Now you can get all three of my short and (mostly) sweet romantic comedies in a single boxed set for $2.99. Three For All is for readers who enjoy light, romantic reads with a bedroom door
that is (mostly) closed.
All three of the heroines are dealing with a maddening man. In Baby It’s You, Annie Kubek can’t get it through Michael Reeve’s stubborn head that their matchmaking mothers are a problem. Michelle Germaine in Clash of Hearts is at odds with single dad Chase Fletcher, who’s as infuriating as he is sexy. And in Her Very Merry Mistake, Lenora Patterson can’t convince Nikos Calloway that he isn’t actually the love of her life.
I was recently a guest blogger on NYT and USA best-selling author Lisa Mondello's blog, writing about the inspiration behind my Dead Ringers serial. I thought it would be fun to repost the blog here.
I was once cursed by a psychic. A really cranky psychic. She flung negative energy my way, wishing me enduring unhappiness.
My offense? I agreed to give a co-worker my opinion about whether she was legit before he agreed to write a feature story about her. At the time, we both worked for a daily newspaper in South Carolina.
I walked into the psychic’s dark, incense-filled room at one of the happiest times of my life. I was in love, living in beautiful Charleston and had just notched a playoff win for an adult-league tennis team. I was even still sweating lightly and dressed in my tennis clothes.
The psychic told me I was deeply troubled. She said the only way things would turn around was if she lit candles for me. And, oh yeah. The candle lighting would cost another $100.
I didn’t pay to have flames burn away my troubles, and my co-worker didn’t write the story. When she found out why I had entered her psychic lair, she became livid and put a curse on me.
I didn’t shake in my tennis shoes. I didn’t beg her to reconsider. I didn’t even lose any sleep.
Because the curse thrilled me, probably because authors are wired different than other people. Everything, and I mean absolutely everything, is fodder for a book.
I wasn’t even writing fiction full time yet, but I knew that some day I’d write a book where I’d call upon that experience. And now I have. Psychics play prominently in Dead Ringers, my paranormal mystery serial. One psychic even gives readings.
A slew of other mysterious things are going on in Dead Ringers, not the least of which is body switching. But the memory of the psychic who issued that long-ago curse is what spurred me to write the book. Speaking of the curse, you’re probably wondering if it worked.
Uh, no. Not unless curses kick in after more than twenty years of a happy life.
If you want to help me keep fighting the curse, download a copy of the first Dead Ringers boxed set. Dead Ringers: Volumes 1-3 is FREE wherever eBooks are sold.
I can't imagine the psychic would want you to read it.
Here’s a deal for you. The first boxed set of my Dead Ringers serial is now FREE across all eBook platforms. Although the serial contains nine volumes in all, the initial boxed set reads like the first book in a trilogy. Volumes 1-3 are even the length of a typical novel.
Dead Ringers is full of mystery, danger, romance... and body switching! So what are you waiting for? Head over to your favorite eBook retailer and pick up your FREE copy. Have I mentioned the boxed set is FREE? Totally FREE. No cost. At all.
Since my work in progress is a romantic comedy, I’m drawing inspiration from some of the exchanges between characters in past books. I’ll share some of them in this space. Here’s a snippet from Baby, It’s You, a short and (mostly) sweet romcom on sale for just 99 cents at most sites that sell eBooks.
“What’s the verdict on my kiss?” His lips curved, supremely confident of her answer.
“It wasn’t bad,” she said breezily, “but you’re still not my type.”
His head jerked up, convinced he hadn't heard her correctly. He examined her brown eyes, but he couldn't read a thing in them.
“I said you’re still not my type.” She didn't sound anywhere near as breathless as he felt. “I’m glad we got that kiss out of the way, because that proved it.”
“Are you saying you didn't like the kiss?” he asked, even though that didn't compute. It was like putting more RAM into a computer and watching its speed decrease. He couldn't remember the last woman who had responded to him so thoroughly. Or the last woman who had affected him so deeply without half trying. “You weren't shaken?”
“Not shaken. Not stirred.”
“Not shaken? Not stirred? Not bad?” he repeated, his ego thoroughly deflated. He couldn’t stop himself from adding, “I thought it was a little better than not bad.”
“It was agreeable, but you’re no James Bond,” she said cheekily. She tossed her head, and her short hair danced around her smiling face. “Like I said, it proved what I was saying before. You’re not my type.”
I thought it would be fun to institute a recurring segment on my blog with Two Truths and a Lie. Here's the inaugural edition. The lie's revealed in the first comment.
1) I have identified a strange phenomenon I call Toe Bouncing. Practiced almost entirely by males, it seems to be an attempt to appear taller when talking to a woman of great height.
2) I once petitioned my state high school athletic association to raise the height of the uneven parallel bars. My argument was that the current dimensions discriminated against tall gymnasts who were more likely to scrape their toes on the mat.
3) I have a mixed marriage. I'm six feet tall, and my husband is five eight.