Books We Love Blurbathon featuring Running Scared by Cheryl Wright

Running Scared by Cheryl Wright




Emma Larkin is running for her life - nowhere is safe.



Stalked by her husband's killers, and desperate to protect her young

daughter, Emma must find what the killers are looking for before she

becomes their next victim.



When undercover cop, Gary Bedford, planned a relaxing break, he hadn't

counted on bumping into Emma. Now he can't resist the temptation to

discover all her secrets.



But should Emma trust her life and heart to Gary Bedford?



Can they solve the mystery surrounding her husband's death - and

uncover his deadly secret?



..



"Oh wow. Could not stop reading this. Was on pins and needles through

the entire book . Wonderful story and very well written. Looking

forward to more books by this fantastic writer!" ~ D. Gilman



"A great fast paced light suspense romance captivating the reader in a

plot of many twists and turns. You will not want to put this book down

until the end when all is revealed." ~ Claudia R.



..



Buy Running Scared at:



http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0089I0LQS



Learn more about Cheryl's characters and her books at:

http://www.cheryl-wright.com



And do check back to learn all about Sheila Claydon's books on

February 1st!

Meandering on Monday with Janet Lane Walters #amwriting

I'll be giving a short talk in a week plus at a library branch in a mall. Interesting concept that. My bit is about the state of publishing and how to get published. Years ago - 1968 - I sold my first short story. Markets abounded and I was able to send the story to about 20 places before it was bought. Then the market, the paying one, dried up and I turned to novels. There were many publishers for both mysteries and romances since those where what I was writing at that time. The first romance I sold went out 17 times, only four of these were repeat sends. At that time the publisher wanted the entire mss and the editors also sent sometimes pages of suggestions for making the story better. The novel sold but the greatest thing was the amount of writing advice I'd received. Priceless. I returned to nursing and came back to a whole new world. Not as many publishers and all wanted a query and an partial. Another thing to learn. They publishers began to dwindle and soon the only way in was to meet the editors at a conference or to have an agent. The publishing world has changed again. There are scads of markets but few pay advances. There are the NY publishers plus Harlequin, the electronic with or without paper copies and the self published.

Enough about that but it's a start on the talk I'm going to give. As far as my own writing, I'm still working on two stories, one a novella somewhere between 30 and 40 thousand words when complete. Maybe a third there. The other is the old story now called the Goddesses of Er. That's going slowly but that's all right. What it consists of is pulling the gems from all the beginning writer pages. Hope to have it ready by the end of the year.

BWL Blurbathon featuring My Mozart by Juliet Waldron

In Honor of Mozart's Birthday, January 27th, the BWL Blurbathon brings


you:



My Mozart by Juliet Waldron from BWLPP



"…Mozart was her teacher, her mentor, her rescuer, and, finally,

fatally, her lover."



"Mozart, Ich liebe dich. I love you. Love you."



"Come here, Nanina Nightingale. Come and give your poor old Maestro some

of your `specially sugary sugar."



My mouth on hisâ€`â€`the friction produced warmth and sweetness,

with a decided undertone of the expensive brandy he liked, flowing from

his tongue to mine. I slid my arms across the brocade of his jacket,

none too clean these days, and swayed a slender dancer's body against

him.



Let me assure you that my sophistication was assumed. It really doesn't

matter - then, or now. I was young, foolish, and drowning in love. I was

seventeen. He was thirty five.



He had once been boyishly agile, doing handsprings over chairs, turning

cartwheels of joy at a prima donna's kiss or a perfect performance

of his own celestial music. He was never tall, and was, like most men of

his age, working on a bit of a belly. Still, he kept more or less in

shape by a daily regimen which included running from bailiffs, dashing

out the back doors of taverns to avoid payment, and climbing in and out

of the bedroom windows of adventurous (and talented) musical

gentlewomen.



I believed he knew everything--that he could see right through me with

those bright blue eyes. He probably could. He'd been my music

master--and, more--my deity, ever since I'd met him, in my ninth year.



His jacket, now spotted and stained, must have been fine enough to wear

in the presence of the Emperor. Bright blue, it perfectly matched his

eyes. I can still feel the fabric sliding under my fingers as my arms

passed over his shoulders and around his neck.



I can still see himâ€`â€`a woolly frizz of blonde hair, long,

aquiline nose--a ram that had once been an angel. Sometimes, when he was

loving me in some exquisitely naughty way and joyfully smiling as he did

it, I could almost see horns…



Buy My Mozart at:



http://www.amazon.com/Mozart-Books-Historical-Romance-ebook/dp/B0089F5X3\



My


Mozartby Juliet Waldron, from Books We Love Publishing



Mozart

was her teacher, her mentor, her rescuer--and, finally, fatally, her lover. ..



At

dawn, in the marble palace of a Prince, a nine-year-old sings for Wolfgang

Amadeus Mozart, then at the peak of his career. Always delighted by musical

children, he accepts Nanina as a pupil. Gifted, intense and imaginative, she

sees the great "Kapellmeister Mozart" as an avatar of Orpheus and her

own, personal divinity.



His lessons are irregular and playful, but the teacher/pupil bond grows strong.

Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro premieres, and Nanina, now twelve, is given a

solo part. For her, this is the beginning of a long stage career. For Mozart,

it marks the start of his ruin. His greatest works will be composed in poverty

and obscurity.



During the composer's last summer, his wife has left him. Chronically in debt

and suffering the emotional isolation of genius, he takes refuge with his

disreputable Volksoper friends, who want him to write a "peasant opera"

for their audience. Nanina, now grown, and still in love with Mozart, is among

their number. As he seeks solace among the women of the Volksoper, the charms

of his young fan become increasingly alluring. No one, least of all the

composer, understands the depth of her obsession or how a brief affair will

permanently alter her life.



"This really knocked my socks off,

and so you don't have to know the opera or Mozart's music to love this book."

Kay Cochran



"The brilliance of the plot is that it is timeless ... Teenage fan falls

in love, has a brief love affair with her idol...The characters are as real as

today, once again underscoring the fact that people, after all, never change in

motives or behavior, only in time." Patricia A. Martin



Buy

My Mozart at:

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0089F5X3C

Saturday's Chapter featuring Ghost Writer by Lorna Collins

Chapter 1


“I don’t believe in ghosts,” I used to tell anyone who’d ask. I’m a ‘techie,’ a computer programmer. I deal with data and facts, not fiction and fantasy.

So how did I get mixed up with a temperamental, egotistical, rude, smart, funny, aggravating, self-centered, loveable... uh... spirit? Okay, if you insist, ghost.

It all started the day I moved into my house.

Well, it’s not really a house, more of a cottage on the sand south of Laguna Beach, California.

This place was the one blessing I received in a whole series of otherwise disastrous events, starting with losing my job.

I worked in the mortgage industry for three years following my college graduation. It was all I knew until I became another victim of the banking industry collapse. I went to work one day, and the company was gone. Pffft. Taken over by the government. The assets were sold and I got two weeks’ severance.

Of course, at the end of the first week, not only was my job gone, but so was Jeff, my live-in boyfriend, taking all the cash in my wallet with him. Since he hadn’t worked in over a year, I figured he’d found another gainfully employed female to support him. I was really ticked off that he split the minute he lost me as his meal ticket. I needed his help.

It had been kinda nice coming home to a human being after work. Well, not always, but he was there most of the time waiting for me to nuke his dinner. And he was sort of cute, with long dark hair and big brown eyes. I thought we looked pretty good together. Besides, he was the first guy who really paid any attention to me. I’d hoped it was because of my personality and not my paycheck, but after he took off, I wasn’t so sure.

I got the eviction notice the day after Jeff moved out. The building was in foreclosure. It was probably just as well because I couldn’t afford the apartment on unemployment insurance anyway.

So learning I’d inherited a house couldn’t have come at a better time.

My great-great-aunt, Nanette Burton, for whom I was named, died at one hundred and four years old in the mansion where she’d lived for years and loved so much. She’d never married and never had children. I heard rumors of several passionate affairs in her younger days, although I wasn’t supposed to know about them.

A week later, her attorney invited us to the reading of her will.

“Mr. and Mrs. Burton, and Miss Burton, please take a seat,” he said as we entered his Santa Monica office.

Since the rest of Aunt Netta’s family had died, Dad and I were her only surviving relatives, but, to our surprise, there were a few others already there.

Albert William Spencer, Esq. (according to the sign on his door) was a throwback to another era, courtly and tall, with a full head of wavy white hair. His charcoal pinstriped suit, vest, and white shirt were impeccably pressed. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he wore a pocket watch, but his jacket was buttoned, so I couldn’t tell.

His inner sanctum looked like it had come from the 1950s. I’ve watched lots of movies from that era, and all the attorneys’ offices were the same. Before the window, stood an impressive highly-polished wooden desk, a monument to old money. The walls were lined with matching bookcases holding leather-bound volumes from floor to ceiling.

We took our seats.

“Since everyone has now arrived, I shall begin.”

I spaced out during some of the preliminaries. It wasn’t until we reached the bequests that I gave the attorney my full attention. I was hoping for a little help out of the pit my life had become.

“My real estate holdings and personal property, with the exceptions listed herein, are to be sold immediately. I have asked my attorney to manage the sale and have given him all the particulars.”

Mr. Spencer turned to us. “As Ms. Burton requested, the estate is already on the market and I anticipate several offers shortly. It is a rare and exceptionally large property. Buyers remain plentiful. I shall arrange for an auction of her personal belongings not specifically listed in her will to be held soon.”

He returned to the papers in his hand and described a few rings and other items that had belonged to family members, which she left to Dad. Then he looked up again to make sure we all understood.

We nodded in unison like bobble heads.

“Half the proceeds of the sale, after expenses, are to go to several animal shelters and rescue organizations listed herein in the proportions designated.” He read the names of six or seven groups and their respective percentages. That explained the other people in the room. Their representatives smiled and nodded.

I wasn’t really too surprised. For a very wealthy woman, Aunt Netta seemed to collect more than her share of strays. She converted an old chicken coop on her property and its surrounding yard into a pretty nice temporary residence for the dogs. Then she hired someone to come every day to feed, exercise, groom, and clean up after them. But she worked hard to find each one a new home. She was so persuasive that she only had five mutts left when she died. Plus Mitzi, her own favorite and much-pampered Shih Tzu.

“The animals currently in my care, with the exception of my pet, Mitzi, are to be entrusted to ‘Homes for All,’ until suitable arrangements can be made for their permanent placement.”

I was sure the organization would be more than happy to take the dogs since a sizeable bequest came along with them.

“My beloved Mitzi, I leave to my great-grandniece, Nanette.”

Oh joy, I get the dog. Just what I always wanted—but not much.

Not only was I named for Aunt Netta, I was born on her birthday. I think that may be why she tolerated me, even though she was quite outspoken about not liking children in general. It probably also helped that I was an only child, as was my dad. She seemed better able to be around kids one at a time.

Mr. Spencer looked over the top of his wire-rimmed reading glasses to be sure I understood. “My secretary, Mrs. Owens, has been caring for Mitzi. The dog and all her belongings are in the outer office.”

I wanted to say, “But I have nowhere to live myself, and I don’t have a job. How can I take on a dog? Besides, even as a kid, I never wanted a dog.” But instead I smiled, said nothing, and resumed my head-bobbing.

Mr. Spencer cleared his throat and went back to his paper. “Let me see. Where was I? Oh, yes,” he continued. “The remainder of my estate is to be disposed of in the following manner. One half, I leave to my great nephew Craig William Burton. One quarter will remain in trust for my great-grandniece Nanette Louise Burton to be held until her thirtieth birthday, at which time, she will have access to the annual income. On her fortieth birthday, she will be given complete control. My attorney has specific instructions on how the trust is to be invested and managed.”

Okay, so I’ll have some income at thirty, and if there’s anything left, I’ll actually get to spend it at forty. Four years before I get anything. Great.

Mr. Spencer continued reading. “The final quarter is to be managed by my attorney for the care of my precious Mitzi. I trust that my great-grandniece will provide food and shelter as well as loving care to my darling companion. When my pet meets her final end, I have arranged for a thorough examination to be certain no foul play was involved. At that time, the balance of Mitzi’s bequest will become the property of my great-grandniece, Nanette Louise Burton. However, if there is any question about the cause of the dog’s demise, all remaining funds, other than those left to Craig William Burton, including Nanette Louise Burton’s trust fund, are to be liquidated immediately and given to the organizations named herein.”

Mr. Spencer removed his glasses and stared at me. “You do understand Ms. Burton’s wishes.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes, sir. If the dog dies of anything other than old age, I lose everything. I think that about sums it up.”

This is going to be the most pampered pooch in history.

He cleared his throat. I don’t think he was used to such direct answers. “Yes, that is correct.”

He returned to the papers in his hand. “There is one last bequest. The property on Seashell Cove, I leave to my great-grandniece, Nanette Louise Burton, along with the contents therein.”

Holy crap! Her beach cottage is mine! My heart pounded so loudly I was sure the rest of them could hear. I’ll take really good care of the dog as long as I can live there.

I gasped and he glanced up at me.

“The house, indeed, is yours. I took the liberty of arranging for it to be cleaned and having the deed transferred to your name.”

My life suddenly looked a lot brighter. Even with

Books We Love Blurbathon featuring Savage Possession by Margaret Tanner

BWL BLURBATHON


Welcome to the Books We Love Blurbathon.



SAVAGE POSSESSION BY MARGARET TANNER

A sweeping tale of love's triumph over tragedy and treachery in frontier Australia .

A mistaken identity opens the door for Martin Mulvaney to take his revenge on the

granddaughter of his mortal enemy.

An old Scottish feud, a love that should never have happened, and a series of

extraordinary coincidences traps two lovers in a family vendetta that threatens

to destroy their love, if not their lives.

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B008EL0FTI

Friday's How They Do It - Lorna and Larry Collins

I've met this couple who write together at several EPICons and lookon them as long distance friends. Also as gutsy enough to write together.

Janet, thank you for having us!




1. How do you create your characters? Do you have a specific process?

They usually come along with the story we are telling. However, sometimes we find the character and then build a story around him/her. Often they are composites of real people. For instance, for our first mystery, Murder... They Wrote, we met a man, talked to him for about five minutes, and as we walked away, Lorna said, “We have to write that guy.” For our current historical novel, The Memory Keeper, set in San Juan Capistrano, we knew we wanted to tell the story from the viewpoint of a Juaneño Indian. The character grew from the story and our research.



2. Do your characters come before the plot? Do you sketch out your plot or do you let the characters develop the route to the end?

Sometimes the characters come first, and sometimes the plot dictates who the characters will be. Larry is a plotter and would like to outline the entire story, every chapter, and every scene before even starting to write. Lorna is a ‘pantser.’ That means she tends to write by the seat of her pants and follows the story as it unfolds. But even she knows the beginning and the end as well as the overall arc of the story before starting to write. Since our current book is based on historical events, Larry has done the extensive required research and puts down the facts for the chapter. Then Lorna adds the human elements and emotions. Finally, we sit together and polish our work into a seamless narrative.



3. Do you know how the story will end before you begin? In a general way or a specific one?

The one element we always know from the beginning is the actual end of the story. We usually have at least the final sentence or sometimes the final chapter written very early in the writing process, often right after the first chapter.



4. Do you choose settings you know or do you have books of settings and plans of houses sitting around?

Our settings are based on places we know, although the specifics of homes, gardens, streets, etc. may be created. For our historical novel, we are able to see many of the actual buildings that would have been in existence at the time, and descriptions and drawings exist of the town. We even bought an etching showing what San Juan Capistrano Mission looked like during the period of our story (1820-1890).



For Lorna’s anthologies, Snowflake Secrets, Seasons of Love, Directions of Love, and An Aspen Grove Christmas, she and her fellow writers created a fictitious town in Colorado based on two other real small towns. However, since it doesn’t exist in reality (although some of our readers have expressed an interest in visiting it), we can make it anything we want it to be.



Our mysteries, Murder... they Wrote and Murder in Paradise, take place in Hawaii in real settings and places we know well. The first is on Maui and the second starts there but moves to Oahu.



Larry’s short story collection, Lakeview Park, is based on a real park in Orange County, CA. and Lorna’s fantasy/mystery/romance, Ghost Writer, is set in Laguna Beach, CA. Since we live in Dana Point, in southern California, these are both very familiar locations.



5. Where do you do your research? On line or from books?

We usually do most of our research online. When possible, we visit the actual locations, whether we portray them as they are or fictionalize them. However, for our historical novel, we have purchased a great many reference books and have interviewed quite a number of people for specific information. Then we try to find secondary sources for confirmation if possible.



6. Are you a draft writer or do you revise as you go along and why?We all know

Because we write as a team, we revise as we go along. We start writing individual chapters. Once we are satisfied with them, we begin building the finished manuscript. But often, as we move further into the story, we realize some background for later events is required earlier in the narrative. So we go back to the combined manuscript and revise. We continue this process, including at least twice or more on the completed manuscript, before we submit it.









3 Attached Images

Thursday - Opening Scenes - Murder and Mint Tea by Janet Lane Walters #ammystery

 Thought I would ddo something interesting today. On Thursdays, instead of what I'm reading, I've decided to put up the first scenes of books I've written, one at a time starting with Murder and Mint Tea. Not the first book I ever published but the first electronic book in my list. The book is availabel on Kindle, Nook, I believe Kobo and other venues. This book was a fun one to write and started the series featuring Katherine Miller

Murder and Mint Tea


By Janet Lane Walters

DiskUs Publishing

ISBN 978-0-7572-0121-9



Chapter 1

Preparing The Ground



The pale winter sun shone through the kitchen window. I cleaned up the last of the mess from my adventure. The caper hadn’t gone as planned. How many do? In my many years of life, most of my plans had taken an unexpected turn.



Merup.” Robespierre, my Maine Coon cat, announced a visitor on the way. He’s almost as good as a doorbell. The firm rap on the door told me this wasn’t one of my female friends. “Come in.”



Pete Duggan strode across the room and thrust a bouquet of bright carnations into my hands. A red hue, almost as vivid as his hair, stained his face. “Mrs. Miller, got to hand it to you. I’ve come to eat crow.”



To hide a smile I buried my face in the flowers and inhaled the spicy fragrance. “How about chocolate chip cookies and mint tea instead?”



“Sounds great.” He straddled one of the chairs at the table and picked up the local newspaper. “Local Woman Thwarts Robbers.” His grin made him look like the ten-year-old who had moved into the corner house on my block. He cleared his throat. “The guys at the station ribbed me about this. Did you forget the plan?”



How, when the idea to catch the real thieves had been mine? A series of burglaries had plagued the neighborhood for months and had troubled me. Especially when the police had decided two teenage neighbor boys were the culprits. I knew the pair and had disagreed strongly enough to set myself up as a victim. Then I informed Pete.



“Did you forget?” he repeated. “When I crept up the stairs and saw you grappling with one of the men, I nearly had a heart attack.”



Heat singed my cheeks. “How was I to know my date would poop out early?”



After filling two mugs with mint tea I opened a tin of freshly baked cookies. How could I admit to a nagging doubt, or tell him I had wanted to be part of the action? In July I had turned sixty-five and in September retired from the nursing staff at Tappan Zee Memorial Hospital. Six months of placid existence had made me edgy. Lunch with friends, coffee with the neighbors and weekly bridge games with old cronies bored me. These events held none of the challenge of meeting crises at the hospital.



Pete scowled. “You could have gone to the Prescott's house.”



“They’re away.” I sipped the tea and savored the cool mint flavor.



“The Randal’s’ then.” He pulled the other mug across the table. “The guys insist the two of us make one perfect cop. Want to hire on?”



“I’ve no desire for a third career.” Until my husband’s death twenty-five years ago I had been the organist and choir director at St. Stephens Episcopal Church. Needing a way to support myself and my son, I enrolled in the nursing program at the community college. “Besides, I’m too old.”



“Old, never. You look the same as when we moved here.”



“It’s the dye.” His puzzled look tickled me. Dyeing my hair makes me look younger. “I came into the world with red hair and I intend to leave the same way.”



Laughter rumbled deep in his chest. “A worthy ambition you nearly fulfilled last night.” He touched my hand. “Thanks again. You kept me from making a mistake that could have ruined those boys.”



I lifted my mug and inhaled the aromatic steam. The evidence against the pair had been circumstantial and strong. They had done odd jobs at all the houses that had been burglarized. “I’ve known them since they were infants. Nothing I’ve ever seen in their actions to make me believe they were guilty.”



Pete made a face. “I’ve known them just as long. Didn’t stop me from suspecting them. How could you be sure?”



“Forty years of living in the same house has attuned me to the rhythms of the neighborhood.”



“Twenty years hasn’t helped me.”



“There’s living and living.” Some people are so concerned with the melody they never hear the underlying harmonics. As a musician I’ve learned to listen. As a nurse I know how to evaluate symptoms that are sometimes similar but are caused by different diseases. Those traits are a vital part of my nature.



I set the mug on the table. “Don’t blame yourself. You weren’t the only one to suspect the boys. No harm was done.”



He finished the cookie he held and rose. “No harm. Maybe some good. I’ll try looking beneath the surface.”



“That’s a great idea.”



He grinned. “I’m out of here. Work tonight.” He zipped his green down jacket. “How about acting as my silent partner?”



I laughed. “Go away with your nonsense.”



Just them the cat door opened. Robespierre made a grand entrance. Flakes of snow dotted his brown and black fur. His gait suggested a mission. He halted in front of Pete and banged the young policeman’s leg with his head.



Pete crouched and scratched the cat’s head. “Not my fault, old man. She jumped in on her own.”



Robespierre’s rumbling purr suggested he understood and accepted Pete’s explanation.



“He’s been out of sorts since the thieves visited.”



“Me, too.” Pete hugged me. “Never again. Promise. We need you around. Think about being a silent partner. There are times when I need someone to listen.”



“If listening is all you need, I’ll be here. No more active involvement in crime for me.”



“See you.” He clattered down the stairs.



Until I heard the front door close I remained at the top of the steps. Silent partner, no way. I rubbed the tender spot on my head where I’d been bashed. I had enough experience with crime to last the rest of my life.



* * *

Wednesday's Writer's Tip - Real people to Characters #amwriting

This is sort of a warning but it's something to be aware of. When casting a character for a story or using an idea from someone's make sure you  as totally different from the person you're losing. Skirting too close to the truth can bring trouble. Nearly happened to me once. Just after one of my books was published, the publisher received a call from a woman who threatened to sue. She indicated I had used her as a model for a bit player in a book. She wasn't objecting to the character but because there was sex in the book. After talking to the publisher, we decided there was no way she won the New York phone book there were pages of people with the same last name and a number with the same first name. Second I had never been in the state where this woman lived. She was never heard from again.

But she could have been. Now I have used real life people as a character in a book but they were so well disguised the person never realized they formed the basis for the book character. The name, the face, and sometimes even the sex were changed in creating the character.

Authors have been sued and lost the suits over using a person barely disguised in a book. Just remember to use your imagination if you're tempted to use the person or their story in a book of fiction.

Tuesday's Writer's Tip based on quote by Sidney Sheldon #amwriting

This quote in an essay by Sidney Sheldon struck me as very true and takes me back to when I began writing. "If you write only when the muse sits on your shoulder, it is unlikely your project will ever get completed."

That is how I began many years ago. How about you? Do you wait for that moment of inspiration and then sit down to write, then hang up the project until the next inspiration hits? Maybe you will finish the story in a year or two and maybe never. Sometimes putting a story aside for a time is a good thing. I have a lot of starts in a file cabinet. They're ones I've hit a roadblock. So I put them aside and start a new project. I may or may not go back to the project or I may change the project's focus.

But I write nearly every day. There's no muse sitting on my shoulder or even in the room. What primes the pump is putting those words on the paper, knowing when I reach the end I can go back and rewrite passages and revise what's down.

Words matter, the muse is a game or a myth. Finishing the story even when it's not going well or putting it aside until you find a way over the roadblock and starting something new. The main thing I give to new writers is "Finish the book." The writer is in control and has the words needed and they will emerge with a bit of persistence,

Meandering on Monday with Janet Lane Walters #amwriting #amreading

Last week was interesting. Heard a reviewer give a talk on trends in writing. She aslo said something like this, If you write a book you will find others who want to read it." Maybe yes and maybe no. There are some books I would never want to read and I do tend to read a lot. But the advice seemed good. Following what's hot this year may be cold next year. We've all seen the way the market leaps on a story that hits the charts running. Then everyone wants to write that book or a variation of it. The market is drowned and the market dies. People start to say, Not another book like book A or B or C." For me I write what I want to write and I do find people to read them.

I also volunteered to be part of a committee for a conference. Took on a project that interests me. Fewer baskets but ones with greater value so things won't be left behind. A good idea. Was looking at some facts. The group has about 150 members. If each one would donate five dollars or ten dollars to buy quality things for the baskets. We could have ten or twelve really great ones. Will think on this some more.

I've been reading several of my friends' first books and now their latest. I've had my fingers in a number of other writers' careers and what really makes me feel good to to watch their improvement.. A lot of people can write one book and never grow as a writer. So my hat's off to those of my now and former critique partners who have constantly improved with their writing.

As for myself. Still working on two projects. One without a title but there are some ideas brewing. Now it's off to write and type.