We are live! http://amzn.com/B016LF0IOA
Authors of Main Street are pleased to announce our Fabulous Five – brand-new never before released Christmas romance novellas, by USA Today and National Bestselling authors, are available now.
We are live! http://amzn.com/B016LF0IOA
Authors of Main Street are pleased to announce our Fabulous Five – brand-new never before released Christmas romance novellas, by USA Today and National Bestselling authors, are available now.
Here on Main Street, we’re gearing up for our Christmas boxed set. I sent in my story for formatting. My cover is finished.
Here’s a teaser:
TO GRANDMOTHER’S HOUSE WE GO
Millie sat at the window of her Brownstone apartment watching shoppers scurry down New York’s busy streets. Head-lights, streetlights, and the just-hung Christmas lights sparkled on the slowly drifting snow.
“Meow,” Byron cried as he jumped into Millie’s lap. He settled down with a purr.
“It’s just you and me this year.” Millie ran her fingers through the cat’s thick fur. She tried telling herself she needed the solitude, she deserved a respite from her demanding career, and she didn’t have the time or the energy to devote to cultivating meaningful relationships, but the longer she sat at the window watching everyone else pursue their Christmas with such purposefulness and pleasure…
No, that couldn’t be right, could it? There had to be a few Ebenezers in the crowd. She couldn’t be the only one wishing Christmas would pass her by. Leaning back into her wingback chair, feet propped up on the ottoman, she closed her eyes. It was just so embarrassing…
How could she, one of the world’s most beloved romance writers, be alone for the holidays? Again? She’d taken a cruise to the Holy Land last year, thinking what could be more spiritually uplifting than Christmas in Bethlehem? But it had been a tour full of senior citizens complaining about their food and hotel beds. At least it had been better than the Christmas the year before with Liam in Monaco.
Refusing to think about Liam, Millie stood, knocking the sleeping Byron to the floor.
He complained loudly while arching his back and stalking away.
“Maybe this year we’ll just stay home,” Millie announced to no one since Byron had twitched his tail and disappeared into the next room.
Her landline’s shrill ring broke the silence. She studied the phone. She’d been meaning to shut off the service for months, but just hadn’t gotten around to it. Or at least that’s what she told herself. The truth was, it was her mom’s voice on the answering machine, and Millie couldn’t bring herself to throw it away, even after all these months.
Millie listened to her mom ask the caller to leave a message. No one who really wanted to talk to Millie ever used the landline. Her friends and business associates always called her cell…well, they usually texted or sent her an email. No one, other than scam artists and telemarketers, called her landline. Millie stood in the center of the apartment where she’d lived as a child, waiting.
“Hello? Camille? Hello?” An elderly woman’s voice warbled through the room. “You probably don’t remember me, but I was a friend of your Grandmother LaDonna. My name is Joy Baker.”
Joy Baker. Millie didn’t recall her grandmother ever mentioning a Joy Baker, and that was the sort of name she would have remembered because she really liked baked goods, and a joyful baker seemed like a good person to know.
“Anywho, I was hoping you’d give me a call. LaDonna told me you are a writer, and I have a little business proposition for you.”
Millie frowned at the phone, debating. Her head told her this happy baker person was probably a crook, but her lonely heart urged her to pick up the line.
Joy heaved an audible sigh. “I know you don’t know me…but I also knew your Grandpa Horace and your Uncle George. I run a little inn out here in Chickory, New York, and, well, it could use some publicity. I just thought maybe if you’d like to come and stay—” Click.
The answering machine only allowed a few seconds per message, which often took the callers by surprise. Millie smiled, wondering if this joyful baker was on the other end of the line, still yammering, completely unaware she’d been silenced mid-sentence.
Millie honestly couldn’t remember her mom, grandparents, or her Uncle George ever mentioning this Joy Baker, or Chickory, but the information tickled in the back of her mind. She settled down on the sofa and pulled her computer onto her lap.
Seconds later, images of an upstate village with a church on every corner flashed on the screen. A springtime shot showed the town green’s gazebo surrounded by tulips and crocus. Another image had the gazebo decked in autumn’s bright fallen leaves. At this time of year, Millie knew there would be a blanket of snow. And sure enough, she soon found images of Chickory, New York in full Christmas glory. It looked like a picture perfect place to spend the holidays…if you had someone to share it with.
Millie closed her eyes against the flashing recollections of her grandparent’s home in upstate New York. Sledding with her bright cheeked mom and dad, hanging the lights with her Uncle George, Aunt Helen, and little Midge, the poodle.
The phone. Millie poised her fingers above her keyboard waiting. Once again, her heart told her to pick it up, but her sensible voice kept her in her chair.
“Oh dear,” Joy Baker’s voice floated back into the room, “I must have been cut off. Now, as I was saying, the old house belonged to my grandparents and their parents before them, and I’ve recently converted it into an inn. It’s just beautiful, if I do say so myself. My niece, Lorraine, is an artist and she’s made the whole thing just as cute as a button from the attic to the basement, but the thing is—” Click.
Millie typed in lodging, but the closest place to stay was a Motor Motel fifteen miles down the parkway.
If Joy Baker didn’t even have a website no wonder her inn was failing. A place could be cute right down to its cement foundation, but if no one knew it existed, it would always be empty.
The word empty made Millie cast a glance at her calendar. She had half a dozen parties penciled in, but not one of them filled her with anything other than dread. And the most dreadful one of all was happening tomorrow night. The annual Book Bash. Simone Shusterfield hosted it every year at her South Hampton mansion. Simone liked to collect writers and artists the way some rich old ladies collected designer purses and pedigree poodles. Her publisher insisted she attend, barring raging illness or a family calamity. But Millie didn’t have any family…or did she?
Could this Joy Baker count as an old family friend? And could her failing business be called a calamity?
Millie smiled. Of course, she wrote fiction for a living. She could make up anything she wanted to. She did it every day. And she got paid for it. And if she could think of a reasonable excuse to avoid Simone’s party and not have to watch Liam kiss his beautiful fiancé beneath the mistletoe, then she would go to Chickory, or just about anywhere.
Ignoring the frantic be-sensible-voice in the back of her mind, she looked up the distance. If she took the early morning train to Scranton, she could rent a car from there and be in Chickory by noon. She didn’t even have to stay the night. She’d just stay late enough to ensure she’d miss the party.
Her sensible voice scrambled for reasons to stay in the city. What if there’s a blizzard and she’s trapped there for weeks? What if this Joy Baker is a serial killer? Who’s going to take care of Byron if something should happen?
Telling her sensible self to shut up, Millie reserved a rental car in Scranton. Picking up her phone, Millie shot her friend and neighbor, Dorie, a quick text. Dorie’s daughter, Amber, often cat-sat Byron when Millie traveled. Then she headed for her closet, pulled out her overnight bag, and dusted it off.
The next morning, she had to run to catch the nine-fifteen from Grand Central. With her bag slung over her shoulder and banging against her side, she slipped into the train seconds before the doors slid shut. Taking a deep breath, she headed for the one available seat. At this time of the day, most of the commuters were students, retirees, and mothers with children.
The only vacant seat was next to a man about her age, early thirties, with wavy brown hair. He had a strong jaw, a thick dossier in one hand and a red pen in the other. Unless he abandoned his place on the aisle, she’d have to crawl over his long legs to get to the window seat.
Their eyes met, and for one small moment, the world around her froze, like a black and white photograph. The train lurched, sending Millie onto the man’s lap.
“I’m so sorry,” Millie said, scrambling over him and pulling her bag with her.
“It happens,” he said, “although not very often, and almost never unless I’m wearing a Santa suit.”
But something like this had never happened to Millie before, and she wondered if he had experienced the same time-stopping moment. Pulling down her navy sweater, she adjusted her pea coat, and to cover her flushed cheeks, she tucked her bag beneath the seat in front of her, refusing to meet his eye again, and wondering what would happen if she did.
“Do you often wear Santa suits?” she asked, finally raising her gaze to meet his. His eyes struck her again. They were the color of chocolate, but this time the world continued around them. The train clacked away from the city. Lower Manhattan’s gritty landscape flashed by the windows. Mothers hushed crying babies. Conversations filled the air.
“No. Almost never,” he said, his voice thick with humor, “but I will be tonight.”
“Are you going to work at a mall?” He didn’t look like the plump bearded guys who sat at Macy’s this time of year.
“No. I—never-mind.” In an obvious effort to change the subject, he nodded at the book in Millie’s hand. “My grandmother reads her books.”
Millie flushed with pleasure. She loved hearing from her readers. “Then she must have excellent taste.”
The man chuckled, his laugh as warm as eyes. “No. Quite the opposite, in fact. She’s a connoisseur of The Helping Hands Thrift store. She loves the hunt and the kitschy.” He wore a luscious camelhair coat so soft that Millie longed to touch it. He had a Burberry scarf draped around his neck and a gold watch on his wrist. He didn’t look like the sort of man who frequented thrift shops.
“Sounds like my kind of gal,” Millie said.
His lips twitched. “That sappy writer’s books fill my grandmother’s shelves and her movies are all over the Hallmark station. I have to watch at least one whenever I visit my grandma.”
Millie bristled and tucked the book in her pocket, praying he wouldn’t see her picture on the jacket cover and realize she was the sappy writer his grandmother loved.
“What takes you out of the city?” Millie asked, taking her turn to change the subject.
“My grandma. She told me she had a Santa emergency.” He sighed and shook his head. “I hope this isn’t another one of her ploys.”
He nodded. “She’s a schemer.”
“A schemer and a thrift store shopper. I like her already.”
“How about you? Why aren’t you headed to work?”
“Who says I’m not?”
He laughed, and something about the sound filled Millie in a way she couldn’t describe. It was as if she’d been hollow inside, but this man’s laugh filled a space she hadn’t even known existed.
“What do you do?” he asked.
Millie’s thoughts scrambled. Come on, you write fiction. She thought up something close but not quite the truth. “I’m a travel writer.”
She was a writer, and at the moment she happened to be traveling. Good one.
“Oh yeah? That’s great. I love to travel. Where have you been?”
“Hmm, lots of places, of course.”
He smiled. “Of course. But where are you traveling to now?”
“There’s a brand new inn in Chickory, New York. I’m going to check it out.”
His face paled, his lips pressed together, and a calculating look filled his eyes. “Is that so? What magazine did you say you work for?”
“I freelance.” Sometimes.
“Ah.” He cleared his throat, a low, grumbling unhappy sound. “So, you’re coming all this way to see this new inn.”
She nodded. “The Snowfield Inn. I even love its name.”
“But will you still love it in July?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“When it’s sunny, no one wants to stay in a snowfield.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I think that depends on how sunny it is. There’ve been plenty of melting hot summer days where I longed for a good snowfield.”
“It’s a ridiculous name for an inn,” he said in a tone that made her wonder why he should care.
“Do you know it?”
“I’ll be playing Santa there tonight.”
“Yes, you should come.”
“I won’t be staying long. This is just a day trip.”
“You’re coming all the way to Chickory for the day?” He nodded at her bag. “Then what’s that for?”
“I have my computer and just a couple of things in case I decide to stay the weekend.”
“So, there’s hope.”
“Not really. I’m mostly trying to avoid a party tonight.”
“Not a party person?”
“I like parties, but this one…” She took a deep breath, looked out the window, and relived the pain. “My ex is going to be there with his fiancé.”
“No, but Liam and I…we’d been together a long time.” She didn’t know what made her open up to this man with the chocolate-colored eyes, maybe it was because she thought she’d never see him again, or maybe it was because she hadn’t told anyone for so long about how badly she’d been hurt, or maybe because she liked the way his gaze touched hers, but she found herself telling him all the sordid details: the purple panties under the sofa, the anonymous posts on her writing blog asking her why if she was such an expert on romance was her boyfriend partying with Scarlett McFaye?
“Wait, your ex is marrying Scarlett McFaye?” His eyes widened. “Wow, just wow.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s what Liam and all the rest of mankind think, too.”
“Hey wait, don’t lump me into Liam’s camp.”
“I can’t believe I told you all of this.” Millie flushed and looked out the window. “I don’t even know your name.”
He reached out and took her hand as if to shake it, but he didn’t. Instead, he held it in his own. “I’m Carson Trent, but tonight, if you come to the inn, you can call me Santa.”
When she didn’t respond, he gently squeezed her hand. “This is where you tell me your name,” he said.
“I’m Millie Cruise.” But most of the world knows me as Camille Harper, AKA the sappy writer.
They parted at the train station. Millie had a ridiculous desire to give Carson a hug, even though she had just met him. Her sensible voice told her to shoulder her bag, casually wave, and get her rental car, but her feet shuffled and she stuttered over saying goodbye.
“Are you sure you want to rent a car?” Carson asked. “I’m going there anyway, and it’s a three-hour drive.”
“That’s really nice of you, but how would I get back?”
“You ride back with me on Sunday night.”
“Mmm, no.” For once, she agreed with her sensible voice.
“Do you know how to get to Chickory?” Carson asked.
“My phone does.”
“Of course.” He looked deflated. Taking her hand, he said, “If I’m lucky, I’ll see you again.”
She left her hand in his. “Do you believe in luck?”
Pain flashed in his eyes. “Not really. Do you?”
“I want to…but it often lets me down.”
“Then let me give you my card, just in case you…” His voice trailed away, but after he cleared his throat he added, “In case you need anything or get lost.”
“Thanks.” She scanned the card. It was heavy, cream-colored with bold navy print. Carson Trent, Principal, Trent and Tavenor Investors, Your Business Partners. She pocketed the card, thought about giving him hers, but quickly changed her mind.
Her sensible voice told her she couldn’t hide her identity from this man forever, but Millie was getting pretty tired of her sensible voice.
Why not tell him who you are? A less sensible voice demanded to know. After all, you both live in New York. Why not meet? Why not date?
Millie shut down all the voices in her head because she now realized they had all stopped being sensible the moment she had first seen Carson.
“Nice meeting you,” she said, tightening the grip on her bag and turning away.
She didn’t look back.
If any of our writer friends have a Christmas story, please share it with us. Be sure and leave a buy link in the comments.
I’m enjoying the feel of autumn returning to Northern California. We don’t get the colors of the Northeast, our leaves usually just turn brown and fall off, but we do get that slight chill to the air in the morning. The one that lets us know winter will arrive someday. The one that allows for a cup of hot tea nestled in your hands. By noon it is warm and breezy, and late afternoon can get into the 90s. But evening arrives a little sooner every day and the warmth disappears like a wisp of fog at sundown. Returning to that beckoning chill.
These are the days that I love to write. During the summer, my office is an oven, with my arms sweating and making puddles on my desk and my legs are sticking to my leather chair. It is easy to fall asleep at my computer in the middle of the day, in the middle of a thought or a snippet of dialogue. When my brain seems to forget how to spell and what a comma is for. LOL In the winter, my office is an icebox and I have fingerless gloves for my hands and a quilt on my lap, with my feet in socks and slippers. When I want to type fast to keep my fingers warm and I’m not sure what words I’m putting on the page. These days are my favorite, the in-between days. I have my mug of coffee and my window open for fresh, slightly chilled air. My brain can breathe and the ideas pop. This is when the stories happen and take shape much easier.
It is a time to write and to read and to get things done before all the madness of the holidays begins. Like getting my latest book up for preorder in time for Halloween, releasing October 26th. I’m already working on Book 3. (See! Better weather, more writing) If you think The Walking Dead could use some more romance, then the Time of Zombies series may be for you!
A special congratulations goes out to two of our Authors of Main Street, Susan R. Hughes and Mona Risk, for making the USA Today Best Seller list for Sweet Christmas Kisses and Sweet Christmas Kisses 2.
I’m under a major deadline for the Authors of Main Street’s upcoming Christmas boxed set. I’ve been trying to do edits and I’m failing. I promise, I have an excuse, but that won’t stop the deadline. These edits should have taken me an hour or two at the most, except my head is so stopped up that I can’t think straight – so please forgive any mistakes here!
Anyone who writes has seen these deadlines coming full speed at them as if it were a big locomotive. It’s part of the business. And I’m often running for my life to meet them, but I never let deadlines out of my line of sight. They are too important!
I’m also teaching classes on writing. I can teach people how to craft a story to make it interesting. But I can’t teach them to actually put words on paper. Every writer has to do that on their own.
We’ve all heard how you can’t edit a blank page. But you can take slop and edit it until it shines like a jewel! And guess what? Every person I know in this business will tell you that the first draft is slop. Except buried in that jumble of words is a story.
Don’t worry about where the story starts – just write. Someone can help you find the beginning of that story, if you can’t. Write until you reach the end! In romances, that’s reaching the happily ever after, or in some cases, a happy for now.
The story has to be inside of you and you must have the desire to put it to paper. A friend’s father has no desire to be published, he only wants to write the stories in his head for his grandsons. He wants to pass along his love for sci-fi to them. There’s nothing wrong with that! And there’s nothing wrong with putting together a family “history”that is only meant for the family. Our reasons for writing vary, and honestly, maybe we are slightly cracked for wanting to toss our words out there to the entire world to read. But you can’t edit a blank page!
Just write. Don’t try to edit it or make it perfect, just put your story on paper! The rest is crafting. That is something that you learn to do. It’s teachable! But that story in your head is uniquely yours.
Here’s a snippet from A Cowboy’s Holiday. If you’d like to read the whole story for free, just visit my blog. It’s a sweet story of two college students who head to his family’s ranch for Christmas. It’s tender, awkward, and sometimes funny. The whole story is there for you to enjoy. And if you read my ranching stories, you’ll remember Jeremy from the Lazy A +8 Ranch. He’s grown up. He and Hannah have been busy studying for their doctorate in Veterinarian Medicine (DVM) at Cornell University. That’s a long way from Wyoming! And there’s a snowstorm!
Hannah Smith was sitting by a window. She seemed to be staring into nothingness. Her dark brown hair was pulled into a large clip and some of it had escaped the plastic jaws and now tumbled down her back.
Jeremy McCullough walked over, lightly tugged on her wayward lock of hair and put his cup of coffee on her table as he slid onto the seat across from her. “Hi. Penny for your thoughts.”
She looked at him and smiled. “Hi. Not thinking about much of anything. Are you going home for the holidays?”
“Yeah. Three days of driving. I tried doing it in two and almost fell asleep behind the wheel. With the snow that is predicted, it might take me more than three.”
“You’re lucky. You get to go home.”
“You’re not going home?”
She shook her head. “Can’t afford it. My mom is military and my dad and siblings went with her. She’s not even in this country. She’s in Japan.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Same thing as last Christmas. Stay here.” Her smile looked forced. “I was hoping you’d be here, too. Keep each other company and all that.”
This is worth a try and it just might be my lucky break. “Why don’t you come with me? Ever been to Wyoming?”
“I’ve been to a lot of places growing up, but never to Wyoming.” She grimaced. “But I can’t just go home with you. It’s not as though you live an hour away.”
“I don’t morph at night into a crazed animal with claws, nor am I an axe murderer. I promise I’m a gentleman, and my family will welcome you with open arms.” He pulled his phone from his pocket. “Listen.” He touched the screen and the phone began to ring. “Hi, Grandma. May I bring a filly home with me? She doesn’t have anyplace to go for Christmas.”
“Of course, you may. Is there anything more to this story that you’d like to tell me?”
He could hear the smile in his grandmother’s words. “No. She’s just a fellow student. But I don’t want her staying here on campus alone over the holiday.”
“But if she’s more than just a friend…”
“Grandma, I promise, she’s just a friend and would appreciate the guest room.”
“Are you sure? You’re a grown man. No one is going to say anything if you want her in your room.”
He could feel the heat headed for his cheeks, and prayed it wouldn’t show as he winked at Hannah. “Really, Grandma. She’s just a friend. We’ve taken classes together, and we often run into each other on campus.”
Hannah put her hand on her forehead as her cheeks flushed, and she lowered her gaze to her almost empty coffee cup.
“Well, of course, she’s welcome to come. It’s nothing for me to set an extra plate. Besides it is Christmas. You two talk it over and let me know when you are on the road.”
“I will, Grandma. Thanks.” He disconnected the call and grinned at Hannah. “See, it was that easy. You’re coming home with me.”
“But I don’t have a bunch of extra money to pay for hotel rooms between there and here.”
“Don’t worry about any expenses. I can cover everything.”
“Professor Hadley invited me to have Christmas dinner with her family. It’s not that I won’t have anyplace to go. She’s very nice, and often has students over who are stuck here.”
“You’re coming with me.”
“Hannah, you’re coming with me…as a friend…to my family’s ranch. I promise I’m a total gentleman.”
Hannah giggled. “You never struck me as being anything else.”
He rolled his palms so they faced up. “I’m a normal male, but my parents raised me to at least act like a decent one. Just wear really ugly pajamas, because I don’t need any temptation.”
She laughed. “Does that mean you like me?”
“Why wouldn’t I? Let’s grab some pizza. I want to get some sleep tonight. I like getting on the road early.”
“Are you asking me out on a date?”
“Call it whatever you want. I’ll call it pizza with a friend.” He swigged down the last of his coffee. “If we go now, it’ll be quieter. I think there are some holiday parties planned for tonight, and I’d like to be asleep before that happens.”
She pushed her chair back. “I’m fine with that.”
At five o’clock in the morning, Hannah, still bleary-eyed, dragged her suitcase out of the dorm and into the parking lot where Jeremy greeted her.
“Not much of a morning person?”
She knitted her eyebrows together and watched as he stowed her bag in the cab of his pickup truck. “It’s not morning. The sun isn’t up.”
“What time did you go to bed?”
“Midnight. I had to do laundry so I had something to pack.”
He laughed and held the passenger door for her. “You can go back to sleep.”
“I should have brought my pillow.”
“Well, go get it.”
She turned and went back into the dorm. What am I doing up? What am I thinking? I’m not.
On the third floor, she unlocked her dorm room and grabbed her fuzzy throw and the pillow from her bed. Great. I’m taking my blankie and my pillow. He’s going to think I’ve lost my mind.
She returned to his truck, and he held the door for her.
“There’s coffee for you in the cup holder.”
How can he be so awake? She fastened her seatbelt and sipped the coffee. It was perfect. “How did you know what I like in my coffee?”
Or if you’d like a autumn romance, check out my book A Skeleton at Her Door. It’s available as a Kindle Unlimited. This is a second chance romance
Trick or Treat! Angie Robertson opens her door and finds a six-foot tall skeleton on her doorstep. Is it a trick or a treat?
Angie thought the man at her door was her neighbor. Except he wasn’t. Dressed for a charity event Tom Meyer winds up on the wrong doorstep and this just might be the best thing that ever happened to him.
What if the skeleton was a really nice guy who’d been burned by enough women that he’s lost faith in ever finding someone who could be faithful?
A Skeleton at Her Door is a sensual romance. It’s about trusting, putting the past away, and finding love when it’s least expected. It’s also about blending two households, parenting, three children, and sneaking off for some adult time.
The fun part of being a full-time author… When this deadline is over, I have two more waiting for me! Just cross your fingers that I make this one. I certainly don’t want to miss out on the opportunity to join my sisters and fellow authors here on Main Street for another wonderful boxed set! And to those of you who have bought our previous boxed sets…thank you! I hope you will be just as thrilled with this one!
I had another post planned, it was written and scheduled. Then today, in my state, just 2 hours away a horrible thing happened on a college campus.
There have been 45 of these events this year & it just didn’t seem write to post a fluffy piece on how sad I am my son just turned 13 or how busy my writing schedule is shaping up to be! I have my son here with me, safe and sound, today that feels lucky.
My little sister goes to college here in Oregon, just 2 hours away from this sad event. She is safe and sound, today that feels like a true blessing.
Today, instead, I ask that you tell someone you care. Call that person in your life who always seems a little sad and lonely, a little lost. Make their day, notice them. Be kinder than you might have been to a stranger or even someone you know.
Today, live in light and love. Pray if you do, take a moment of reflection or meditation if you do, just be still if those aren’t comfortable. Feel gratitude. Feel loved. Make someone else feel loved.
I wish you a day of peace, love and pure happy light!
As always; wishing you well, in fiction and real life!