Tuesday, September 29, 2015

Excerpt from A Time to Dream



(copyrighted material)

Hannibal, Missouri 1999

Heart thudding, head fuzzy, and eyes still blurry from sleep, Shelby Miller tried not to trip over the hem of her robe as she raced down the grand staircase. She’d been in the middle of a perfectly lovely dream when someone started pounding on the door and jerked her mercilessly awake. Whoever it was, she thought as she stumbled past the landing, they’d better have a good reason for waking her.

Early morning sunlight spilled down the staircase from the huge window on the landing and into the foyer through the full-length windows flanking the door. Even this early—surely not later than seven o’clock—the temperature and the dense Missouri humidity made her long for central air conditioning.

Clutching the collar of her robe, she ran her free hand through the curls she could feel bobbing wildly with every step—the hated curls that had earned her the nickname “Medusa” as a child. She’d probably scare whoever was so rudely—and insistently—banging on the door. Well, if she did, it served them right. Maybe it would teach them a lesson in manners.

Before she could make it to the bottom of the staircase, the pounding started up again. “Hold on,” she shouted impatiently. “I’m coming.” Shelby had never been at her best in the morning, which was one of the reasons she loved her position at Winterhill. She didn’t have to look perky, dress for success, or even be coherent before noon if she didn’t want to be.

Slipping a little as she crossed the polished wood floor, she skidded to a stop in front of the massive door and yanked it open. Jon Davenport, her dearest friend in Hannibal—her only real friend anywhere—stood on the porch, backed by the rising sun, his hand raised to knock again.

She let out an annoyed sigh. “What are you doing?”

Jon lowered his arm quickly and ignored her question. “It’s about time you answered. Where were you?”

“In bed. Asleep.” She stepped aside to let him enter and closed the door behind him. “Why aren’t you at work? And why are you banging on my door like the world’s coming to an end?”

“You might think it has ended when I tell you what I just heard on the morning news.” Jon’s eyes were dark and uncharacteristically solemn, his mouth nothing more than a thin slash cut into his tanned face.

Shelby made another vain attempt to tame her curls. “Okay, I’ll bite. What did you hear?”

“The news report said that Evan McDonald has put Winterhill up for sale.”

It took a moment for Jon’s words to sink in completely, but when they did, the old, familiar anxiety began to pulse through Shelby’s veins. “He’s done what?

“He’s listed this house on the market.”

Praying that she’d heard wrong, Shelby shook her head. “That can’t be right. He can’t do that.”

“He can,” Jon said, “and, according to the news, he has.”

“But why?” Her voice came out sharp, but she made no effort to soften it as she went on. “I thought he’d decided to restore Winterhill.”

“Apparently, he’s decided not to.”

Time slowed, ice water flowed through her veins, and a steady pounding started somewhere behind her eyes. Working as caretaker at Winterhill for the past six months had given her the first security she’d ever known. She’d even started to believe it would last. She should have known better. “But why didn’t Evan tell me first?”

“Who knows?” Jon moved closer and put a hand on her shoulder. The weight of his hand and the depth of his concern bore down on her.

She tried to step away from both. She’d spent most of her twenty-eight years on her own. Jon’s friendship was the first real tie she’d ever had to anyone or anything, and it still left her slightly off balance.

Jon didn’t let her escape. “Even when Evan’s mother was alive, he didn’t like this house, Shelby. And to tell you the truth, everyone at the historical society was surprised when he hired you instead of selling it after she died.”

She couldn’t bear the gentleness in his voice. It made the pain worse somehow. She’d grown to love Winterhill. She’s let herself dream of staying here in Hannibal. Its history appealed to her and made her long to be a part of it.

She moved toward the front window, glancing outside and letting her gaze linger on the crumbling turrets of the neighboring house that was barely visible above the rows of trees separating the two properties. “What about Summervale?” she asked softly, turning back to face her friend. “What about the movement to save the twin houses?”

“There is no movement,” Jon admitted reluctantly. “I haven’t been able to whip up much excitement about saving Summervale. Most people think it’s already too dilapidated to save. And without Winterhill—” He broke off and shrugged helplessly.

“But the twin houses are a piece of Hannibal’s history.”

“A piece nobody’s much interested in,” Jon reminded her.

Shelby pushed a curl away from her forehead. “Maybe whoever buys Winterhill will be interested in restoring both houses.”

“I doubt it,” Jon said, shaking his head slowly. “People are speculating that Evan will sell this place to some industry or developer.”

Shelby’s heart twisted painfully. “And they’ll tear it down. And Summervale will follow.”

“Probably.”

Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to give in to them. Crying had never solved a problem for her, not even once in her life. “I won’t let that happen,” she said, lifting her chin.

A shadow flitted behind his eyes. “You can’t stop it, Shel. The only real selling point we’ve ever had in trying to save the houses was that they’re less than two miles apart, built by the same man within only a few years of each other, and virtually identical in every respect.”

“Yes. Exactly!” She in front of the window, ignoring the pity she saw on his face, fighting her sudden flash of resentment. “And the mystery, of course.”

“There’s no mystery.” Jon’s voice sharpened slightly as it always did when she raised the subject. “Summervale belonged to a crazy woman who lived as a recluse most of her life—”

“Yes, and Winterhill belonged to the husband and children who lived within spitting distance of her and never saw her.” Shelby let the fear building inside her come out as anger. “And nobody knows why. You can’t tell me that’s not fascinating stuff.”

“It’s not fascinating stuff,” Jon said, his voice slightly more gentle. “Not fascinating enough to convince anyone to shell out the fortune it would take to restore Summervale. Not enough to save Winterhill.” The pity in his eyes deepened. “Nobody cares, Shelby.”

I care.” Desperation made the pounding in her head worse. If she couldn’t even convince Jon to fight for the houses, how could she convince anyone else? She waved a jerky hand toward the window and Summervale and tried again. “There was no hint of insanity before Agatha married Zacharias.”

“So, her husband drove her crazy,” Jon said with a lazy shrug. “The point is—”

“The point is,” Shelby interrupted, growing angrier and more hurt by the minute, “if we could find out what happened to her, maybe we could generate public interest in the houses.”

“We’ve tried to find out what happened,” Jon reminded her, “over and over again. Zacharias’s papers hardly mention Agatha at all, and we can’t find any of her letters or journals.”

“That doesn’t mean they don’t exist. There has to be some record somewhere. Some explanation for why Agatha turned her back on her children.”

Jon’s eyes roamed her face, searching, probing, and making her distinctly uncomfortable. “Is that why you’re so obsessed with the Logans?”

“I’m not obsessed,” Shelby insisted. “I’m interested. There’s a difference.”

“Aw, Shelby.” Jon touched her shoulder again. “Finding out why some woman—a woman who’s been dead for more than a hundred years—turned her back on her children isn’t going to explain why your mother abandoned you.”

Shelby jerked away and wished she’d kept that part of her past secret from him, as she had from everyone else. “My mother didn’t abandon me. She put me up for adoption. The fact that nobody ever wanted to adopt me wasn’t her fault.”

Pity filled his entire expression now. “Why do you stick up for your mother, Shel?”

“I’m not sticking up for her,” Shelby said quickly. She hated thinking anyone felt sorry for her. She might not have any idea who her mother was. She might have bounced from one foster home to another as a child. She might even have moved from one city to the next as an adult, but that didn’t mean anybody had to feel sorry for her. Many people had difficult childhoods. It happened, and she’d long ago adjusted to the hard parts of her own life.

She forced a laugh and tried to change the subject. “We’re not talking about me,” she said firmly. “We’re talking about the twin houses.” She put some distance between herself and Jon again, trailing her fingers across the gleaming wood of the bannister. “If Agatha hadn’t died so young. Or if Zacharias had stayed in Hannibal. . .  If they’d stayed together, there’d probably still be Logans living in both of these houses, and they wouldn’t be in danger now.”

“Maybe,” Jon said without conviction. “But Agatha did die, and Zacharias didn’t stay. And the houses have brought bad luck to every family who’s tried to live in them since.”

“That’s nothing but superstition.”

“Maybe.” Jon glanced at a scowling portrait of Zacharias hanging on the wall of the landing. “But wishing things had turned out differently won’t change anything.”

“I know that.” And she did. Only too well. She dropped onto one of the steps and stretched out her legs in front of her. “I’m not delusional, but I can’t stand by and let these houses be destroyed, Jon. I just can’t.

Jon sat beside her, his shoulder barely grazing hers. “What do you have in mind?”

“Nothing, unfortunately. Not yet, anyway.”

Jon put a hand over hers and rested his cheek on the top of her head. “If I thought you had a chance, I’d help you in whatever way I could. You know that, right?” She nodded uncertainly and he let out a sigh that spoke of tested patience. “Why don’t I ask around and see if I can find you another job somewhere?”

Shelby fought the urge to draw away. “I don’t want another job. I want to save the twin houses.”

“I know. And I wish I knew of a way for you to do that. But I just don’t want you to get your hopes up. You can’t rewrite history.”

“Well, I wish I could,” she muttered as a wave of futility crashed over her.

Maybe she should know better than to get her hopes up. Maybe she should have learned her lesson after watching her dreams vaporize one by one over the years. But everything had seemed so different here in Hannibal, and the longer she stayed, the more she loved it.


She took a deep breath and tried to pull herself together. But she couldn’t face losing another home and having to start all over again. After the last time, she’d vowed it wouldn’t happen again. And that was a promise she intended to keep—no matter what it took.


(copyrighted material) 
______________________________

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Tuesday, September 22, 2015

Does the Race Really Go to the Swiftest?

In a world where the race goes to the swiftest, do you ever feel as if you're lagging behind? Struggling just to stay in the pack, never mind moving into the lead? Do you feel as if you're peddling as fast as you can and getting nowhere? Don't worry. You are not alone.

With all the advice out there, it's easy to get overwhelmed. It always has been, but now, with all the social media and the quick exchange of information from hundreds of thousands of people (dare I say millions) all at once, all the time, it's both better that it's ever been before and, somehow, worse.

Back a billion years ago, right after I sold my first book and became eligible to join the Published Author Network (PAN) of Romance Writers of America (RWA), I received a booklet containing advice about what to do after my first sale. The problem was, the booklet didn't arrive until just a few weeks before my first book was set to hit the shelves, and most of the advice was stuff I should have done weeks and months before. I remember staring at that booklet and feeling completely conflicted. I was exhilarated because I qualified to have the thing in the first place and but I also felt overwhelmed and a bit hopeless because it seemed to me that the advice had arrived too late to do me any good.

Yesterday, as I scrolled through the thousands of posts, tweets, and pictures and tweets, I found myself feeling much the same thing. I was exhilarated because, after years of living with an undiagnosed illness and the utter debilitating fatigue that came with it, I'm finally starting to feel well enough to make an effort to get my career back on track. But I'm also overwhelmed by the sheer volume of advice that's out there and feeling a little hopeless because in my weaker moments, it feels like too little, too late.

Part of my current issue, is that the publishing world has changed so much from when I first signed up for the race. Back then, it was all about getting your work in front of an agent and/or editor and what the Big 6 publishing houses wanted. Now, with the advent of independent publishing, there's so much more to learn it's mind-boggling.

That's okay. Really it is. Because while I have thoroughly enjoyed a 20+ year career working with a couple of the Big 6 publishing houses, and will continue as long as it's mutually beneficial, I'm also really excited by the freedom that going independent offers to authors. But going independent means that there are five or six other full-time jobs I need to take on to produce and promote my books in addition to the writing itself, which we all know is a more-than-full-time job.

And much of the "advice" available today doesn't come across as advice at all. It's demanding. It's delivered in the form of orders and rules. It's black-and-white, no questions asked dictates: 10 Things You Must Never Do or 25 Things You Must Do Immediately! because current wisdom says we must be bold, authoritative, and confident and we must never show weakness. (Oh what I wouldn't give for a touch of honest vulnerability!)

Much of this bold, authoritative, confident advice is worth listening to and considering, and even trying. But some of it doesn't make any sense at all (at least not to me). Some of it is counter-intuitive (why should it matter to my tweeting schedule how many people are following me on Twitter? Isn't the real factor that affects how many times my tweet will appear in their feed based on how many people they follow?) And a lot of it is conflicting: Don't use social media to promote your book is immediately followed by Always use social media to promote your book.


So maybe in this overloaded, overwhelming world some of the old rules should still apply:
  • Be open. 
  • By all means, listen. 
  • Consider. 
  • Especially if you're not exactly where you want to be in your career, be willing to try new things.
  • Then keep what works 
  • And discard the rest. 
  • And write the best book you can
Ultimately, I'm not convinced that the race goes to the swiftest. I think the race really goes to s/he who doesn't give up. 

Tuesday, September 15, 2015

Release Day! A Time to Dream

It's up! It's here! It's ready to download





I'm really excited to share this book with you again after all this time. It was a lot of fun to write, and the characters still have a special place in my heart. It was fun for me to reconnect with Zacharias, Agatha and Shelby. I hope you enjoy visiting them again or meeting them for the first time. 
Originally published by Jove Time Passages in 1999, A Time to Dream remains a reader favorite. 
Hannibal, Missouri, 1999​ -- While trying to save two historic houses from an ​u​ncertain fate, ​caretaker ​Shelby Winters is whisked back in time--and into the body of Zacharias Logan's estranged wife​...​​​ 
Hannibal, Missouri, 1871​ -- ​Becoming Agatha Logan is​ no walk in the park​ for Shelby. ​Agatha has secrets she hasn't shared with anyone and her marriage to Zacharias is all but over.​ ​ 
Shelby​ is ​undeniably attracted to Zacharias​, but he has secrets too. Even in the past, Shelby doesn't know why Zacharias built two identical houses or why his marriage to Agatha is in trouble. If she is to preserve the houses, she must mend the marriage and get back home before she loses her head--and her heart--completely...

Click here to buy your copy. Also available on Kindle Unlimited.

Wednesday, September 09, 2015

Wednesday, September 02, 2015

Announcing This Month's Release!

I'm getting ready to re-release A Time to Dream later this month and I'm pretty stoked. It was originally released by Jove Time Passages in 1999 as a paperback original, and it remains a reader favorite. As I went through the manuscript to make sure it was ready for a new life and tweak a line or two, I was really thrilled to discover how much I still love the story.

My designer is hard at work on the new cover, and I hope to have a cover reveal ready for you in the next few days.

Meanwhile, Zacharias and Shelby (Agatha) are two of my favorites in a long list of characters that I've spent time with in the past 20 years. It was great fun hanging out with the two of them, remembering all the twists and turns in their relationship and meeting their friends and family again. Yes I know they're fictional, but they're real to me. I hope they become real to you.


Set in Hannibal, Missouri, on the banks of the Mississippi River, A Time to Dream is first and foremost a love story about the longing to belong and the power of forgiveness--and who doesn't need that at some point in their lives?

Stay tuned for more details!


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photo credit: Mississippi Palisades State Park via photopin (license)