“But why do you write about history?” They Ask….

Many have asked why I write about history.

“Writing about history takes so much time, you know, all that research!” they say.

Let me introduce some of my history… about history.

I love the Old West. I love New Zealand. I love stories of “the old countries”.  I have relatives from Denmark, Scotland, Russia, and the American South, all of which interest me no end. My genealogy charts are getting more branched as I continue to delve!

  • I grew up on Highway 84 in La Honda, CA…
  • where the Younger Brothers used to hang out after big heists…
  • where the Stage ran through…
  • and the Peek-a Boo Inn (yes, it was what it sounds like), the eleven bars, three churches and one store were the standard, back in the day. La Honda and some of its history is now featured in the third story of The Long Trails series, in  A Sea of Green Unfolding)history

Then I went away to university, finished veterinary school…(had to be a hoss-doc, didn’t I?)…

  • and lived in Placerville, CA on the Pony Express Trail.history

So, I was rather steeped in the Old West from a very young age.

Well, things led to things and I made my way to New Zealand, where I’ve lived for the past 27 years and have just published my fourth book. They comprise three 1860’s historical fictions in The Long Trails series and the newest, a contemporary novella, placed in the middle of the new Once Upon a Vet School series.

“But I hate reading about history,” some others say.

I love and write history, but rather than vomiting facts and figures all over the pages in what authors call “info-dumps”,  I offer it in a palatable way, by letting my fictitious characters interact with real historical ones in real historical settings. In essence, offering history in a tasty mix. It might just make history buffs of some people who didn’t think they’d ever go there!

History is good, but what about Food?

Recipes, oh yes, did I mention recipes? history Each of my books contain a recipe, pertinent to the story and time. Food. Always important, but I digress…

In case you were wondering what my historicals are about, have a read!

The Long Trails Series

Tales of factual fiction, adventure stories rich in historical detail, following the escapades of Aleksandra, Xavier, and Tatiana as they travel across continents and seas through the 1860’s.

Book One: A Long Trail Rolling history

She didn’t expect to become a target…but she is one now.

Aleksandra is alone and running to prevent her father’s killer from discovering their family secret. Disguised as a Pony Express rider in 1860’s Utah, Aleksandra winds up in even deeper trouble when she rides full speed into the Paiute Indian War. With Xavier, her compelling Californio boss, can she escape the Indians on the warpath and evade the man who’s already killed her father—and set his sights on her?

Book Two: The Hills of Gold Unchanginghistory

No one will stand in their way—and live.

As the Civil War rages, secessionists menace California. Aleksandra and Xavier are trying to get back home—through the oncoming Civil War, the mining camps of 1860’s Nevada and California, and the Sacramento floods—to Xavier’s Californio Rancho de las Pulgas. Embroiled in the Confederate’s fight to drag the new state from the Union and make it their own, can Aleks and Xavier survive?

Book Three: A Sea of Green Unfoldinghistory

When you’ve lost everything, the only way to go is up—isn’t it?

Follow the young couple’s journey to adventure in the turbulent wilderness of 1861 New Zealand. Tragedy strikes in Aleksandra and Xavier’s newly found paradise on their California Rancho and von Tempsky’s invitation draws them to a new life in New Zealand—where the land wars between the European settlers and the local Maori have only just begun.

Book Four: Tatiana   Due out 2018!history

When the tsar holds the reins, nothing is certain—even life itself.

Stableman’s daughter Tatiana rises to glamorous heights by her equestrienne abilities—but the tsar’s glittering attention is not always gold. She and her husband Vladimir become pawns in the emperor’s pursuit of a coveted secret weapon. While Tatiana and their infant son are placed under house arrest, Vladimir must recover the weapon, or risk losing his wife and young son. With the odds mounting against them, can they find each other again—half a world away?

Find my books here!

Tatiana is my WIP (Work In Progress) right now. Does anyone have anything they’d especially like to see in the story? 

Can’t wait to hear from you!

Take care,

Lizzi

When a Story Goes Astray

Okay, I’ll admit it. I goofed. I started writing what I thought would be a sweet Christmas novella for the 2017 Christmas boxed set by the Authors of Main Street. Except my simple story has grown in length. The guidelines we follow are pretty relaxed and simple for these boxed sets. All new, great stories of novella length, 18K-40K words (I promise no one counts words), holiday themed (often an underlying theme), and no cliffhangers.

Here’s the dilemma. A romance usually ends in certain places such as the commitment for a lasting relationship such as an engagement ring or a wedding ring. So what have I done? He’s given her the engagement ring, actually without too much fanfare. The hardest part was getting to the point of asking. 😉  But I’m about to tip over the max word count.  I really need another 20k-30k words to finish this story. If I wrap it up for Christmas, I’m missing a big chunk of the story!

  • So do I rip part of the story away? No, because I’m not going to take the life out of this story.
  • Do I quickly tie up the story and put a bow on it? I hate reading stories where I’m so into the characters that when a writer does that I want to scream no and never read that author again.
  • Do I just tip over the word count and warn my fellow authors out here on Main Street? Oops! I think I just told them. (It’s not nice to hog the space in the boxed set.)
  • Or do I write this one until I feel it’s finished, and then write another for the boxed set? Time! I need more time!!

And there’s one more problem, I already know this is not going to end on that wonderful wedding. If I ended it there, I think my readers would be furious with me. Why? Because in the real world, it wouldn’t make sense. I can’t change the timeline of certain events. Darnit! The readers would be left hanging. Not a cliffhanger, but leaving them with the feeling that they were shortchanged, because they are left with all those life questions.

So I’m sitting here making the only decision that makes any sense. It’s extremely basic.  Write the story until it ends. Write the whole story, otherwise it won’t be a great story. So I’m about to go way over word count and that means I’ll have to write another story for the boxed set. I can do that.

This story tips the scale into literary fiction more than romance, even though there’s a romance tangled into it. This is a journey of two people who had found each other and have fallen madly in love. But the journey is not easy. Getting to their HEA (happily ever after) isn’t going to be solved with a wedding. It’s too complicated.

Real life is a walk through a maze filled with roses. There are plenty of thorns on those canes. The most beautiful roses often have no scent, the lowliest ones can be the sweetest, and some of the hardiest ones can be vicious with thorns. But if you take the time during the journey, you will discover the finch’s nest, the green tree frog hiding in the petals, the dizzying hum of the bees, the lady bug, and countless other creatures along the way. But there will always be those thorns, waiting to grab at your legs or shirt sleeve.  So I willingly took the path with an ending in mind, but somehow I plucked a rose and found myself tangled in thorns. Yet the air is sweet, and filled with song.

I can explain story arcs to a room filled with wannabe writers. I can teach them to write a beginning, a middle, and an end. But I can’t tell them how to stay within a word count because every story will demand a certain number of words. If I ended this one with a Christmas wedding, then my readers would be furious because there’s an arc that must be completed.

So I have strayed down a path. I’m not sorry for what I’ve done. In fact, I’m thrilled with this story.  It’s just not going to be a novella. There’s a great big story in this manuscript, and it needs to be told.

Guess I’ll have to write another story for our Christmas boxed set.

Midday Masquerade

 

Happy Sunday everyone. I’m happy to be posting an excerpt from Midday Masquerade to celebrate this month of romance. Midday Masquerade, like all my romances, weaves Celtic character and a wee bit of magic into quirky small town romance. Hope you enjoy it.

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Primrose Lund walked into the architecture office carrying a stack of misaligned papers in one hand, a determined set to her delicate chin, and an air of purpose that never failed to bring a smile to Lorcan Flynn’s heart. Primrose was a woman of purpose. A woman of definite opinions. A woman who was so filled with depth and color on the inside that she dare not display such extravagance on the outside. Others thought her plain. Lorcan found her captivating and elusive, and he wanted to know every one of her secrets no matter how long it took to reveal her inner peacock.

They say one learns to covet what one sees every day.

Lorcan Flynn didn’t know if that was true in his case. He didn’t see Primrose Lund every day, although he did his best to.

He didn’t need to see her every day to covet her touch or to desire her warm brown eyes shining into his with that combination of shy intelligence and genuine generosity of spirit that ignited him and gave him a measure of peace at the same time.

Lately he’d seen more in her eyes than an interest in books and old maps and pocket watches that kept poor time. Lately he’d caught Primrose looking at him with a sensual intensity that had little to do with the shell of respectability she wore like armor. Lately he’d caught a glimpse of Primrose’s inner hellion. And, he liked what he saw.

He coveted that bit of her with the kind of scorching heat he feared wouldn’t go away until he turned ninety-nine. By then, he hoped, he’d be used to the elemental pull she had on him.

It all started with a mask.

Not a balaclava sort of mask designed for escape and evade. No, this mask was created to reveal inner desires: to entice the wearer to don it freely, and the viewer to be aroused by that secret glimpse into the depths of the wearer’s soul. Lorcan had designed it to evoke the kind of carnal pleasure that started in the psyche and ended in the flesh.

He’d poured his own raw needs into it as he wet, tooled and sculpted the leather. He’d refined his desires as he shaded it, adding layers of luminous paint with smatterings of copper and gold. He’d been thinking of a woman then, but one he saw only in shadow. He felt her rather than saw her, catching only fleeting images in his sleep.

He made the mask for her.

Because he needed to.

In those moments when he was honest with himself, he conceded that he made the mask for himself, because the woman who inspired it didn’t really exist. At least that was what Lorcan thought until the moment Primrose Scott walked into his office, asking him to design a new shop for her. Primrose had placed a hodgepodge set of sketches done in colored pencils on various sized sheets of paper, some that looked more like scraps than actual paper, and made a beeline straight for one mask he created, displayed among a half dozen others on the wall opposite his desk.

“This is lovely,” she’d said staring as if looking at something by Rodin or Da Vinci.

There was no mistaking that Primrose had been focused on his mask, when he’d asked if she’d like to see it closer.

She said, “Oh, yes, please,” in a voice that hit him in his gut, twisting it in a way that tightened every inch of him.

“Go ahead. Take it down. Feel it in your hands. Hold it to your face. That’s the only way to truly judge if it fits you.”

She didn’t hesitate; she took it off the wall and held his mask to her face. Her large chocolate colored eyes gleamed at him from behind molded leather that was created to entrance. It did more than that with Primrose, it transformed her into something approaching a creature of mythical allure.

It was a Green woman mask, crafted with leaf motifs, delicate ferns, twigs, and wispy golden and silver threads adorned with tiny hand-cut crystals that looked like floating drops of dew capturing the light, bending it, sending cascades of prism colors outward with every turn of Primrose’s head. It had a very Celtic flare about it by design. It was fit for a Celtic nature goddess, and Primrose wore it well.

It suited her.

It suited him.

So much so, he’d given it to her with no payment save for her promise to wear it at the Renaissance Faire three times during the summer season.

Lorcan got the feeling that Primrose was not the kind of woman who accepted presents from men she didn’t know, or even from those she did. She struck him as careful and calculated in what she gave and what she took. He didn’t judge that; he respected it.

Yet, she’d looked at him through his mask, and her eyes flared as if somehow he’d challenged her to do something she wasn’t sure she was capable of doing.

Her small chin went up. She squared her shoulders and pushed them down, elongating her neck, as if by doing so she could somehow look down on a man easily seven inches taller than her. She almost did too, albeit from across the room. He’d have smiled if he hadn’t been afraid that would scare her. He’d been told more than once that he looked predatory when he smiled.

She kept the mask on while she walked back to him, posture ramrod straight. She held her hand out for him to shake. “It’s a bargain, Mr. Flynn.”

He shook her hand, a feeling of supreme satisfaction flowing through him. She must have felt it too because she startled at his touch before squeezing with the kind of authority he’d experienced only from men, for whom their handshake was truly their bond.

Then she walked out. Still wearing what was now her mask. Never once mentioning the sketches she splayed on his desk.

 

 

CHAPTER TWO

 

 

She’d struck a bargain with the devil.

An Irish devil with a smile that curled her toes and warmed her from the inside out, making her think of dark, elusive, wonderful things. The kind of things that dreams—dark, sensual and bone-meltingly sweet—were made of. Since the first day she’d seen him in Shute Pond, he’d haunted her, like an itch that no amount of scratching could satisfy.

Lorcan Flynn. His name suited him. Strong. Mysterious. Celtic.

Just like him.

He was everything she let herself dream about when she imagined her ideal lover. Dark hair, tall, with lithe yet sculpted musculature that enticed but didn’t overwhelm, and blue eyes as bright as the sky in June. It wasn’t his physical appeal that made her heart beat faster when he walked into a room. It was the way his eyes warmed when he looked at her, as if she were water to a thirsty man or the finest Scotch whisky to a connoisseur. Every time he looked at her, she felt precious to him.

He made her feel important every time he smiled.

Midday Masquerade is available alone at:

and also as part of my Four Seasons of Romance at:

Memories Are Priceless

Memories are like jewels in a box. Take them out. Let them glisten through your fingertips. Watch as the sunlight or candlelight shoots sparks of color. Every event in your life is a memory to savor and protect. Each one of us is a collection of our memories or the memories we are of others.

wakingupforchristmas-200x300

 

In my Christmas novella, Waking Up For Christmas, Chase will do anything to bring his wife back from her coma, even reliving every memory of their life together; the good ones and the bad ones. Chase reminds Darcy of when they first kissed as he was tutoring her during their college days.


Smiling, a smug feeling filled him at the thought of her spending time with him instead of football players and fraternity presidents. Until he was brought back to Earth with her questions about cost accounting and realized she only wanted him for his brains. It didn’t matter, he told himself. He was in this to get a new laptop, not a new girlfriend.

Time passed in a rush as he taught and she listened, asking questions to anything she didn’t understand. As they moved through the lessons her questions came less and less and her excitement for discussing the work grew. By the time they reached the end of the lesson, Darcy had him questioning everything he knew about accounting as her ideas outpaced his own at how to run a business. Why not? The Bennett Foundation had to be light years away from Thanos Furniture.

“I think you’re ready for a practice test,” he announced, tearing off a page from his notebook.

The pencil snapped in her hand, the jagged edge poking her palm. The pieces fell to the table at her cry of pain. He came around the table and grabbed her hand. A line slashed across her hand, filling up with bright, red blood.

She yanked her hand back and reached into her bag, pulling out a dingy shirt. He pulled it away from her. “We have to at least clean it first.”

He walked over to the librarian’s counter and moved to the other side. Squatting down, he came up with a white case with a red cross on the lid

Darcy laughed. “It’s just a scratch. I’m not bleeding to death.”

“Humor me,” he insisted. “It’s a lead pencil. We’ll clean it up and put a bandage. You can sit still long enough for that, can’t you?”

She huffed and slammed into the seat. “Fine, Doctor Thanos. Fix me.” Her voice turned low and sultry.

Darcy placed her hand, palm up, on the table, leaning in with her breasts resting on the table inches from her hand.

Chase swallowed and then swallowed again. He stared as her dark eyes glittered with mischief. She knew exactly what she was doing. He placed the first-aid kit on the table and squatted in front of her. He pulled a brown bottle out and opened it.

“This is going to hurt.”

Other than a small hiss she sat perfectly still. “It hurt a lot more when the doctor fixed my dislocated shoulder after I skied into a tree in Vail. It was almost worth it to see the look on Jillian’s face when it snapped back into place.”

“Who’s Jillian?” he asked, winding gauze around her hand and tying it off on the back of her hand.

“Jillian Michele. She always goes to Vail with us.”

He gulped air and starting coughing at her casual use of the name of the last president’s daughter. As if he needed a reminder that Darcy moved in a whole other world than he did. His job was to tutor her. Nothing more.

Moving the first-aid kit to the side, he handed her another pencil. Her fingers shook as she took it into her own hand.

“You aren’t afraid of a test, are you?”

The color drained from her face. He silently chastised himself. Lots of people hated tests. Some even feared them. If Darcy’s face was any indication, some people were terrified.

“I did fine in high school,” she stammered out. “College is just so much harder than I thought it would be.” A shaky laugh escaped her. “I thought I would breeze through. I mean, come on, my family owns the college.

“I did great until the first test. I froze. I couldn’t even remember the little I’d studied that week. It’s only getting worse. If I fail one more test I’m out of here. My parents are going to be so embarrassed.”

He put his hand over hers. “We’ll do this. We’ll practice until you get like me and like to take tests.”

She stared at him as if to say he’d lost his mind. He shrugged. He was used to that look anytime he mentioned his love of tests. “It’s as if the studying is the hard part. The test is the proof that the studying worked. I wish we didn’t have homework, either you do it or not. But the test. The test is the proof you get it and you get to show that you get it.”

Nodding her head, Darcy pulled the paper toward her. “I want that.”

Soon the floor around their table was littered with crumpled balls of paper but Darcy handed him the latest test with a smile on her face. His heart raced like a horse bursting from the gate. He’d do anything to have that smile directed at him instead of at the thought of doing well on a test. He took his pen and ticked off the correct answers against the key in the back of the book. He returned her smile.

“You only missed one.”

Her smile fell. “What do you mean, I missed one?”

He laughed. “You transposed two numbers on the last one and didn’t move the decimal point enough spaces. I’m pretty sure it doesn’t cost over a million dollars to make one teddy bear.”

“It seemed like a lot but I’ve seen them cost hundreds of thousands, so I thought, why not?”

He sat there dumbfounded at the thought of a priceless teddy bear. The one percent truly lived in a whole other world. Writing a minus one at the top of the page, he circled it and handed it to Darcy.

“I can do this,” she whispered, kissing the paper.

“You can,” he managed before she ran around the table and grabbed him. Yanking him to his feet, she smiled up at him and planted her soft, warm lips on his.

Her kiss deepened. Chase tried to pull back, but her arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him in close. Her soft fingers threaded through his hair sending shivers down his spine. Her tongue slid along his closed lips and he groaned. She took it as permission and her tongue slid along his. She tasted of oranges and cinnamon. Moving closer, he felt every inch of her firm, athletic body. Her breasts pressed into his chest. His breath caught and his heart raced. He’d wanted to do this since the moment she’d fallen into his lap.


My Main Street is called Brentwood Boulevard. LOL When we used to go through this town when I was a kid it didn’t even have traffic lights. Just one stop sign at the main intersection. I think there was maybe 10,000 people out here back then.


Happy Valentine’s Day. Make some wonderful memories!! Jill

Facebook Event

Facebook events that celebrate new book releases are multiplying every day. In addition to being fun, these events allow direct interaction between authors and readers. The visiting readers receive prizes. The participating authors broaden their readership and garner reviews.

On Tuesday I will participate in a Facebook event in honor of a new box release, SWEET CHRISTMAS KISSES 3.

Sweet Christmas Kisses 3: A Bundle of 17 Wholesome Holiday Romances – Kindle edition by Mona Risk, Christine Bush, Lyn Cote, Denise Devine, Raine English, Shanna Hatfield, Ciara Knight, Milou Koenings, Magdalena Scott, Roxanne Rustand, Alicia Street, Kristin Wallace, Merrillee Whren, Cindy Flores Martinez, Victoria Pinder, Josie Riviera, Pat Simmons.

Amazon https://amzn.com/B01JV3L154
Barnes&Noble http://tinyurl.com/z6nr25q
Apple http://tinyurl.com/jvc9n76
Kobo Books http://tinyurl.com/hhwm2c5
Google Play http://tinyurl.com/z5qzshr

In the two previous years, SWEET CHRISTMAS KISSES 2 and SWEET CHRISTMAS KISSES remained USA Today bestsellers for five weeks.

My contribution to Sweet Christmas Kisses 3, ON CHRISTMAS EVE, is a sweet Christmas story, and book 6 in the Holiday Babies Series.

CoverFinalMD-OnChristmasEve-

Tiffany broke their engagement five years ago when she thought Matthew cheated on her. But fate keeps throwing him in her path. His tender gaze erases years of loneliness and her heart squeezes with longing. And then, she notices the two little girls in his arms. His daughters? Where is their mother?
Can Tiffany and Matthew forgive each other, live in the present, and create a new future?

 

 

A tireless traveler, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Mona Risk writes contemporary romance, medical romance, and romantic suspense novels, all simmering with emotion. Sprinkled with a good dose of humor, her stories are set in the fascinating places she visits— or in Florida, her paradise on earth.

Hurricane Season

In Florida, we are facing our yearly hurricane season. The weather channel forecasts worrisome news about hurricanes and tropical storms, and warns residents to be prepared.

For the last month, we had typical summer weather–hot, sunny or hazy in the morning. Sometimes we were lucky to enjoy a slight breeze. Around noon the wind picked up, the clouds threatened and the surf heightened. Before we knew it, we were drenched with pouring rain while lightning and thunder competed in the darkened sky.

From my desk, I could see the change in weather– squalls of heavy rain pelleting the window while my office turned dark. It was time to switch on the light and switch off the computer.

After facing this warning on a daily base, one can’t help worrying about nasty weather, especially when we remember the mess caused by Hurricane Wilma in 2005. It’s difficult to decide how to prepare and behave when the forecast predicts a hurricane. To panic and evacuate as we did during our first summer in Fort Lauderdale? Or stay and weather the storm hoping it would bypass us?

Writers from my local chapter are exchanging advice on how to protect their precious files. Some use an online ‘storage’. Others send a disk/flash drive with their current work in process to out-of-state family members or friends. Many email themselves with their own files as attachment.

My husband has networked my computer, his laptop and an external back-up hard disc, a small box that is easy to carry if we have to evacuate. Still, I prefer to save my own files on a flash drive every night.

While we hope that Mother Nature will spare us this year and Wilma will remain a memory, how do you protect your work during hurricane season in the South, tornadoes in the Midwest (years ago, I faced a memorable tornado,  in Cincinnati) or blizzard and disaster time if you live in the North?

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author, Mona Risk published more than twenty books, some translated in German and French.
She received an Outstanding Achiever Award at Affaire de Coeur Magazine and is a
Best Romance Novel winner at Preditors & Editors Readers Poll;
Two-Time winner of Best Contemporary Romance Novel at Readers Favorite;
EPIC’s Ebook Award Finalist; and a Kindle Top 100 Bestselling Author

ON CHRISTMAS EVE is Book 6 of Holiday Babies Series, and my contribution to a coming Christmas anthology titled:

SWEET CHRISTMAS KISSES 3 on pre-order now:

Amazon http://tinyurl.com/jf8jjha
iTune /Apple http://tinyurl.com/jvc9n76
Kobo Books http://tinyurl.com/hhwm2c5
Google http://tinyurl.com/z5qzshr

The two previous boxes SWEET CHRISTMAS KISSES 1 and SWEET CHRISTMAS KISSES 2 reached the USA Today bestselling lists several times.

CoverFinalMD-OnChristmasEve-

Blue Background With Snowflake

 

 

Tiffany broke their engagement five years ago when she thought Matthew cheated on her. But fate keeps throwing him in her path. His tender gaze erases years of loneliness and her heart squeezes with longing. Until she notices the two little girls in his arms. His daughters? Where is their mother?
Can Tiffany and Matthew forgive each other, live in the present, and create a new future?

Summertime Reflection by Joan Reeves

Cover of Heat Lightning by Joan ReevesI love that old song “Summertime?” Maybe it’s just me, but it’s like the summertime I lived as a child.

Fish jumped. The cotton was high. The heat was a palpable thing because no one had air conditioning back then.

The bluesy melody plays in my head as I write this, and it makes me think about all the things I loved about those long ago summers when the living did seem easy.

Bygone Years

Since we had no air conditioning, summer evenings were spent on the porch and out in the yard. We kids chased lightning bugs, or fireflies if that’s how you know those little insects that could make a Mason jar glow like a lantern if you caught enough of them. If it wasn’t quite dark yet, most of us played baseball. We never seemed to tire of baseball.

The porch swing creaked as it swayed back and forth. The quiet voices of the adults on the porch talked about the happenings of the day, and the talk gleaned from the grapevine that always seems to wind through every small town and rural community.

The Evening Calm

Evenings were peaceful and a time to relax after a long day. I think people in today’s world lose that winding down at the end of the day. Instead of talking quietly, as a family, about the day, we seek relaxation in front of a television set, computer screen, or video game. It’s just not the same.

In fact, a lot of scientific studies have been done that say these activities interfere with sleep rather than make it easy. In a society where sleep deprivation is rampant, maybe we should change the way we unwind in the evenings?

The habit of enjoying the quiet calm of evening still lives in small towns and rural America. I see it whenever I visit my brother on his farm or talk with friends who live in the small towns near our country house. That small town environment is what I often write about in my romance novels.

In my most recent work, Heat Lightning for Summer Fire, the NY Times and USA Today bestselling romance collection, I touch on this a little. Tessa and David are secluded at a lake house in West Texas. When their WiFi goes out, a neighboring rancher offers his mobile device for David to use.

That’s what people in ranch country do. If a neighbor has a need, they’re willing to help. Later when there’s trouble at the lake house, not only does the county Sheriff show up, but also the neighboring ranchers. Farm and ranch folk are used to helping each other out.

Weather Phenomenon

The title for my romantic suspense novella was a no-brainer for me because the phrase heat lightning has always had a certain cachet for me. Perhaps because I remember watching it often in the night sky at summer.

I’ll be publishing Heat Lightning on June 30, apart from the box set which will be taken down in a few weeks. The story ended up being one of my favorites because the phenomenon known as heat lightning, where lightning can be seen but no thunder is heard, figures in the story.

I hope your summertime is full of good books, good times, and easy living!

Post Script

Bestselling romance author Joan Reeves lives her happily ever after with her husband in the Lone Star State. Her books, available as ebooks and audiobooks, all have the underlying theme that is her motto: “It’s never too late to live happily ever after.” Readers, sign up for WordPlay, Joan’s email list/newsletter. Joan also publishes Writing Hacks, a free newsletter for writers. Find Joan at SlingWords, her blog and follow her on Facebook and Twitter.