difficult for me to order those pancakes I’d been fantasizing about, I was starting to feel a little less charitable and seriously considering punching her in the mouth to shut her up.
“Esmerelda Haynes,” she said. “You just spoke with her last week, didn’t you?”
I took a moment and then shook my head. “Uh, no,” I said, “I’ve never spoken with any Esmerelda. Not last week or even over the course of my entire existence. I do not sell insurance, nor have I ever convinced anyone to give me $5,000.”
She gave me a look that said she absolutely didn’t believe me. This woman did not know me and I wasn’t sure who had told her that I was the one who swindled her poor old granny, but at this point, I just wanted to sit down.
You can order your copies of The Rona Shively Stories by contacting me here. Get all four for just $40!
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Saturday, January 30, 2010
Read an excerpt from This Side Up!
From Chapter One...
I slammed the phone down with somewhat unnecessary force; slumping in my chair like a woman who had spent the better part of the day trying to convince herself that she really didn’t need one man while fretting over not being able to get an altogether different man on the phone. Ah, the irony.
As I pondered this, there was a knock at my door. It was most likely the pizza, but I checked the peephole anyway to make sure. I didn’t see anyone there, so I opened the door cautiously. I’d been fooled by this trick before. I peered outside to see if anyone was waiting to club me over the head, but no one was there. That was odd; I could have sworn someone had been at the door. Maybe I was hearing things. I shut the door and went into my kitchen to see if I had anything to drink in the refrigerator. I opened it up and looked inside. One can of Coke and a couple of bottles of beer. I grabbed the Coke and opened it.
As I took a swig, there was another knock at the door. I was pretty sure it was actually a knock this time. I set the can down on the counter and went over to the door. This time, I reached into my purse which was hanging on its hook near the door and grabbed my gun. I held it at the ready as I looked through the peephole again. This time, I saw the pizza delivery guy standing there holding my pizza, grinning like an idiot. What the hell did he have to be so happy about? He was a pizza delivery guy for Christ’s sake.
I opened the door, still holding my gun. The boy’s eyes grew wide as he saw it in my hand.
“Don’t worry,” I said, “it’s not for you.” I smiled reassuringly and handed him a $20 bill to cover the cost of my order. “Keep the change, dear.”
He handed me the pizza and the Coke and then backed away from me without saying a word. I’d tipped him about four bucks, so in addition to not getting shot, I’d say he did pretty well on this order.
Pre-Order your signed copy today at my website!
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Thursday, March 19, 2009
Keeping the Faith...available September 25th!
I'm so happy to announce here on Benston Blogs that my third Rona Shively book, Keeping the Faith will be released by Stonegarden.net Publishing on September 25th! This is the first novel-length Rona Shively story and I can hardly wait for the release date! Rona is going through some changes and you won't believe what she's up against or for that matter, whom she's up against in this one.
Stop by my Rona Shively website for more about this book!
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Monday, December 22, 2008
Not Even a Mouse: A Rona Shively Short (Chapter Two)
I collected my mail when I got to my apartment building and was surprised to see only a couple of bills in the pile. The rest were flyers and advertisements for products or services for which I had no use. I removed the two bills from the stack and chucked the rest in the trash can as soon as I got in the door. It was about three p.m. and somehow, I’d forgotten to eat lunch. The meeting with Nellie had left me feeling unsettled and I hadn’t even thought about food until I reached my apartment. I was starving so as soon as I got in the door, I checked the refrigerator to see if anything had miraculously appeared in there since this morning when there was nothing to eat for breakfast.
Sadly, there was only about a half gallon of orange juice, two slices of American cheese, one pickle and what was left of a deluxe pizza that I had ordered three nights ago. Anyone who knows me knows that I have practically no culinary talents. There was really nothing I could do with two pieces of cheese and a pickle that would make me less hungry, so I picked up the phone and dialed Paco’s. My old favorite, Micelli’s had gone out of business a couple of weeks ago and Paco’s had opened in their old location. I hadn’t tried their pizza yet, so I decided on a large Italian sub. Since orange juice didn’t go so well with Italian food, I also ordered a six pack of Coke. That accomplished, I plopped down on my couch with the two bills in my hand. Reluctantly, I opened the first one and pulled out its contents.
It was the bill for my renter’s insurance and it looked like the premium had actually gone down from last month. At least that was something good. The next bill wasn’t quite so wonderful. Last month I had to have some dental work done after an altercation with a rather surly individual I’d encountered as part of a case I was working. Some words were exchanged and before I knew what was happening, a couple of fists were flying. One of those fists had connected with my jaw and knocked out one of my teeth. In short, I still owed about $475 for the time I’d spent in the dentist’s chair. I tossed the bills aside and got up to go to the bathroom. I went down the hall and did what I needed to do. By the time I made my way back to my living room area, there was a knock at the door. Thank God, I thought. I took a twenty from my pocket and opened the door. I handed the money to the delivery boy and took the bag and the six pack.
I was so frigging hungry. The sandwich smelled heavenly, if that’s possible. I unwrapped it and took a bite. This was just what I needed. I opened one of the cans of Coke and put the rest of the six-pack in the refrigerator, still holding the sub in one hand. I wasn’t about to put this sandwich down. Once I had settled down, I realized that my attachment to the sandwich was worrisome. I really needed to find a hobby. It’s a sad thing when the most exciting event of the day is unwrapping an eight inch sub. Though it might have been more sad if it had only been the six inch.
After I had finished the sub, I opened up my laptop to do some research. If I was going to play the role of a salesperson, I needed to come up with something clever to “sell.” It’s not like you can go into a business and say, “Hi, I’m a salesperson, please let me come in and look around.” After about an hour, I stumbled upon an idea that I thought might work. I couldn’t find much in the way of products, but I figured that any business needs decent advertising. Since I hadn’t been very effective in marketing my own services, I wasn’t sure how I was going to come across in a sales presentation but hey, who really cares? All I needed was a business card and maybe a flyer or two and I could at least look like I knew what I was doing.
Though I’m not highly computer savvy, I opened up my Word program and started working on a template for a business card. I had recently taken one of those free classes at my local library where they taught me how to do some basic stuff with Word. I had liked the class so much that I had gone out and bought myself a couple of tutorial programs that I worked on in my spare time. After selecting a business card template from the menu, I filled in a fake name for myself, Jenny Herman. It was the first thing that came to me that didn’t sound like something out of a cheap movie. From there, I added the fake P.O. Box number that I use for all of my undercover endeavors. After that, I decided that my “company” really needed a name. Like I said, I’m not terribly good at this marketing stuff. I sat back in my chair for a moment and looked at the ceiling. Often, ideas came to me when I stared at the ceiling. I’m not sure what’s up there, but it usually sparks some creativity. As I studied the grid of the suspended ceiling tiles, the name came to me. I typed in “Criss-Cross Advertising Solutions.” After that, I pulled a graphic into the document to spiff it up a bit. I was pretty impressed with myself. Just a month ago, I couldn’t have figured this shit out and now here I was making fake stuff like a pro. Cool.
I pulled out a sheet of business card paper that I had purchased for making my own cards and stuck it into my printer. I hit the print button and within five minutes, I had my very own set of cards for Criss-Cross Advertising. Now, all I had to do was come up with some pricing and services. To do this, I just looked online for some advertising companies and copied from them. Most of them offered the same types of things, but I stuck with the ones that looked like things I understood. Pricing was a little more difficult. For that, I had to make a couple of phone calls.
“Hello,” I said as the receptionist for AAA Advertising picked up the phone.
“Can I help you?” she asked in a polished, professional tone.
“Yes, I am looking for a company that can do an advertising campaign for my business,” I said, not really knowing what to ask for. “What kinds of services do you offer?”
She ran down a list of things and then said that she could connect me to a Marketing Specialist. Before I could object, she had put me on hold and transferred me over to Ted in Marketing.
“This is Ted, what can I do for you?” he said cheerily.
“I’m looking to do some advertising for my business, can you tell me how much an advertising campaign might cost?” I asked. That sounded really stupid.
“Were you looking for print, direct mail, tv, radio?” he asked and then added, “Or maybe online?”
“Well, I don’t really know, what do you think works best?” I asked. I hoped he would be able to explain some of this stuff to me so that I could just repeat it all when asked later.
“What type of business do you have?” he asked.
“I make and sell stuff, all kinds of things like toys, knick-knacks, you know,” I said, remembering Donella Clos’s words.
“Okay, well, then you’re probably going to want a mix of all of these to reach the largest possible audience,” he said, “Where is your business located?”
“Here in Crystal Ridge,” I said.
“What kind of advertising do you use currently?” he asked.
“Currently?” I said, “Well, I really don’t have anything right now.”
“How long have you been in business?” he asked.
I didn’t know the answer to that one, “Five years,” I blurted out.
“You’ve managed to stay in business for five years with no advertising,” he asked, incredulous.
“Well, yeah, I mean, there’s word-of-mouth I guess,” I said, cringing.
“Sounds like you’re going to need a lot of help,” he said. I could hear him smiling like an idiot on the other end of the line. He was no doubt thinking that he had caught a live one with me. “Can we meet to discuss some of your options?”
I hesitated, “Well, right now, I’m really just calling around to get some idea of what an ad campaign would cost. Can’t you give me a ballpark figure over the phone?”
“It’d be better if we could talk in person,” he said, “But, I guess the type of campaign I’m thinking of might run you around $15,000.”
I nearly fell off my chair, “$15,000?” I said, “What would I be getting for that?”
“Well, of course there’s brand development and some really great market research that we could gather for you to help you target your customers more effectively…” he went on and on after this and I could feel my eyes glaze over. Finally, he finished up by saying, “I have some time available today if you’re free.”
“Uh, well, I’m going to need to get back to you on this,” I said, “I didn’t really plan to spend so much.”
“We can work with you on payments,” he said, “our goal is to get you results.”
We went back and forth a little before I was finally able to get him to hang up the phone. I had jotted some of what he said down as he spoke so that I could capture some of the key phrases. I looked at my paper; market research, brand promotion, print, direct mail…none of these meant anything to me. Maybe that’s why my P.I. business never really took off.
I spent a little more time putting together some materials for my performance and then picked the phone up to call Mrs. Clos. No one answered, so I left a message telling her that a “representative” from Criss-Cross advertising would be stopping by tomorrow morning to talk with her about her recent inquiry. I hoped she would recognize my voice and that I wouldn’t take her by surprise when I showed up there.
Party animal that I am, I curled up on my couch at around 9 p.m. and fell asleep. I had strange dreams as I tossed and turned on the small sofa. Why I didn’t just get up and go to bed is beyond me. I just felt restless and I couldn’t get my mind off of how weird this little old lady had been. My dreams took me out into a snowy field where I saw a Santa Claus-like figure loading boxes into the back of an SUV. There were reindeer, I think, or maybe they were some other kind of animal. I’m not good with nature, so they could have been horses for all I know. Through the whole thing, I heard Christmas music playing in the background but couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. I floated through the field until I came to a house that was decorated up with all kinds of lights and other holiday junk in the yard. I walked up to the window and I could see my new client inside. She was baking cookies, but not just one tray of them. There were literally thousands of cookies coming out of the oven. I could actually smell them baking.
Come back tomorrow for Chapter Three!
Until next time...
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Sunday, December 21, 2008
Not Even a Mouse: A Rona Shively Short (Chapter One)
I don’t ask for much. In fact, I don’t ask for anything at all. The Christmas season is always a little stressful for me, but not for the reasons you might think. It’s not the shopping, hell, I don’t really shop. I just send everyone gift cards and let them figure it out. It’s not the parties…I don’t really go to those. Since I work for myself, there really isn’t much need for a company sponsored event. It’s not the jolly bell-ringers that stand outside of the grocery store begging for your spare change. They don’t really bother me because I usually just ignore them. No, for me, the stress comes from an entirely other place. For me, the stress hits me at about the time when everyone else is starting to feel relief. It hits me as I’m putting away my little, fake Christmas tree and trying to figure out why I bothered to set the damned thing up in the first place. It’s not like I have people over anymore. The people I used to spend Christmas with are either dead or out of my life for some other permanent reason. This year, I needed to keep busy. If I didn’t, it might give me too much time to think about why I don’t have a best friend to share the holidays with. It might be too much of a reminder that forty is right around the corner and I’m just now starting to grow up. I’ll have to put that conversation on hold for a bit, though. Don’t want to spill the beans.
I’m sitting in my office, looking at the ceiling as I do on many occasions. It hasn’t changed. It’s nothing fascinating, but it’s a hell of a lot better than looking at the pile of bills on my desk and comparing it to the ever-withering balance in my checkbook. My phone started ringing and I nearly fell out of my swivel chair. I had been deep into my “meditation” and the sudden shrillness of the phone’s ringer had startled me. I sat up and collected myself before reaching across the desk to answer.
“Shively,” I said.
“What are your hours today, ma’am?” a voice asked.
My hours are pretty much what I make them, I thought, but in an effort to sound halfway professional, I said, “9 to 4, what can I help you with?”
“I’m just down the street, I’d really like to speak to you in person if you don’t mind,” the voice said. I couldn’t really tell if this was a man or a woman. The voice was low and gravelly, but it could have been either had they smoked enough cigarettes in their day. They were definitely over forty. That I could tell. I’m not sure how, but I could tell.
Inwardly, I groaned. I really hated having people come into the office. I had only invested in the space to keep people from coming to my apartment. I wasn’t much of a hostess and truthfully, I preferred meeting my clients in public places. It was just one of those things. One less place they could track me down should they decide they want to shoot or otherwise injure me. “I guess that would be alright. I’m here for at least another hour,” I said reluctantly.
“Thank you very much, I’ll be around in a few minutes,” the voice said and they hung up.
“Okay,” I said to the dial tone.
I hung up and waited for the inevitable knock at the door. This visitor would be here whether I was ready or not. I sat back and put my hands behind my head. I really didn’t know how to prepare, so I figured I’d just sit for a moment and look stupid. It’s one of my strengths.
Fifteen minutes passed before I heard the knocking. I must have drifted off for a moment, because again, I was nearly startled out of my seat. I stood up, collected myself and walked the five steps across the office to my door. When I opened it, I didn’t see anyone. I stepped back and started to close the door when a tiny, old woman exclaimed, “Hey, wait a minute!”
I looked down and was shocked to see a woman, not more than three feet tall, standing in my doorway looking up at me. She was dressed in some kind of velvety, red wrap that made her look like a fancy bag lady. She was disheveled and her face sported a fresh bruise the size of a walnut just under her left cheekbone. Someone had roughed up this poor little, old lady. This immediately pissed me off.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “what happened to you?”
“Can I come in, please?” she said huffily. This woman was not happy. She pushed her way past me before I could invite her in and then plopped down in the small wooden chair beside my desk. She fussed and fidgeted around for several moments apparently trying to arrange her wrap so that it wasn’t bunching up underneath her. I could understand that, I hate bunching.
“Can I ask what happened to your cheek?” I asked her.
She ignored me, so I gave her a few minutes to get situated and then I walked back over to my own chair and sat down. I thought about offering her something to drink, but then decided to wait and see if she answered my question. She looked up then and eyed me suspiciously, as though I was the one who was forgetting something.
“Aren’t you going to offer me something to drink?” she asked, twisting her face up as she spoke.
This is why you should always trust your first instinct about a situation. “I’m sorry, would you like something to drink? I have coffee and bottled water. I might have a Coke in there.” I pointed to my mini-fridge as though it held the answers to the questions of the universe.
“No, thank you,” she replied curtly. Well, now, why the hell would you ask if you didn’t want anything? Any sympathy I had felt for this woman was quickly dissipating.
“Maybe you didn’t hear me, what happened to your face there?” I asked her again.
She looked up at the ceiling and then around at my office. It wasn’t very impressive, so I braced myself for an unsolicited critique. “You should really get some plants in here, dear,” she said, “this place is so dreary.”
“Okay, yes, I know that, but what I don’t know is why you are here,” I said, getting impatient, “I hate to seem pushy, but you’re avoiding my question.” I’m not inclined to ignore signs of abuse, especially when little, old ladies are involved.
“Well, if you must know, I fell down the other day and one of my animals kicked me in the face,” she said testily, “not that it’s any of your business.”
“Your animals?” I said.
“Yes, my animals,” she said, not offering any additional information about the nature of the beast who had kicked her.
I was sure she was lying, but I decided not to press the issue. “Okay, then, what can I do for you, Ms.?”
“The name is Nellie, and I have a problem with my…employees,” she said, “I think someone has been stealing from us.”
This seemed straightforward enough. “What kind of business do you have?” I asked.
She hesitated for a moment and then put a finger up as she nodded her answer, “Manufacturing and distribution of toys, knick-knacks and other stuff, mostly.”
“Mostly? What else is there?” I asked.
“Well, it’s really hard to describe, but the part I’m most worried about has to do with our inventory,” she said.
“How long has this been going on?” I asked, never failing to hear that stupid song in my head as I said the words.
“I think it’s been a few months,” she said, “I wanted to be sure, so I waited before coming to you.”
“And what makes you sure?” I asked.
“Well, I started marking some of the items so that I could track which ones went missing,” she said, clearly impressed with her own ingenuity, “and for the last two weeks, there have been huge gaps in the merchandise that should be on the shelves.”
“Okay, then,” I said, “I guess I can look into this for you. What is the name of your business?” I pulled out a contract and prepared to write down the particulars.
“It’s Santac, Limited,” she said, finally smiling. Her spirits seemed to be lifting somewhat, but for no reason I could ascertain.
“Santac is spelled…?” I asked, writing down what I thought it should look like.
“S-a-n-t-a-c, limited,” she said.
“And are you’re the owner of the business?” I asked.
“Yes, part-owner, my husband and I own it together,” she said.
“Is he aware that you’ve contacted me?” I asked.
“Oh, heavens no,” she said nervously, “he wouldn’t understand all of this.”
I sat back for a moment to consider whether or not I should proceed. I didn’t like to handle family business cases where everyone wasn’t aware of what was going on. It made for a messier than normal investigation.
“Is he likely to give me any trouble if he sees me around your place?” I asked.
“Oh, no, he wouldn’t do that,” she said.
“Are you sure, because I don’t want to be hassled while I’m trying to do my job,” I said.
I hated giving the old lady a hard time, even if she had been a little rude. But, what I hated more was being bothered by people when I was trying to check shit out.
“He won’t even know you’re around, dear,” she said, “he’s usually not in the office.”
I nodded and we continued filling out the contract. I explained my fees and she pulled a checkbook out of somewhere within her frock. She wrote me a check for $1,000 and handed it across the desk. I folded it and slipped it into my jacket pocket so that I could take it to the bank later. We talked about some possible scenarios for my checking out her warehouse and decided that I should come through as some kind of salesperson. I didn’t much care for the idea, but I figured it wouldn’t matter much what I was as long as I got a look at some of her employees. She had it narrowed down to three of her stockers. She couldn’t figure out which one was stealing, but she knew that it was one of the three. She wanted me to come in and look around as though I were assessing their needs for some kind of product that I sell. I hate using my imagination to this extent.
Before she left, she reached out to shake my hand. When her hand touched mine, I was surprised by its warmth. This crotchety gal seemed like the type whose hands would be cold and bony, but hers was warm and soft. I suddenly felt like I was standing there with an old friend. There was something strange about her. I wasn’t prone to being naïve, but she reminded me of someone.
“Nah,” I said to myself, shaking my head. I reached into my pocket to take out the check she had written. The name on the check said, Donella Clos. Not even close, I thought. It was a completely different spelling. Anyway, I didn’t believe in stuff like that and if she was someone magical, why didn’t she smell like cookies. Wasn’t that the deal, all those elves and shit smelled like cookies or sugarplums or something Christmasy. “I must be losing my mind,” I said to no one in particular.
I got out a deposit slip and one of those envelopes for the ATM machine and started to fill it all out. I’d drop this in the bank on my way home. There was really no need to sit here in the office all day. I had an answering machine and it actually worked, so I left.
Come back tomorrow for Chapter Two!
Until next time...
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Rona Shively Holiday Serial...
I'll be posting my Rona Shively Holiday Short, Not Even a Mouse here on the blog over the next few days! Be sure to stop by for the rest of the story each day from today through Christmas!
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Friday, October 17, 2008
On the road again...
It's funny how the places you imagine are, in reality, so much like the place where you live. What I mean by this is that I had always envisioned the state of New York to be this big, urban expanse and I really hadn't thought that there would be parts of the state that looked so much like my hometown.
I recently visited the city of Waterville, NY to present one of my Tea & Mystery discussions at their public library. As usual, the presentation went well and I met some very nice people there. I was surprised that the scenery didn't actually change between where I live in Ohio and there. In fact, had I not missed my daughter so much, I wouldn't have even known I'd left town. Although the foliage is beautiful this time of year, after about three or four hundred miles of the same landscape, you start to wonder if you're actually moving forward. The drive did give me a chance to start working on my next Rona Shively novel. I got my first three chapters drafted on the way to Waterville.
I've always loved visiting new places and this road trip proved to be all too short. Since I recently started a new job, I wasn't able to stay as long as I would have liked to check out the rest of the area. Perhaps next time I'll have a couple of days to spare. Until then, I'll just have to look at my own trees.
If your library would like to have me come out and do a Tea & Mystery presentation, please contact me here. I'm still booking these events and would love to visit as many libraries across the United States as possible.
Until next time...
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Saturday, October 11, 2008
Waiting...
makes me nervous. Right now, I'm waiting to hear back from a publisher about the third book in the Rona Shively series. Right now, I'm kind of nervous. For reasons I won't go into here, I'm trying to switch publishers. I just think it's time. Doing this means moving away from what I'm familiar with and jumping out into "Reject Me" territory. Though I know it is a fact of life, I'm not all that hot on rejection. Who is?
My third book is the first full-length novel I've ever written and I think I've done some really great things with the Rona Shively character this time around. The story has some good, some bad, and some ugly...but no Clint Eastwood unless you count Rona's new love interest, Garrett Shaw. Rona is nearing forty and so, in the next book, you'll see that she's starting to mature a little. It's about time she did. She's held some grudges in her day and now, she's starting to rethink her position on some of these. Still, she maintains that she's fully justified in hanging onto the others.
One way or another, Keeping the Faith will be published. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that the publisher I've approached will pick it up, but if they don't, I'll figure something out. For now, the series is in a state of literary limbo awaiting the call to be printed but keep the faith, everyone. Rona Shively will return.
Until next time...
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Saturday, April 19, 2008
Sometimes it's hard to be a woman...
Evidently. In thinking about some of the things that have been in the news lately, I realized that in the first Rona Shively book, In the Wash, I might not have given the issue of Gender Reassignment its due. Being the concise writer that I am, I didn't dwell on the mechanics of the process undergone by the missing character in this story, however, I did touch on the emotional distress that she was in during her brief marriage to Rona's client, Mr. Delvecchio.
We've all been hearing about the pregnant man, Thomas Beatie. At the time that the story broke, I was pregnant with our second child and having had several miscarriages in the past, I understood his motivation and I didn't necessarily begrudge he and his wife of being able to carry and deliver a healthy child. Whether I agreed with their approach or not, I understood the pain of not being able to bring a child into the world and trying to find some way to make it happen. Sadly, at our sixteen week mark, we discovered that we had miscarried once again and as I looked back at the story about the pregnant man, I became angry. I was not only angry at him, I was angry at just about anyone who was able to have a baby. This was irrational, of course, and definitely a short-lived reaction. But it was a gut reaction to our loss and I have since been able to process it with a little more compassion in my heart.
Thomas Beatie was, at one time, a woman. For whatever reason, she decided that she wanted to be a man. I'm not sure why, but she also decided to keep her female reproductive organs. Since, according to his article in the March 26 edition of the Advocate.com online newsletter, sterilization is not required as part of gender reassignment surgery, he decided to maintain his reproductive rights as a female. This turned out to be a good decision for him because he and his wife wanted children and as it turned out, she was unable to have them. Although it wasn't a popular or even practical idea, Thomas decided that he would attempt to carry a child. He stated that, "Wanting to have a biological child is neither a male nor female desire, but a human desire." I have to agree.
After five miscarriages, we still very much want another child. We were fortunate enough to have a wonderful daughter four years ago, but we have always wanted to give her a sibling. Although intriguing, I can't imagine having my husband carry a child for us even if he were physically able to do so. I have always felt that women share a special bond with their children that men miss out on. The experience of carrying a child would definitely give men the perspective that I feel they have been lacking when it comes to child rearing, but the idea pretty much scares most people to death because it is so far from traditional beliefs about childbearing and gender issues. While it may not be part of the Divine plan, it's happening for the Beatie family.
As I think about it, our society has always viewed anything related to transgenders with either contempt or a strange mix of scorn and compassion which comes out through humorous portrayal of their plight. For me, it is a tough issue to wrap my mind around. I have always been comfortable with my sexual identity as a female. The only times I have wanted to be a male have been related to being able to pee in inconvenient places or when it was time to get a raise. Not to make light of the situation, but for me, it has never been part of any internal conflict. So I can't imagine how difficult life would be if I were struggling with wanting to be a different gender.
I have never felt that it was my place to judge people or to dictate how people live their lives. I grew up with only limited exposure to church and conventional religion and have been open to the ideas of different groups as they relate to a Higher Power. Most of what I learned along the way seems to have pointed to how wrong it is to do something like what Thomas Beatie is doing. But for me, there is some conflict involved in judging him so harshly. He doesn't answer to me and I certainly don't have the power or authority to say whether or not he is right or wrong in what he is doing. It's all wrapped up in fate, karma, and just what feels right for me. As long as I am doing what I believe is right and I'm not trying to inflict any emotional or physical pain on anyone, I feel that I am doing what my God wants and expects me to do. In short, I am no longer angry and I wish the Beaties all the best in their quest to grow a family.
In my book, In the Wash, Lucy Deardon's character was plagued by a desire to be something other than what she was. She tried and tried to adjust to life as a female, but, in the end, she decided that becoming a man was the only option that felt right. Along the way, some people were hurt, mostly because they felt that her anguish was somehow a sinister plan to hurt or humiliate them, but it was really all about what felt right for Lucy. Before I wrote this book, I never really thought about the plight of the transgendered. I would watch funny movies like To Wong Foo or The Birdcage and think that these people simply enjoyed cross-dressing. Obviously, there's more to it than this and whether or not it makes sense to me, it will most likely always be an issue.
Until next time...
Thursday, April 3, 2008
How about a free book?
I'm giving away one free copy of Under Lock and Key, the second book in the Rona Shively series. Here's the catch, to enter, readers need to be able to answer the following four questions about the first book in the series, In the Wash:
1. What kind of car does Rona drive?
2. What does Rona's friend, Norm do for a living?
3. What is the name of the Mexican restaurant where Rona and Norm have dinner?
4. What are the names of Rona's two pet fish?
You've probably figured this out already, but you'll have to read In the Wash to find the answers. Send your answers to me at lonestoryteller@yahoo.com and I'll draw the winning entry on Sunday, April 20th! Good luck to you!
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Valentine's Day gift ideas!
Once again, we're nearing one of my favorite holidays. Young couples will pretend to be more in love than they really are...new couples try to impress one another with cheesy gifts and romantic gestures...old couples will continue their traditions of doing whatever they have decided is the romantic thing to do. Valentine's Day is a full-blown holiday of denial. No matter how crappy your love life is, it can all be made better (at least for the day) with a crummy little heart-shaped card or a box of chocolates. Isn't it great?
This Valentine's Day, instead of going for the romantic stuff, I'm celebrating the release of From the Shadows, a horror anthology published by Triad Publishing Group which features my first short horror story, Eleven. I'm also happy to announce my first self-published project, A Little Bit of Murder: Short mysteries to confuse and amuse. It's a collection of the short mysteries that were part of BB's Mini-Mystery contest! You can get your copy here.
So, while everyone else is enjoying their cardboard box full of candy or admiring their bouquet of flowers, do something different. Buy yourself or someone you love a copy of From the Shadows or A Little Bit of Murder! Everyone loves a good story!
Until next time...
Friday, February 1, 2008
BB's Mini-Mystery #4
must have stumped you all! I had no winning entries this week! In light of this, I have decided to hold off on selecting a winner until noon tomorrow. So, if you still want to take a shot at it, get your guess in to me by noon on Saturday, February 2nd.
Surely someone out there can figure it out!
Good luck!
Monday, January 28, 2008
BB's Mini-Mystery #4
Here you go:
An Ounce of Prevention
By Rebecca Benston
Erika Johnson was a pharmaceutical sales representative. She worked for one of the big names in the pharmaceutical industry and had a large client base that had been built up over the course of five years. She had started out wanting to be a social worker, but when she figured out that she wouldn’t be able to make enough money doing social work, she answered an ad in her local paper and the rest was history. As a sales rep, she made good money and she still felt like she would be helping people because she was offering samples of medication which doctors could then pass on to their patients. At least, this was how she rationalized it.
She had just dropped off her usual week’s worth of samples to the largest medical group in town and was waiting for the elevator, when she encountered an elderly woman who asked her, “Are you able to give samples to individual patients?”
“Oh, no, ma’am, I’m sorry,” she had responded, “I’m not qualified to make the diagnosis required to dispense the samples. You can ask your doctor for samples the next time you’re in.”
“Well, my doctor won’t give me samples, I’ve asked him,” the lady said in a feeble voice, “I can’t afford the regular medication and they tell me if I don’t take it, I could have a heart attack.”
“I’m really sorry, but I just can’t,” she had said to the woman. She thought for a moment and then asked, “Which doctor is it that you go to?”
“Dr. Reed, up on the third floor,” she answered.
“What medication was it that you needed?” Erika had asked.
The lady gave here the names of her medications and Erika had told her that she would check with the doctor to see if he wanted some samples to hand out. The two parted ways with the older woman thanking Erika profusely for making the effort. Erika made a note in her calendar to visit Dr. Reed and then got in her car and drove home.
Although it was a little unusual, Erika called Dr. Reed’s office and asked if she could speak with the doctor regarding a patient of his. She told him of her encounter with the elderly woman in the elevator and he agreed that he would talk with his patient about the medications. Two weeks later, Erika paid a visit to Dr. Reed’s office, dropping off samples of the medications that the older lady had requested. She only had two of the three medications, but it was better than nothing. When she left the building, she felt like she had really done something useful and so she went out and treated herself to dinner at her favorite Mexican restaurant. Dr. Reed had been pretty easy to talk to and he had agreed to pass on samples to those patients in his practice who might benefit from the drugs. Satisfied that she had done the right thing, she ate her dinner and then went home to prepare for work the next day.
As was her usual ritual, she put her suitcase and materials by the door so that she would be ready to start early in the morning. She set up her coffee pot to brew at 5:30 a.m. and then set her alarm clock to wake her at 5:45 a.m. Generally, she got up and showered before having coffee. She grabbed a cup to go and then headed out to the garage with her briefcase and samples. She usually ran into the same few people in the morning on her way to work. The neighbor, Essie Holtz was usually out walking her little dog in the courtyard. Her husband, Mr. Holtz was usually headed to his car at the same time as Erika. He often offered to help her with her bags and she usually refused. There was also Mrs. Taylor who lived across the street from the apartment building. She was usually up sitting on her porch waiting for the newspaper delivery boy.
On this day in particular, Mr. Holtz wasn’t heading to his car. Erika noticed that Mrs. Holtz wasn’t out walking the dog either. Mrs. Taylor said hello to Erika and waved her over. She told her that Mrs. Holtz had been rushed to the hospital last evening and that Mr. Holtz hadn’t yet come home. Erika told Mrs. Taylor to let her know if anything else happened while she was at work today. She wasn’t terribly close to her neighbors, but she felt terrible hearing of Mrs. Holtz’s illness.
Exactly one week later, Erika heard that Mrs. Holtz had passed away. As it turned out, she’d suffered from a severe heart attack and the doctors hadn’t been able to help her. She hadn’t been taking her medication because her husband’s insurance had run out after he’d retired from his job three months earlier. Erika went to work feeling depressed and just plain disgusted at losing her neighbor. She berated herself for not having been a better friend to the Holtz’s and for not checking with Mrs. Holtz to make sure she’d had everything she needed. She could have gotten her some medication if only she’d have asked.
The day didn’t improve much when Erika encountered the same old lady in the elevator she had met last week coming from Dr. Reed’s office. The old lady didn’t speak to her this time and Erika felt an uncomfortable silence as the elevator moved slowly down towards the lobby of the building. Feeling obligated to check, she turned to the older lady and asked her, “Were you able to get your samples from Dr. Reed?”
The old lady gave her a sharp look and then said, “He’s never offered me any samples, you probably didn’t even give them to him.” She didn’t say anything else to Erika and when the elevator doors opened, she shuffled past Erika and out the front doors of the building without looking back. She got into a car that was waiting by the entrance to the building. Stung by the exchange, Erika stood there in the elevator as the doors closed again. She waited for a moment and then pushed the button for the lobby so that the doors would open again. When they opened, she was staring down the barrel of a gun. Without a word, the person behind the gun fired and Erika’s lifeless body dropped to the floor.
The police were at the building within minutes and the investigation was on. They spoke with everyone in the building and got a list of everyone who had come and gone within the last two hours. They also got the security camera’s videotape for the lobby area. The whole thing was just bizarre and ask Detective Mathis was finding out, there was absolutely no reason for something like this to have happened. Erika was well-liked by all of the doctors and their office staff. She was generous and had a great personality. She wasn’t overbearing and she seemed to genuinely care about the work she was doing.
“It was as if she hoped she was making a difference,” said Nancy Atherton, the receptionist at Dr. Powell’s office. She cried as she spoke to the police, wiping her tears as she spoke of Erika’s visits to their practice.
Another receptionist, Judy Cook said, “I can’t imagine who would want to hurt someone like Erika.”
The building was shut down for the day while the crime scene was investigated. It was a Friday, so they had the weekend to try and figure out what had happened before people started coming back through on Monday.
What do you think? Who was this elderly woman? Did she have anything at all to do with Erika’s murder? If not, then who killed her? Take a shot! You could win a $10 gift card! Send in your guess by Friday at 5 p.m. EST!
Friday, January 25, 2008
BB's Mini-Mystery #3 Solved!
Congratulations to Tami Williams of Phoenix, AZ! She figured it all out! She's got a $10 gift card coming her way!
Here's what happened:
The investigation showed that there were three sets of fingerprints at the crime scene. Darnell, Betsy’s and another set. The third set belonged to Sally Metzger. As it unfolded, Sally broke down during the interrogation. Her sister, Beverly Whitford, had killed herself earlier in the year after breaking up with her boyfriend. Her boyfriend was Darnell Wooten and he had broken her heart. Sally decided to play a game with Darnell.
Darnell had already told the others that he would lock up when Sally arrived. They had gone home leaving him and Sally alone in the gym. He had called Betsy while Sally was there listening and when he had finished the conversation, she had whispered something in his ear that had driven him crazy. She lured him into the weight room that night with empty promises of a passionate interlude. Once they were in the weight room and he had laid down on the weight bench, she had injected him with a drug that had caused him to lose consciousness. This she had gotten from her friend, a young doctor whom Darnell had also dated.
As he drifted into unconsciousness, she placed a set of barbells across his throat and began to add weights to either side until she was sure that they were crushing his windpipe. She heard something out front and quietly slipped out of the weight room and hid behind the counter. She saw Betsy heading for the weight room and made her move. By the time she was in her car, Betsy had discovered Darnell.
Unfortunately for Sally, she had been so blinded by the need for revenge; she hadn’t taken the necessary precautions to keep from being identified. She hadn’t worn gloves because it hadn’t occurred to her that they wipe down all of the barbells each evening. She had been too focused on making Darnell pay for her sister’s death. Such is the fury of a woman scorned.
The next Mini-Mystery will be posted on Monday, January 28th! Make sure you check back with us!
Monday, January 21, 2008
BB's Mini-Mystery #3
Dead Weight
By Rebecca Benston
Darnell Wooten worked at a local fitness center. He was a personal trainer and was fairly well-liked by his co-workers and clients. Maybe, a little too well-liked by some. He had plans to get a degree in Physical Therapy and go to work for a rehabilitation center. He was just three classes away from graduation when he was found dead in the gym’s weight room.
Three months prior, Darnell’s clients included a doctor, a college football player, assorted college cheerleaders and the occasional housewife. The nearby university sent plenty of business his way. It had been rumored that Darnell played the field and that he often became romantically involved with his clients. Although he was generally discreet, he’d had his share of confrontations with angry boyfriends and even husbands.
He had been dating a local cheerleader named Betsy Jantzen for the past six months. Before that, he had spent some quality time with the wife of a local attorney. Before that, he had befriended a shy, young art student, Beverly Whitford and a waitress, Darla Hughes, who frequented the gym. Both of whom he dumped without explanation and both of whom were devastated by the breakups.
On one evening, his girlfriend Betsy stopped by to see if he would like to meet her for dinner later. She just happened to see him locked in an embrace with a fellow trainer, Tandi Gershwin. She walked over to him, tapped him on the shoulder and then stood there until he turned around. He broke free from Tandi and when he turned around, he said, “Betsy, hey, what are you doing here?”
“The better question is what the hell are you doing here?” she snapped. Tandi backed up a step and turned to lean against the counter.
Darnell grabbed Betsy’s hand and walked her away from where they had been standing. “Hey, Tandi’s grandmother passed away, I was just consoling her. She’s upset.” He was smooth and he had a million excuses ready to use at any time. He just hoped that she hadn’t been there a few minutes before the hug when he had been flirting and snapping at the straps on Tandi’s leotard.
She thought for a moment and then seemed to be okay with what he had said. She asked him about their dinner plans and then went on her merry way, turning to wave at Tandi on her way out. When Betsy had left the parking lot, Darnell went back to Tandi and told her that Betsy was under a lot of stress and that she had just overreacted. Tandi didn’t really care because she had a boyfriend and considered this to be just harmless flirtation. Nonetheless, she agreed to meet with Darnell later that evening after he had dinner with his family.
This is how Darnell got through the days. He juggled relationships and made sure everyone thought he was the good guy. In reality, he was a cheater, a liar and a hopeless jerk. Darnell eventually met his match in a woman named Sally Metzger. She was an attractive, albeit overweight, mother of two who came into the gym to work on losing the extra pounds she had gained after her second child was born. She worked with Darnell for close to three months and had made great progress, losing a whopping thirty pounds. By the time she was ready to tell Darnell she no longer needed his services, he had started to notice that she was looking pretty good. The prospect of a new conquest loomed large in his mind. He decided to make his move.
On their regular rotation, Sally was to do a variety of floor exercises and follow it up with nautilus. She was just getting up from doing a series of push ups when Darnell gave her a pat on the rear end. She looked around at him and said, “What was that?” She wasn’t angry; in fact, she had been smiling when she said it.
“Oh, nothing,” he said, “I’m sorry, my hand must have slipped.”
They exchanged a few comments and then agreed that he should come and have a drink with her later. She wasn’t married and she had a babysitter for the evening. The met as planned and from there, the affair began. She was, by far, the most intriguing woman Darnell had ever pursued. She was smart and now, after losing the weight, he found her to be amazingly attractive. After a couple of weeks, he decided that he was going to go ahead and dump his girlfriend Betsy. He had only been stringing her along in case things didn’t go well with Sally. He decided to call her and tell her on a Thursday evening.
Betsy picked up the phone on the third ring and said, “Hello.”
“Betsy, hey, it’s me,” he said.
“Hey, I wasn’t expecting to hear from you today,” she said, sounding pleasantly surprised.
“Yeah, well, I wanted to call and talk to you,” he said, “I’ve been doing some thinking.”
“About what?” she asked, puzzled at the serious tone in his voice.
“Well, I’ve been thinking that this just isn’t working out, you know,” he said.
“What isn’t working out?” she asked.
“Us, dating, it’s not been going the way I wanted it to,” he said, “and I really don’t want to drag it out any longer.”
“Drag it out!” she shrieked.
“That’s what I mean, you’re too moody for me and I just don’t feel like we’ll ever get past it,” he said, still maintaining a calm demeanor, “I just want to call it quits and move on. I do wish you the best.”
“Now wait a minute…” she was saying and then she heard the dial tone. He had hung up on her. He had broken up with her over the telephone and then topped it all off by hanging up on her before she could respond. She was furious. She hung up the phone and then grabbed her coat and purse from the wall hook on her way out the door. She wasn’t going to let him get away with this. When she got into her car, she drove straight over to the gym. He had called her from work, so she knew he would still be there. It was almost closing time and there were only a few cars in the parking lot, none of them familiar to her.
She slipped into the gym unnoticed. No one was at the counter and it appeared that the place was nearly empty. She could hear the sound of weights clanging in the weight room so she decided to head in that direction. He was probably back there trying to impress Tandi with his bench pressing. When she got to the doorway of the weight room, she looked inside and started to say, “Don’t bother trying to impress her…”
Before she could get the words out, she gasped at the sight before her. Darnell was lying on the weight bench with a heavy barbell resting on his neck. He wasn’t moving and when she went over to try and lift it off of him; she couldn’t even move the thing. She ran out to the counter to find help, but there was no one around. The lights had been turned off and it looked like someone had shut the place down at the same moment she had discovered Darnell. She picked up the phone on the counter and dialed 9-1-1. When the paramedics arrived, they pronounced Darnell dead at the scene. Betsy was taken into custody by the police and an investigation ensued…
Who killed Darnell? Why? Think you can figure it all out? Send your guess to me by Friday at 5 p.m. EST. I’ll announce the winner on Friday night!
Good luck!
Saturday, January 19, 2008
BB's Mini-Mystery #2 Winner?
Here’s what happened:
Standing behind the gun was Regina, Westmiller’s wife. She had long suspected Westmiller was having an affair with someone, but she wasn’t sure who. He spent many nights out without so much as a phone call. He talked incessantly about his friend Art and seemed way too interested in what he was doing every evening. She had followed him on several occasions and found him leaving board meetings only to visit Art at his home. She knew that Art was single and that he was a little on the eccentric side, though she had never pegged him as a homosexual. She had changed her mind about this when she intercepted an e-mail message that Art had sent to her husband earlier in the week. The message had said, “I’ve got something for you and I think you’re going to like it.” Mistaking this cryptic message for something flirtatious instead of what it had actually been, a message about the money the two were embezzling, she began planning her revenge.
First, she had paid a homeless man to call the house and threaten her husband. She figured she might be able to scare him into spending less time with his friend by making him think that he was suspected of impropriety. She hadn’t actually known that he was trying to take money; it was just something she had made up. When that didn’t seem to work, she had sent him the package with the dead snake hoping that he would be so creeped out that he would confide in her. He hadn’t. Instead, he hadn’t even mentioned it when he had called her that day. He had called her after his board meeting to say that he wouldn’t be home until late. He had some things to take care of at the office.
She was overcome by rage and decided that she would go to Art’s house and confront him. She expected to find her husband there, but when she arrived, she found Art dead on the floor. She had hurried out of the house and back to her car, driving away quickly to avoid being spotted. On the way out back to her house, she passed Thornton. He was headed toward Art’s house. She had been right about the two of them, she thought to herself as she turned around and headed right back to Art’s house. She pulled the dainty little gun she kept for self-defense out of her glove box and headed into the house. She saw Thorn standing over Art’s computer, phone in hand. She didn’t even give him a chance to explain. She shot him…three times…in the heart.
When the police came, Regina was standing in the hallway. The gun had dropped to her feet after she’d fired the shots. The police quickly handcuffed her and hauled her away. Upon closer investigation, they found that she was only responsible for one of the murders. Coughley had been killed by someone else entirely. Further investigation and an eye witness produced a suspect almost immediately. Mr. Chandler, the Mayfield Family Shelter director had been so enraged by Westmiller’s report that the estate money from Mr. Thompson wasn’t going to be what they expected that he had gone directly to Coughley’s home after the meeting and the two of them had exchanged words. Things had gotten heated and Mr. Chandler had stabbed him, killing him instantly.
Not exactly a professional exchange, but money has a strange effect on some people. Standing there in Coughley’s opulent home, Chandler thought about his humble apartment and his measly $30,000 per year salary as shelter director. He looked around at all of the fine things that Coughley had afforded by shuffling money around and his jealousy overtook him. Before he knew it, the knife was in Coughley’s chest and he had blood on his hands. He took off, hoping that he hadn’t been seen. Unfortunately for Chandler, a homeless man had been hanging around the neighborhood checking the trash cans for things he could resell. He saw everyone that came and went that night and he went straight to the police.
Keep watching for next week’s Mini-Mystery! It’ll be posted on Monday, January 21st.
Friday, January 11, 2008
BB's Mini-Mystery #1-Winner!
Here's the rest of the story:
Marla set the fire at the sanctuary. She called Mrs. McInrude in to talk with her about the vote and while Mrs. McInrude wasn’t looking, she turned out the lights and set the fire! Mrs. McInrude perished in the fire. It was Marla who called in to say she was sick, pretending to be Mrs. McInrude.
Marla was having an affair with Dr. Ballast and the two of them boarded a plane shortly after the board meeting where they voted to sell the property. The reason for this: Dr. Ballast was in cahoots with the contractor. He was playing the role of the lone holdout on the vote to make things look good. Actually, the contractor was paying the doctor to make sure the vote went the way it did. The fire was a bonus. Dr. Ballast had no idea the lengths that Marla would go to show him her love. She reinforced the deal by destroying the property and helping him to save face in the community. After all, it was the Margaret Ballast Memorial Bird Sanctuary and how would it look if he was willing to sell the property that he developed in his wife’s memory?
The two were never found and are currently enjoying a relaxing and decadent lifestyle in the Spain where they work as volunteers in local bird sanctuary.
Conda's guess was the only one that correctly identified the real killer! Great job! Thanks to everyone for your guesses. I look forward to reading next week's!
It's only going to get better, folks so keep watching for the next Mini-Mystery to be posted on Monday, January 14th.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Things are going to start happening to me now...
or maybe not. All the same, I've got several irons in the fire. For one, I have a story that is being published in a new horror anthology in February of 2008 called From the Shadows. That's the name of the anthology, my story is called, Eleven. I think it turned out nicely and I'm anxious to see if horror fans will enjoy it. You can pre-order your copy now by going to http://www.triadpublishinggroup.com.
For my mystery fans out there, I'm still hard at work on the third Rona Shively story. Title to be announced soon!
I'm also still working on the women's self-esteem project, Reaching Higher Ground. I think I will have most of this finished by the end of the year. I had hoped for an earlier launch, however, things happen and sometimes you just have to adapt. ;)
In case you haven't been to my websites lately, I have recently updated all of them to include a link to my newest page for my short romance, Hearts and Flowers. Hearts and Flowers was published several months ago as an Amazon Short and I only recently started thinking that maybe I should have given it its own web page. The story is very sweet and so unlike me, but I think its heartwarming tone is just right for the season. If you get a chance, check it out at http://www.alittleromance.homestead.com. I've posted a sneak peek at the story in hopes of selling copies of the entire download for a whopping $.49 on Amazon Shorts!
All of this while battling the cold that will not die! I seem to have picked up the worst little case of congestion and sinus pressure in my brief history. Bear with me as I try to think clearly through the fog of antihistamines and headache medicine. I promise, once this sinus pressure eases up, I'll have something truly interesting to tell you.
Until next time...
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Third time's a charm
At least that's what I'm hoping. I'm about a third of the way through writing the third installment in the Rona Shively series. That's alot of three's. It is not without some amusement that I recognize now how my birth number "3" and my date of birth, 8/3, and my daughter's age (3) and so on and so forth all tie into this weird vibe I'm getting as I write. I am a believer in signs and fate and all that good stuff. So, for me, the symbolism being played out by the number "3" is a motivator. It led me to this...
A Little Bit of Mystery: Short Mysteries to Confuse and Amuse
