Sexy Christmas Greetings!

Making up stories is half the fun of writing them! And I'm not ashamed to say I write sexy werewolf sagas and love to dig up pictures of sexy werewolf men--yes, he truly is a wolf in disguise, how else do you think he got tangled up in the Christmas lights while he was helping me set up the Christmas tree?

So here is the story: You know humans can howl like wolves, or at least to their own ears, but did you know that wolves actually will come to them?

I needed a little help untangling Christmas lights. Don't we all? I think, other than trying to locate the rest of the tree branches and the top of the tree, that's what is most time-consuming, and unless you have a lot of time and lots more patience, the most exasperating. Unless of course you're imbibing in Christmas cheer. And then your lights could become even more tangled. Or, you might skip them all together. But what are Christmas decorations without a few sparkly lights?

The next best thing is to call for help. I'm not giving away the secret of which wolf he is--could be Darien or his brothers, Jake or Tom, or Hunter, Leidolf, or Chester. Or any one of the other wolfish guys. It's really your guess.

But when I howled for help, two showed up. I'm pretty sure. I was in the kitchen making turkey sandwiches, so I figured it had to have been two of them. How else could my wolf have gotten into the mess he was in? The trickster had done it for a joke, then shifted and took off, leaving my poor guy tangled in the lights. At least I think so. Just as I walked into the room with a platter of sandwiches, I caught him shapeshifting into his gorgeous hunk of a self. I quickly ditched the platter and snapped a shot.

For posterity sake. It's important to have visual stimuli while I'm working on my stories. But I couldn't reveal his face--secret society, you see.

We did get the lights untangled and on the tree. It's beautiful. And though I really hate to give him up to anyone, he's a wolf at heart, you know. So he has to return to his pack, but he said he'd help anyone else with their lights this year if anyone needs his help. Add a devilish wink here, and he's all yours.

A show of hands, ladies? If we have a lot, we'll have to make a schedule! :)

I have to say, too, that Seduced by the Wolf is now listed on Amazon! Somehow it seems real when a new book is listed for pre-order!

Happy Holidays!!!

Terry

"Giving new meaning to the term alpha male--where men are wolves at heart!"

www.terryspear.com

Time for a Barbecue

He'd told her not to go into the canyon by herself! But did she listen? No! The damn woman would be the death of him yet.

As he neared the edge of the ledge he heard sounds that he knew he'd still remember to his dying day. He slowly peered over the edge and found what he had hoped was legend instead of fact. The fact was like something out of nightmare.

Megan's back was pressed against the canyon wall while four ungodly creatures fanned out in a semicircle, cutting off any hope of escape. Ugly didn't even begin to describe what he saw. From this high up he could only hazard a guess as to size, but they couldn't be more than five feet tall to Megan's 5'6".

Under the moonlit sky, the coarse fur on their scrawny bow-backed bodies appeared to be a silvery black and their rough-skinned faces looked like a mutant abomination you'd see in a zoo of horrors. Nothing nastier than chupacabras.

What worried him the most was the razor-sharp claws they extended toward Megan. One swipe of those claws could split her open like a melon. He wouldn't be surprised if the spiky spines tracking down their backs were just as nasty.

It wasn't just the rotting meat smell that came off them that sent bile rolling up his throat. The idea of what they could do to her before he had time to intervene scared the spit out of him. He noted that Megan's face was contorted in a frozen mask of fear as she faced down the monsters.He had to give her credit for staying put and not trying to run for it. He sensed they were toying with her as a cat toyed with a mouse before pouncing. He didn't want to think what they'd do once they grew bored with their victim.

He knew he had to move and move fast. Moving backward quietly and making sure not to dislodge any pebbles, he made his way back to their back packs.

He rummaged through them and found what he was looking for then made his way back to the edge. He looked down and in a split second he saw Megan's face turn upward. Not by a flicker of an eyelash did she betray his presence. He shot her a quick reassuring grin.

"Rock and roll," he whispered, as he tossed the rope over the edge and rappelled down the canyon wall. The minute his boots hit the earthen floor, the creatures turned as one and hissed a strident warning at the unwelcome intruder before two of them advanced his way.

He grinned as his adrenaline hit a new high.

"Hey, guys, welcome to the barbecue," he shouted as he set off the four phosphorous flares and tossed one at each creature. The animals ignited in a blinding light. If the hissing was bad on the ears, their screams of agony were even worse.

Megan covered her nose as the smell of burning meat filled the air. "If this is your idea of a barbecue I am so glad I'm a vegetarian!" she shouted back at him as she ran around the burning animals and leaped into his arms.

Fluff and Puff Take on Black Friday

“Why couldn’t we stay home?” Puff whined from his spot in Jazz’s Marc Jacobs pink leather tote, as she wove her way through the hordes of people that pushed around Jazz.

“Because you might come in handy.” Jazz had the grim determination you only saw one day a year. The day after Thanksgiving when serious shoppers came out to do their holiday shopping. She was there armed with credit cards, ready to do what it took to get all her shopping out of the way.

Fluff’s ears curved over the top of the bag, then his eyes peeped over, widening at the mob around them. “I’m going back to the car.”

Jazz tightened her hold on the bag. “No, you’re not.” She pushed her way into Nordstrom on the quest for the perfect gifts. It wasn’t long before she found a leather jacket for Nick, an even cuter leather jacket for herself, sweaters for Stasi and Blair, a wrap for Thea and she was still going strong.

“I want a pretzel,” Puff demanded.

“Later.” Jazz’s gaze narrowed as she spied a plum silk top across the store. She made her way there, but someone else saw the top too and there was only the one. “Create a diversion. Trip her,” she muttered, unceremoniously dumping them out of her bag.

“Pretzel,” Puff reminded her.

“Yeah, yeah.” But her mind was on the prize. The slippers growled their way among the shoppers, who tended to stay out of their way, yet not one screamed or fainted as their magick protected them.

Jazz remained behind them, watching the woman destined to lose the top, because IT WAS HERS. She started to throw out a freeze spell, but she made a promise not to use magick when shopping. Sigh! She quickened her steps and practically slid across the floor reaching out for the top the same time as the other woman.

“I believe this is mine,” the woman said frostily, practically jerking Jazz off her feet as she pulled on the hanger.

“I was here first.” Jazz was happy to see that Fluff and Puff were on either side of her new enemy. She wanted this top, damn it!

Just then the woman yelped and released the hanger.

Puff slid back, looking proud of himself. “Now I get my pretzel.”

“After I finish my shopping.” Jazz glared at the woman who looked ready to pitch into her. “Not getting this top isn’t the end of the world,” she told her before she walked off.

“Pretzel!” Puff raised his voice.

“You promised!” Fluff added his two cents.

“Give it a rest. I said I’ll get you guys pretzels after I finish here. Oooh, pretty!” She squeaked to a stop by a large rack of silk dresses.

Fluff and Puff didn’t say another word, but sulked big time as Jazz finished her shopping in the store and added more large shopping bags to her arms.

As she exited the store, alarms went off big time.

“What the –“ Jazz looked around to see who’d set off the security alarm when a hulkish type man came up to her.

“If you’ll come with me, ma’am,” he said quietly, taking her arm in a hold that said to come with him or else.

“What’s the problem?” She so wanted to zap him good, but she knew it wouldn’t be a good idea.

“We believe you have items you haven’t paid for.” He steered her toward the offices.

“Oh believe me, I paid for everything and have the receipts and depleted charge card to show for it.” If she wasn’t on probation with the Witches Council, she would have used a spell to get out of there without any fuss, but she knew the man was wrong and there was nothing she loved more than showing a man he was wrong. “So what exactly didn’t I pay for?”

Once in the office, she set her shopping bags down and looked the part of a disgruntled shopper. After all, she had more sales to plunder! More gifts to buy! And there was that gorgeous dress she saw in the paper that she knew would be perfect on her.

The security officer reached into one bag and pulled out two fluffy items.

Jazz stared at Fluff and Puff and laughed. “Are you kidding me? They’re mine. I brought them with me for when my feet get tired.” She gestured with her stiletto boots.

“Sure, lady. We all don’t believe in taking the price tags off our own items.” He dropped them on the desk, where, damn them, they didn’t move an inch and acted as if they were literal footwear, and picked up a phone. “And we have zero tolerance against shoplifters here.”

Jazz picked them up, gasped at the fifty-dollar price tag and glared at them hard enough to cause steam to come out of her ears. “You little shits,” she gritted. “You reveal yourselves now.” Nothing.

The guard shook his head and picked up the phone.

Ten minutes later, Jazz was escorted out of the office by a police officer. When she glanced over her shoulder at the slippers still lying on the desk, she saw Puff slowly close one eye in a wink and mouth the word pretzel.

So a word of warning.

If you’re at the mall and see bunny slippers, have a pretzel ready. They prefer the cinnamon sugar ones.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

The CasaBabes are taking the day off so that those of us here in the States can enjoy the holiday with our families.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING to all our readers who celebrate today.

And HAPPY HOLIDAYS to all our readers!

All of us here on the Casablanca Authors blog are truly THANKFUL for ALL OF YOU!

On being thankful....

There are many things in this world I am thankful for. I have a wonderful, loving husband, healthy children, terrific friends, a comfortable home, and a good job. My tastes and needs are pretty simple, though, so, on the whole, it doesn't take much to keep me satisfied. There were times I couldn't say that, but it's different now.

When asked what I want for Christmas these days, I'm hard-pressed to come up with a reply. Back when I was getting into the horse business, there was always something I wanted--a new saddle or other barn item. I would pick up a horse supply catalog and go through it, marking pages and circling items and then hand it to my DH who was very pleased to have a list to follow.

This year, I circled a few items that need replacing, but there isn't anything I'll be excited about, and most are things I could just as easily have bought for myself. That's the problem with material things; all you need is the money to pay for them, and if I have learned one thing in this life, it's that getting that saddle or diamond ring or whatever it is you think you want won't provide lasting happiness.

Perhaps it's something that comes with age, but more and more I'm beginning to realize the truth of that old saying about the best things in life being free. Material things matter less to me each year, while the intangibles have increased in value. Emails from readers cost nothing, but mean so much. Smiles from your friends can make a really rotten day seem brighter, and being with your loved ones on Thanksgiving can make all that's wrong with the world disappear for a while.

My son Mike will be home from Purdue for Thanksgiving, and he posted this on Facebook recently:

I wonder if it would be considered ironic that I am thankful for Thanksgiving itself. I am thankful for the holiday where we think about what we're thankful for.

This makes me wonder how it would be if we didn't have a holiday to make us stop and consider. Would we ever count our blessings, or would it be something that was simply overlooked from year to year? I'd like to think we would take the time, but perhaps not.

This year, in addition to those things I listed earlier, I've made many new friends through this crazy publishing game. I've been places I never would have seen, met people I never would have known, and done things I didn't think I was capable of. For all of this, I am truly thankful.

Eye candy is another one of those intangibles that bring joy to our lives. It's not something you can taste or possess, but is one of those natural wonders that cost nothing and are so good for the soul. Sort of like gazing out across the Grand Canyon.






















So, go ahead. Take a good, long look.

And be thankful.

How We Find The Books We Publish

posted by Deb Werksman

(The following numbers are one season from one editor--probably not statistically significant, but interesting nonetheless)

Out of curiosity, and because we love data so much, I decided to take a look at one season of my list and analyze how we had found the books we acquired to publish for that season.

There are 36 fiction titles on my list in that season.

11 of these came to us through submissions from agents

10 were submitted directly by the author
Of this 10
*2 of the authors had an agent already
*3 signed an agent after we made our offer

15 are books that we pursued by contacting the agent or author ourselves
Of this 15:
*3 who were unagented when we approached them, signed an agent after we made our offer

Of all 36 books on the list, 4 had been previously self-published with sales of about 1000 copies or more. They were available from on-line retailers as well as by ordering from the major book retailers.

I receive 200-250 submissions per month. I would estimate that 60% of the submissions come from agents, and the rest directly from authors.

I have never, in 16 years of acquisitions, acquired a book for mainstream publishing that had been vanity-published.

What I'm looking for:

• single title romance fiction in all subgenres
• a heroine the reader can relate to
• a hero she can fall in love with
• a world gets created
• the author has a career arc

Also seeking:

• commercial women's fic (strong romantic element, unusual premise and great hook!),
• historical fic (Regency, Georgian, Victorian England my faves),
  
• Jane Austen related fic (oh yeah!)

HAVE A GREAT HOLIDAY!

Cleaning Up My Act

by Libby Malin
www.LibbysBooks.com

So it came to this -- I cleaned my office. I can hardly believe it. No stacks of stuff sitting around the floor. No piles of papers waiting to be shredded. I can actually see the surface of my desk.

I'm lucky enough to have a home office, a room on the second floor of our house that overlooks our back yard. In the spring and summer, I get to watch as robins, finches, and blue jays cavort at the bird bath (those robins are territorial, let me tell ya) while I write.

While the landscape outside is pastoral, for a long time the scene inside has resembled the aftermath of a natural disaster. My office is small, with just enough room to fit a desk and table comfortably (and a cot when our house explodes with guests at holiday visits). It used to hold a gigantic filing cabinet, but that's gone due to my cleaning purge.

For a long time (too long to admit to!), I put off this cleaning project. I'm one of those people who can write in the midst of chaos. In fact, sometimes chaos feeds my muse. All those papers around, all those pens, books, newspaper clippings. . . . and here I am in the middle of that tempestuous sea, calm and focused, putting words on the screen in an orderly fashion. I could carve out this one tiny space of order amid the ruins, and dagnabit, I'd hang onto it with all my might!

Every once in awhile, however, the mess would mess me up. I'd get this itch to see it all clean and tidy. I'd wonder what germs lingered in the dust bunnies under my desk. I'd think "ewwww" before I could get to the "ahhh" of creating something on the page.

So I'd do at least some perfunctory cleaning, enough to make me feel I was on Step One of a multi-phase project that was, after all, trending in the right direction (uh, that direction being up a steep hill). Muse unfettered, I'd be able to sit at the computer and write again.

Well, all this mind-game stuff came to an end when I decided to analyze what kept me from cleaning the place thoroughly, what was the mental block holding me back. It turned out to be an easy answer--I just didn't have places to put things. The big filing cabinet was useless--its drawers would stick and I never did find the right hanging file frames for it. So it had to be jettisoned. So did a bunch of outdated files.

It took me a week, as I worked each storage problem--making new files, finding room for them in a file cabinet that actually works in a closet, organizing office supplies, arranging books on shelves, etc. But, man oh man, does it feel good to finally have it done. A place for everything, and everything in its place!

Okay, so how does this relate to writing? Just as I stalled on cleaning, I sometimes stall on writing. Yes, I can manage to work past the stall, but it's an arduous process (imagine pushing a rock up the aforementioned steep hill) as I push this way and that, keeping plot and characters moving but not addressing some underlying problem.

Eventually, I have to address whatever the problem is, though -- the root of my stall. Usually, it involves a character who is doing something not true to the characterization I've drawn. Then I step back and ask myself: okay, what would she really do in this circumstance? The answer is usually something different from what I've put on the page as I pushed up the hill.

Sure, these discoveries might mean going back and rewriting, jettisoning scenes with the same cold calculation I used to get rid of that enormous but useless filing cabinet. In the end, however, I'm dealing with a much better manuscript--all neat and tidy, just like my office! :-)

Collections

By Robin Kaye

I’ve been an avid collector of two things for as long as I can remember—Books and music. I’ve kept them with me all my life though seven states, and 35+ moves.

When I was younger, I could name every move, in order, and I could have given you the street address too. I’m not sure I’d be able to remember my every move now, but when an old song comes on the radio, or the iPod, I can tell you where I lived when it was popular. It’s the same with books.

I know I lived in Mount Laurel, NJ the year Elton John’s Philadelphia Freedom was all the rage and read Judy Blume’s Forever and Louis Nizer’s Reflections Without Mirrors.

I lived in Reston, VA when a friend of my mother’s let me hang out at her apartment and read her prized collection of Wizard Of Oz books in exchange for walking her dog every day after school. That was the same year the songs Wildfire and Shannon brought tears to my eyes along with the book, Watership Downs.

I read JRR Tolkein’s The Hobbit and Jeffrey Archer’s Not A Penny More, Not A Penny Less one of the summers I spent in Westhampton Beach, Long Island while tapping my foot to Billy Joel She’s always A Woman To Me.

I lived in Mountain Lakes, NJ when I first heard Elvis Costello sing about Watching The Detectives, and read The Thorn Birds in one sitting. It was also about that time I got in trouble for reading The Carpetbaggers and A Stone For Danny Fisher during my Harold Robbins phase.

Keeping my favorite books and music close to me has always been so important because wherever they were was home.

A year ago, my DH moved our storage from one room to another--this happens quite often when you’re restoring a hundred year old Victorian. Every time DH faces this task, everything I’ve loved and saved for years is in jeopardy of going the way of the dumpster. I became a victim of Get-rid-of-this-stuff-because-I-refuse-to-move-it-again syndrome. This time my entire record collection was placed on the chopping block. I refused to consider taking it to the big turntable in the sky and I’m so happy I’m more stubborn than he is.

Yesterday, during my weekly shopping jaunt to Costco, I spied something I haven’t seen in years. I swear I heard the angels sing—though it might have been Jim Morrison. There before me was a turntable! Yes, you’re not seeing things. It was a real, honest to God turntable that connects to a computer and records/downloads records (both 45’s and 33’s) to iTunes!

Last night, I opened my box of albums and found my family history. There was my grandparents’ operas and their Italian comedy album, Pepino the Italian Mouse. A BJ Thomas album that I’m sure was one of my parents’. The first Sesame Street Album that contained my favorite song on the show-- Oscar’s I Love Trash. I walked down memory lane through my southern rock phase, my hard rock phase; my jazz phase, and sadly, a short and very painful disco phase. I found everything from James Taylor to Tubular Bells, Bradford Marsalis to Gilbert and Sullivan. On my bookshelves and in that box of albums, I have a musical and reading history of my life—The good, the bad, and the disco. No matter where I was, I always had a book to read and good music to listen to. I’m a very lucky person.

What’s on your bookshelf and on your iPod?

What Are You Thankful For?

The holidays are coming, the holidays are coming!

Um… yay?

The moment Halloween ends, we get inundated with Christmas. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love Christmas. I love December. I love the whole deck-the-halls thing. Peace and goodwill. December, for all the holiday-shopping craziness, always seems like a “soft” month to me: mittens and scarves, hugs, warm hot chocolate, snow…

Back in the day, (i.e. the Dark Ages) we used to have snow all winter. I could make snowmen in December. The nights got dark early. It was cold, and we all cuddled up in our down jackets that made us look like the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man or the Micheline Man. Remember the plastic bread bags we put over our socks before putting on our boots to go out in the snow—which ensured you’d end up with frostbite from all the sweating your feet did in them. That scene in A Christmas Story where Ralphy can barely walk for all the “huddled up”-ness cracks me up.

That was the December of my childhood and I loved it, and still do even though snow is now more of a gift than a common occurrence.

But it’s NOVEMBER. One of the best holidays is in November and we’re in major danger of covering it under a pile of gifts and wrapping paper.

I love Thanksgiving. It’s my holiday to cook in our family. Everyone comes to our house. I get up early—although, due to Reynolds’ oven bags, I no longer have to get up before the crack of dawn to “get the bird in the oven” thank God—but I do get up early to make the stuffing (takes me about an hour). My husband helps get those ingredients ready, my kids help me make the desserts the day before, we turn the parade on on TV, and we have a nice time as a family.

Then, with the bird cooking, we set out the Scrabble game, the chess board, put the extra chairs in the family room, turn on a football game (or six), and welcome the rest of the family.

We also celebrate three birthdays. This year, my husband’s is on Thanksgiving day, and one of my kid’s and my grandmother’s all fall around the same time. (Which means we add yet another cake to the celebration, usually an ice cream one.)

I like Thanksgiving and, frankly, I’m rather annoyed when the Christmas decorations start showing up in the mall, or on streetlights in town.

The radio stations that play Christmas music could hold off one more week. The Friday after Thanksgiving used to be the traditional start to the Christmas season—whatever happened to that?

Why does Thanksgiving have to be the shuttled-aside holiday? It’s a celebration of peace—we’re giving thanks. There will be time enough for Christmas-crazies starting on Friday, but I like to take Thanksgiving as a day to slow down, spend time with my family and appreciate all that we have, both personally and as a country.

And on Friday, I’ll be hitting the stores with all the other crazies out there who have to find the best deal or early bird special. Although, this year, I won’t be shopping. I worked in a toy store the year after Tickle Me Elmo did for toy stores what JK Rowling and Stephenie Meyer are doing for book stores and movies, and I vowed then to NEVER hit the stores on that Friday.

But this year, while people are buying, I’ll be selling. I’ve got five book signings set up at my local stores for my latest release, Wild Blue Under. I figured if people are going to be buying, why can’t they be buying my books?

And that will be something I’m very thankful for.

Happy Holidays, everyone! What’s your favorite?

Here's a picture that cracks me up every time I see it.

Interview With Keirnan Fitzgerald

Sorry to report that I've been sicker than the proverbial dog all week. Too sick to even write a new blog post (which proves I really AM SICK!). So apologies to those of you who may have already read this, but I'm reposting some interview questions with Keirnan Fitzgerald, the hero of my latest release, The Treasures of Venice.

My critique partners, friends, and thus far the readers and reviewers have been very enthusiastic about this charming Irish rogue. They’ve all expressed interest in learning a bit more about him and I thought the readers here might like to know too. (Special thanks to my critique partners Cathy D. and Jo-Mama who helped with some of the questions.)

Hello Keirnan, you have a somewhat unusual name. Is it a family name?

As a matter of fact, it is. I was named for both my grandfathers, Keirnan Fitzgerald and Sean Farley. My sister was also named for our grandmothers, Kathleen Mary, so I guess you could say it’s a family tradition.

In the story The Treasures of Venice, you mention being kicked by a horse as a child. Did you grow up around horses?

Most everyone in County Kildare does. All the finest Irish thoroughbreds are born and raised there. My father was a trainer on one of the smaller farms.

But you didn’t want to follow in his footsteps?

Ah, no. I saw too much of the more unpleasant aspects of the job growing up to want to spend my life doing it.

How in the world did you go from a horse farm to Venice?

That would be my sister’s doing. She studied there for a semester during her early days at university, and she couldn’t get enough of the place – became a bit obsessed actually. When she moved there to do her graduate studies, I used to visit her on school holidays. Unlike her, I never wanted to live there. America was the place for me, the land of opportunity and pretty girls. First chance I got to go there, I jumped at it and I’ve lived there ever since.

What is it about American women you find so appealing?

Most of them have a fresh-scrubbed look about them that makes them appear to be both innocent and sexy at the same time. And most of them are incredibly direct. No doubt about where you stand. Oh, and most of them also find an Irish accent irresistible. (He gives a knowing smile.)

Back to the storyline of The Treasures of Venice, what would you have done if Samantha hadn’t gone along with you? Did you have a Plan B?

(K. chuckles) Darlin’ I didn’t even have a Plan A! I had that funny feeling on the back of my neck that I get when I’m being watched or followed. I saw a pretty girl sitting alone at a table in Piazza San Marco. I could tell by the way she was dressed that she was American. She looked familiar somehow, so I just walked up to her and took a chance.

It never once occurred to you that she might say no, did it?

(K. shuffles his feet and looks a bit sheepish) I adore the ladies, and most of ‘em adore me, so honestly, no. I didn’t think what I’d do if she refused. Luckily, I didn’t have to worry about it, did I? (His blue eyes gleam and he winks.)

You do have quite an adventurous streak, don’t you? So how many times have you wound up naked in some strange woman’s hotel room?

Don’t ya know a gentleman never kisses and tells? And I am a gentleman.

All right then, what is the most dangerous thing you’ve ever done?

Why fall in love, of course. Nothing’s more dangerous than risking your heart.

One last question, certain people in The Treasures of Venice believe you and Samantha were soul-mates from a previous life. Do you believe you that?

If you had asked me that before I met Samantha, I’d have told you it was all a pile of rubbish. I still think perhaps it might be. But I do believe in true love, and when you meet the one for you, you will know it.

On that lovely note, we’ll end our interview. But if you have any questions for Keirnan, please ask away! Oh, and if you have any questions for me, his creator, I’ll be happy to answer those too.

When you wish upon a star...

I recently had one of my dreams come true. I had wished that some day I might receive a starred review from Publishers Weekly. As many writers know, it’s an honor just to get reviewed by Publishers Weekly. Receiving a starred review is just…unbelievable. So needless to say, when my fabulous publicist at Sourcebooks, Danielle, emailed me to tell me that My Unfair Lady received a starred review from Publishers Weekly, my first response was to email her back and ask, “Are you sure?” (Can you blame me?)

Danielle assured me it was a starred review, and even sent me the link, in case my dazzled mind still couldn’t grasp the truth of it.

http://www.publishersweekly.com/article/CA6703535.html?industryid=47159

My Unfair Lady Kathryne Kennedy. Sourcebooks Casablanca, $6.99 (384p) ISBN 978-1-4022-2990-9

Kennedy (Beneath the Thirteen Moons) delivers a delightfully unusual Victorian romance. Unlike other American heiresses mingling with London society, Arizona railroad heiress Summer Wine Lee isn't looking for a husband or a title. In fact, she's already engaged. She just needs some social polish so she can marry a rich New Yorker. To this end, Summer hires Byron, an impoverished duke who ekes out a living by bringing Prince Albert gossip. Summer is equipped with a free-spirited best friend, a menagerie of abused stray animals and a host of unladylike skills; Byron has a strange stepfamily, a shrinking violet mistress and a murderer determined to do him in. Their chemistry has plenty of humor, and their passion is intense and breathtaking. Full of unexpected period details of cosmetics and hunting, this romance goes against type in a wonderful way. (Dec.)

The thing is, life can hand you so many blows that you can become numb to the fact that, yes, good things can still happen. If you continue to work toward your dreams. For me, I have faced a year of difficult personal challenges, one right after the other. I think the only thing that kept me sane was focusing on the positive aspects in my life, one of which was my writing.

So for anyone reading this whose life has been difficult lately, it might help to know that yes, dreams do come true. Continue focusing on the positives, ignore the negatives, and work toward those things that you have the power to change.

Have you had one of your dreams come true lately? Whether personal or professional, please share it in the comments. I’d like this post to be a positive affirmation of all the good things that happen to people…and that dreams really do come true.

All My Very Best,
Kathryne

A marketing statistic

When I was taking a management course, I learned an interesting statistic.
If you make a customer happy, they'll tell one person. if you anger a customer, they'll tell twelve.

That was twenty years ago. These days with all the social networks, in a matter of moments a disgruntled customer could tell thousands!

What does that mean to authors? To put it succinctly, be nice to your customers...the readers and fans. Since fellow authors are often avid readers, I'd put them on your list also.

I read something on a professional authors' loop recently (like an hour ago) that got me so riled up, I was tempted to tell a dozen people not to buy this woman's books. Of course, I wouldn't twitter it, but I could always secretly hope one of those dozen people would! (evil laugh)

Instead, I'm taking deep breaths and trying to rise above the temptation. I don't want to sink to that level. And if you believe in Karma (which I do) I won't need to do a thing. Chances are if I was insulted, others were too. Perhaps she already lopped off her nose to spite her face.

So, I'll go on my merry way, treating my readers like the intelligent, supportive treasures they are.

Ash