Monday, December 26, 2011

Interview with Destiny Booze

Hello to author Destiny Booze, who is sharing about her writing this week. Comment below and have a chance to win a free pdf of one of her books!

WP: What do you write?

D: Romantic suspense novels and thrillers.

WP: Why do you choose the genres you do?

D: I write what I love to read! I'm a huge follower of the romantic suspense genre. Have any recommendations for me? Send them my way.

WP: What made you first want to be a writer?

D: I began writing stories in Elementary School. It was an escape for me, a cheap form of therapy even, and still is. I love, love, love to write!

WP: What inspires you?

D: Everything, anything, or nothing. Friends, family, acquaintances, strangers. I'm a people-watcher for sure. I have a very active imagination and it frequently roams to places that I cannot explain. :)

WP: What kicks the brain into gear when you have writer’s block?

D: Reading! If I get stuck at a certain spot in my story, I will reread it from beginning to end, and most often, that will get me back into the plot where I need to be. Or, I will take a step back and read something relaxing and entertaining, then return to my story. The creative juices usually take off again.

WP: Who is your favorite character you have created?

D: Garrett from The Curse of a Mind. He is the autistic brother of the heroine. Writing from his point-of-view was a definite challenge, but his character really came to life for me, and he is my favorite character thus far! I truly fell in love with him.

WP: Is there any genre you want to try, but haven’t yet?

D: I've played around with a little science fiction and fantasy storylines that may turn into something in the future. We shall see.

WP: What do you hope readers will take away from your stories?

D: Hope. I believe in people. I think they can overcome any trial life throws at them, and the characters in my stories often do have to overcome some serious hardships from their pasts.

WP: What’s your latest news and do you have anything releasing soon?

D: I have a release scheduled for November 28, 2011! I'm so excited! It's called Accelerating Circumstances, and here's a blurb.

Jenny is different. She can read people’s minds.

At age seventeen, Jenny Reid was arrested for killing her own mother. There was no evidence that an intruder entered the house. No one believed her as a teenager when she tried to tell them how she felt the killer’s rage saturated within the walls, that she knew the presence of evil had been there. The police thought she was crazy, not psychic.

A conviction was never made in the case due to lack of evidence. Jenny is still the sole suspect, but now, she is doing something about it. She’s on the right side of the law, an FBI agent determined to finally find justice for her mom.

Two men stay by her side—William, her partner, a darkly intense agent with a scary past and Nate, a bad boy with too much charisma to be a good thing. But, no man will keep her from finding out the truth about her mom. The time has come to set things right.

Nothing will stand in her way. She’ll come up close with evil again and face the ultimate choice—kill or be killed in these ACCELERATING CIRCUMSTANCES.

WP: Where can we find you on the web?

D: I'm all over the place out there. If you see me, be sure to say hello! Here's a few specific links to catch me.

You can also find out more about me, my books, and where to contact me through my website at

Friday, December 16, 2011

Interview with Danielle Thorne

We have author Danielle Thorne sharing with us today! Comment below to win a free copy of a book of your choice penned by this awesome author!

WP: What do you write?

D: I'm a sweet romance writer concentrating on the contemporary and historical genres. This next year will be the release of my first Young Adult paranormal.

WP: Why do you choose the genres you do?

D: I love history. The romance and adventure of the past is very real, and I hope to bring it to life as I create characters that I would like to meet. Writing contemporary romance is fun because there is more freedom to write from my own experience of places and situations.

WP: What made you first want to be a writer?

D: As soon as I could write sentences down and string ideas together I understood that I had an outlet that allowed me to escape and create. My second grade teacher made early predictions.

WP: What inspires you?

D: Traveling and experiencing new things really jumpstarts my creative juices. Also, watching classic movies and reading good books can inspire ideas.

WP: What kicks the brain into gear when you have writer’s block?

D: I have to walk away and let things stew for a while. However, the only real solution to writer's block is discipline, pure and simple.

WP: Who is your favorite character you have created?

D: My favorite character I've created is Captain Julius Bertrand from THE PRIVATEER. I suppose I'm drawn to mysterious personalities, so I enjoyed portraying a complex character that not everyone gets. On the other hand, I know now that I have more writing experience I was far too close to him, but that doesn't change the fact that I'll always be enamored of him.

WP: Is there any genre you want to try, but haven’t yet?

D: My first paranormal will be released in 2012. This is definitely new territory for me.

WP: What do you hope readers will take away from your stories?

D: My wish is that readers will fall for my characters and enjoy a little getaway and adventure. I also hope to provide them with clean fiction and sweet romances that they can share with their friends and family.

WP: What’s your latest news and do you have anything releasing soon?

D: This October I traveled to Kentucky for a four author book signing where I gave away copies of one of my ebooks and signed print copies of Whimsical Publications', JOSETTE, my first Regency Romance that has really made me proud.

WP: Where can we find you on the web?

D: My official website is

Readers can follow my blog at:

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Chase away those cold winter nights...

With this great anthology!

Buy me

When the cold of winter sets in and your body shivers, warm up with a cup of hot chocolate, a warm blanket, a comfy chair and a good book. Join the authors as they share stories that will scare you, thrill you, delight you, break your heart and entertain you, all set with a winter theme.

Hearts of Fire by Regina Puckett
Mantequero by Jenny Twist
Christmas Angel by Sharon Donovan
Till Death Do Us Part by S.M. Senden
Long Winter by Paul McDermott
Christmas Hope by Jane Wakely
Burgers and Hot Chocolate by Angela Adams
Saving Santa by Melissa Hosack
If Only by Janet Durbin


Fiction-Winter Anthology 2011
Whimsical Publications,
LLC/paperback, 174 pages
December 2011

ISBN-13: 978-1-936167-66-1
--Christmas Hope--

Another Thanksgiving alone. Karen sighed as she took the cookies out of the oven. She wondered briefly if she should sell the bakery and move to Florida to be closer to her parents. She immediately
discarded the idea. She loved her shop, Delightful, and she worked hard to make it a success in this town, which she loved just as much.

Karen had grown up in Woodland Springs and wanted to live the rest of her life here. She’d dreamt of opening a bakery in the small town and did everything she could to make that dream happen.

She had other dreams, too. She wanted to get married and start a family. She wanted to be surrounded by friends and relatives. Unfortunately, while she’d stayed close to home for school, most
of her friends had traveled to far away colleges and never came back except on holidays. Her parents got tired of the cold winters and moved to Florida. She had made new friends, of course, but
sometimes she longed for things to be the way they used to be.

The holiday season was the worst time of the year for Karen. Not for business, but for her personal life. Maybe she should take a vacation. She would, but she didn’t want to close the store during the
busiest time of the year. The day after Thanksgiving, everyone started to come home for Christmas. Woodland Springs bustled with all of her old friends coming home to spend a white Christmas with
their families and share the experience of the Christmas Carnival with their children.

--Christmas Angel--

“I want an abortion,” Eve hissed, glaring at her husband as he struggled to control his SUV during a complete white-out on the northbound lane of Lake Shore Drive. Gusts of bitter wind howled, sleet pummeled the windows, turning one of Chicago’s main arteries into a car graveyard. She cranked up the radio, fiddling until she stumbled upon a rock song to her liking. “And I want a divorce.”

“You’re drunk,” Oliver said, dark eyes flashing in the oncoming traffic. “We’ll talk about this when you’re sober.”

“I’m not drunk, and we’ll talk about it now,” Eve said, turning up the radio a notch. “I’m sick to death of your self-righteous attitudes. Your constant moralizing drives me mad. I only had a few drinks. It was a Christmas party, after all.”

“A few drinks?” Oliver snorted, skidding on the off-ramp from Stevenson Expressway. “Don’t make me laugh. You were tilting back that Sangria like it was cherry soda. You’re pregnant and shouldn’t be drinking at all. You shoulda seen yourself out there on the dance floor in that skin-tight red dress, rubbing up to all the male jockeys, shimmying and kicking up your stiletto heels like you were a
contestant in Dancing With the Stars. You looked ridiculous. Everyone was laughing and pointing. Honey, you made a royal ass of yourself.”


June stood at the edge of the precipice, the wind whipping at her clothes as she looked down into the crevasse. Far below, the river was a tiny silver snake. An eagle circled beneath her, its wings stained red with the light from the setting sun. What would it feel like, she wondered. What would it be like to just lean forward and launch yourself into the void? She imagined herself gliding on the warm air currents, floating, gradually going down, down... You would just have to flex your legs and arch your arms upwards into the air. Unconsciously, she flexed her legs.

“No!” Strong fingers gripped her shoulders and pulled her back from the edge.

She turned to look at her would-be saviour and smiled.

He was a young man, tall for a Spaniard, and pale, but with that arrogant beauty so many young Spaniards had. His eyes were so dark they were almost black below the sweeping lashes.

“Hello, Beautiful,” he said.

--Hearts on Fire--

“Look at those eyes! They’re absolutely gorgeous.”

Even with two heavy trays precariously balanced under each arm, Jordan managed a quick glance in the direction Katie was pointing, but didn’t get to see too much of the man her friend was gushing
over before one of the trays began slipping. She leaned sideways to compensate for the extra weight and when that didn’t help; she wrapped the ends of her fingertips around the edge of the tray to try to keep it from dropping onto the floor and splattering green beans everywhere. With one knee balancing the tottering tray and the other leg braced inwards to offset the awkward position, she gave
a snort of disbelief. “Really, you’re drooling over Santa Claus?”

Katie reached over and grabbed the tray Jordan was trying so desperately not to drop onto the floor. “Don’t be silly. That’s not the real Santa Claus.”

With thirty children under ten years of age milling around, Jordan didn’t want to begin a long, drawn-out conversation about whether or not Katie still believed in Santa Claus, so she set the remaining
tray onto the nearest table and nodded. “You might be right, but even if that is true, the guy is way too old for you.”

Katie set the green beans next to the Jordan’s tray and spun around again. She was quiet for a moment before declaring to everyone within listening distance. “I don’t think so. He appears to be
close to our age, but then it’s really hard to tell with that ugly beard covering up
most of his face.”

--The December Bride--

Missy Dewing Jenkins believed she had finally achieved what she had worked so hard to get in her life. It had taken her over forty-eight years and two failed marriages to get it, but she was sure things would now be just as she had always dreamed they would be, because she believed that finally, at long last, she had arrived.

It was the first of December and her wedding day. She had always dreamt of a winter wedding, the world dressed in white and her own dress as pure white as snow. The night before Mother Nature had
obliged her by making the world a winter wonderland, six inches of new snow glistened in the sunlight like sugar spilled across the landscape.

She loved the snow, the winter and the cold. She had been called an Ice Maiden before and it had pleased her. It sounded so clean, so perfect, and so much like the woman she aspired to be. Now it
was all coming true like the Snow Maiden’s dream of her Prince of Winter who rescues her.

Missy knew she had found her prince. At last she had married Kevin Jenkins, the man of her frozen reveries; the man who was going to fulfill all her hopes and dreams.

Burgers and Hot Chocolate--

All of Main Street heard Bing Crosby crooning “White Christmas” from Sparks CafĂ©. Huge silver bells and glittery red garland decorated the streetlamps. Bright, colorful Christmas lights hung in store windows. As a dry, brash cold nipped the air, a soft dusting of snow sprinkled the cars and sidewalks. The white flakes added to the festive mood that spread through the quaint, coastal village of Magic
Lake Island. More snow was being forecasted for later in the week. It appeared Bing’s dream of a white Christmas had a good chance of coming true.

As I strolled along the brick path, I mingled and exchanged friendly greetings with the holiday shoppers. This was the aspect of small town living I enjoyed the most. Practically everyone knew each
other, and often for those who didn’t, tossing a smile or a pleasant nod was still the norm. Even if they had just passed each other in the supermarket no more than thirty minutes beforehand, folks always
greeted one another as if they hadn’t been together for years. It was the Friday before Christmas and the town folks celebrated the merriment of the season.

I turned the corner and trotted up the freshly swept steps of a red brick building. Easing open the door, I stepped inside and felt the immediate hot rush of radiator heat. The room was nearly filled to
capacity. Parents, grandparents and anyone with an attachment to a school-age child ambled through, searching for available seats. In typical Magic Lake fashion smiles, hellos, and handshakes
were being exchanged.

This afternoon was the Magic Lake Elementary School Holiday Concert. Framed by evergreens with strings of holly and twinkling lights suspended from the ceiling, the auditorium looked cheerful, warm and inviting. I stood by a pair of double doors in the back which had a pine wreath hanging on each wooden panel. Pulling off my wool gloves, I scanned the massive hall for a vacant seat. While I
wanted to be able to see and enjoy the show, I felt the choice seats upfront belonged to family. I was just a volunteer in the After School Program. I helped by serving snacks, assisting with playground
activities, aiding children with homework, and playing board games with them while they waited for parents to pick them up after finishing work.

"Miss Theresa, Miss Theresa, you’re here!”

Long Winter--

“And for tonight's weather… There’s no end in sight for the current freezing conditions, I'm afraid…“

Tom sighed, and turned the radio off. “So true…“ The words, although he'd spoken them sotto voce, without conscious thought, ricocheted accusingly around the spartan tiled kitchen. There were no drapes, curtains or other softer surfaces to restrict the madcap mocking cacophony in the crockery.

'Talking to yourself again; it'll get you locked up if someone ever hears you,' he thought to himself and shrugged. What were the chances of anyone intruding on his late night loneliness? All but zero, he told himself as he debated whether he could really be bothered to brew another pot of coffee. Besides, it was a bad habit, and one he had to lose before it became a problem.

In a fortnight he'd be writing May on his correspondence, and Britain had been since…he paused and thought back. There was no doubt about it: mid-October. Six months, already, and no end in sight. Who'd have thought winter in the UK could ever last this long?

For no reason, a melody threaded its way through his brain, and he knew immediately it would haunt him for hours on end. Such melodies and their associated lyrics invariably did. He'd discovered a long time ago that this was one of the drawbacks of being a writer. For no apparent reason, he recalled that he’d first heard it as a child, on a pre-recorded BBC Music program designed to help non-
specialists to teach young children to sing.

If Only--

Her father normally ran the business, but he was home sick. Mother felt obliged to stay with him, as usual, hence the reason she was here instead of home studying. She didn’t mind, though. It made her
feel good to be able to help her parents.

Sitting on the tall stool, Jenny looked down at the book lying open on the counter before her again. It was math, one of her worst subjects. She hated this class, but knew it was necessary if she was going to graduate in the spring.

Several hours passed and darkness blanketed everything outside before she knew it. The lights inside the store were bright enough to allow her to see the math problems easily, though, so she
returned her attention to the pages. She was intent on having her homework finished as soon as possible so she could enjoy the rest of the weekend.

It startled her when the door chimed, because she never saw lights from a car indicating anyone had arrived at the store. She looked up at the person or persons entering the building with a sigh of relief.
Customers allowed her to get away from the torture of school work for a little while. There were three people, all of them young men. Jenny didn’t recognize any of them which was unusual because her father’s store was the central hub for the residents in this part of town. There was no other place to get gas and small groceries. Two of the men were shorter and had blond hair. The third was tall. His long, dark flowing hair mesmerized her. All three were very handsome, but he stood out to her the most.

“We need beer. I bet its back here,” one of the blonds said as he hopped toward the back of the store.

“Mercedes, you stupid nut, what do we need beer for?” the other blond asked as he followed.

“Because I want it…that’s why.”

The dark haired man remained close to the counter, staring at Jenny. His eyes were as black as the night. They were captivating.

She felt uncomfortable, her heart racing. She wasn’t sure what his intentions were. Was he going to rob the store? Were he and his friends going to attack her? Or were they just there for beer?

“Raymond, you want any?”

The man wearing a white t-shirt, black leather pants and a long black coat never took his eyes off her as he spoke, “No, not this time, Ben.”

“Suit yourself, man. Your loss.”

Saving Santa--

I’ve always been a big fan of the Christmas season. As a child, I would stomp through the snow-covered woods near our home to pick out the perfect tree with my father. The two of us would then
drag it home where my mother and sister were waiting with warm eggnog, another holiday favorite. Every year, I wrote a letter to Santa, believing in my heart that he would read it with care.

As an adult, my love of the holiday hasn’t diminished. I now live in a big city, so I’ve traded in the fresh pine for a fake tree equipped with built-in twinkly lights. Nowadays, I spike my eggnog, too. I still write
that letter to Santa, but I no longer mail it to the North Pole.

With all my gusto for the holidays, nothing prepared me for the couple that stood expectantly outside my apartment door. I’d just finished lugging my tree up from storage when I heard the persistent
knock. Dropping the awkward box, I threw open the door with a cheery smile. “Hell…o…” I trailed off in

In the hallway were a man and woman, both no taller than four feet. They were dressed in attire that would have fit right in with the Christmas setup at the mall. They wore green and red elf costumes
made of a fine looking velvet, their outfits completed by little bells on the tips of their shoes and hats.

“Cara Faulk?” the woman inquired in a squeaky yet angelic voice. On my stunned nod, she continued, “I’m Emma. This is Bernie.” When the man didn’t respond, Emma elbowed him in the ribs,
finally producing a cordial nod. “We’re…” She glanced at Bernie before turning back to me with a winning smile. “We’re here to congratulate you on your sweepstakes winning! You’re in for a real
treat. You’ve won an all-expense paid vacation for the weeks leading up to Christmas.”

Friday, December 9, 2011

Interview with Regina Puckett

Whimsical author Regina Puckett is here to share with us today. Comment below and get a chance to win a free copy of her novel Waiting for Mary Elizabeth!

WP: What do you write?

R: All of my stories are sweet romances.

WP: Why do you choose the genres you do?

R: I love writing about falling in love. I began swapping short stories with a good friend in the eighth grade. Things were going well until my mother found out. She was quick to put a stop to my new writing interest, but even a mother can’t stop what is meant to be. Even at that young age my stories were more about the beginning stages of falling in love than what happens after the wedding.

WP: What made you first want to be a writer?

R: I can’t think of a better career to have. Words are powerful things. Writers create worlds that millions of other people can go visit for a short time. Writers can make people laugh or cry. There are people out there that actually create brand new worlds from nothing more than their imaginations.

There’s no other job out there that let’s me create the perfect man or a love that lasts forever.

WP: What inspires you?

R: Little things catch my attention and they slowly worm their way into my thoughts and daydreams. I find myself wondering, what if… Of course then I have to pull all of those what ifs together and make a complete story out of them. My biggest what if came from a dream I had several years ago. I dreamed I had to raise another woman’s child. The real journey came the next day when I couldn’t get the dream out of my mind. I slowly built on the dream for about three years until I decided I had to write all of my daydreams down and before I knew it I had the first book in my Warren family series.

WP: What kicks the brain into gear when you have writer’s block?

R: I hate writer’s block. It really stopped me in my tracks on book four of my Warren family series. It kept me blocked for about three years. I would write four chapters and then come to a complete roadblock about where the story was going. I would hate everything about the book so I would tear it all up and completely start all over again. I went back to the beginning five times on Love’s Great Plan. I actually wrote book five and had it completely edited before I understood my two main characters in book four. Once I understood my main characters the book was easy to write. I really believe the only way to get over writer’s block is to keep writing.

WP: Who is your favorite character you have created?

R: Gregory Blackwell is the man I wish every man could really be. He is my main character in my newest novel, Waiting for Mary Elizabeth. He is not only gorgeous and sensitive but also has so much integrity. He’s the man every woman wants for a partner.

WP: Is there any genre you want to try, but haven’t yet?

R: I envy writers who write good mysteries. It would be great to be able to create such a good puzzle that the readers can’t wait to find out what the answer to it is.

WP: What do you hope readers will take away from your stories?

R: I hope to able to keep my readers entertained for a few hours. I know when I read, I like to escape my day to day life and slip into someone else’s shoes for a short time. When it’s a love story, I want to fall in love, and if it’s a mystery, I want to able to solve it before the end of the book. I want to create characters the readers can relate to. I want everyone to care enough to fall in love right along with my couple. When someone tells me that I made them cry or laugh, I know then that my characters were people the readers were able to really care about.

WP: What’s your latest news and do you have anything releasing soon?

R: I have a book signing on January 7, between the hours of 2 and 4 for my latest sweet romance, Waiting for Mary Elizabeth. The signing will be at Hasting Bookstore at 1660 Memorial Boulevard, Murfreesboro, Tennessee 37130.

My short story, Hearts on Fire, will be released in a Winter Anthology at the end of 2011 by Whimsical Publications.

WP: Where can we find you on the web?


Friday, December 2, 2011

Interview with Diane Craver

Today we have Whimsical Author Diane Craver here to share about her work and herself. Comment and be entered to win a $10 Amazon gift card!

What do you write?

D: I write a variety of genres. I write historical fiction, inspirational romance, contemporary sweet romance, chick-lit mystery, and women’s fiction.

WP: Why do you choose the genres you do?

D: I first published in non-fiction but realized it was more fun and a wonderful escape to write fiction. I enjoy giving interesting careers to my heroines and heroes. I especially love writing dialogue.

WP: What made you first want to be a writer?

D: I’ve always enjoyed writing but when our oldest daughter Sara was a toddler, I started writing non-fiction. I wrote a partial manuscript, Born to Love, about her and how my faith became stronger as a result of having Sara. It was very therapeutic for me to examine my faith and to learn to give thanks to God for our situation of having a child with special needs. I never finished the book, but several articles about my faith journey were published in various Christian magazines. I also have had articles published in Woman’s Weekly and other publications.

WP: What inspires you?

D: Different things inspire me. It might be something I hear from a television newscast and it makes me think of a story I want to write. Sometimes it might be a personal experience of mine but I will fictionalize it. My historical fiction, A Christmas Gift, was inspired by my father. I had thought of writing a story about him for a long time. His life was hard with his mother’s rejection at a young age so he was raised by various relatives. Some homes were better than others, because he stayed at times with an alcoholic uncle. Even though both parents deserted him, he had a deep faith and was able to be a good father to me and my siblings.

Also I wanted the young daughter to be the one to help her dad with his disability. I thought it fitting that she could make him believe that his obstacle could still be overcome at his age. In turn, he gives her a beautiful gift that comes from his heart.

WP: What kicks the brain into gear when you have writer’s block?

D: I take a break and do something else. Usually ideas will come to me while I’m away from writing so I can return with a refreshed mind and realize what needs to be written next.

WP: Who is your favorite character you have created?

D: That’s a tough question. There are two characters I probably enjoyed writing the most. They are Whitney Benson and Debby Reeves. Whitney is a former New York producer and moves back home to take care of her ill mother. I can relate to Whitney because she’s the youngest sister and has two older sisters. I happen to have three older sisters so it was fun to write Whitney in Charge with older sisters playing matchmaker to their little sis. And, of course, I have to say Debby is one of my favorites because she’s so like I was at a young age…a brat but lovable. LOL Debby is a character in A Christmas Gift.

WP: Is there any genre you want to try, but haven’t yet?

D: I don’t have any genre I’d like to try.

WP: What do you hope readers will take away from your stories?

D: I hope my stories will be a wonderful and fun escape for readers. I enjoy writing scenes with humorous dialogue. Before I’m completely satisfied with my work in progress, I must do tons of rewrites. I always try to write the best book possible. I hope my readers will be inspired and come away with a feeling of satisfaction and hope.

WP: What’s your latest news and do you have anything releasing soon?

D: My latest release is The Proposal and it sells now for 99 cents by itself. It was published in a Christmas anthology a year ago with 3 other authors. I’m thrilled to have my sweet contemporary romance available this season on Amazon and Smashwords. Another Christmas book to enjoy is A Christmas Gift and I’m happy to say it’s available in both paperback and ebook. To purchase a copy, visit these sites: Whimsical Publications, Barnes & Noble, Amazon, and Smashwords.

I’m a contributor to a brand new cookbook! The title is Sweet Sunshine: Baking Sweet Memories and it’s in ebook format and paperback. The authors will not receive any royalty money and all the profits go to a worthy charity. Within these pages, several featured authors have shared a childhood memory, some pictures of us as little kids, recipes, and a few have written a story, complete with artwork and coloring pages. Recipes include; Cookies, Cakes, Pies, Desserts, Fudge & Smoothies! It’s available on Amazon.

WP: Where can we find you on the web?

D: My blog is and my website is To read book excerpts and other writing information, please visit my website and blog. If you leave comments on my blog, you’ll be entered to win my frequent giveaways.

Friday, November 25, 2011

Interview with Anne Patrick

We have Whimsical author Anne Patrick here to tell us a little bit more about herself and her books today. Let's all give her a warm hello! Comment below and have a chance to win a free copy of her book Journey to Redemption!

WP: What do you write?
A: Inspirational romantic suspense & inspirational romance

WP: Why do you choose the genres you do?
A: I'm a suspense junkie. It's in my blood. And everyone needs romance in their life.

WP: What made you first want to be a writer?
I can't remember a time when I wasn't making up stories in my head. Writing them down just came naturally.

WP: What inspires you?
A: Life. There are stories all around us.

WP: What kicks the brain into gear when you have writer’s block?
Reading and long walks.

WP: Who is your favorite character you have created?
I have two. Sadie in Fire and Ash, and Maggie in Reservations for Two.

WP: Is there any genre you want to try, but haven’t yet?
A: No. I'm comfortable where I am. Maybe in the future. I write what's on my heart.

WP: What do you hope readers will take away from your stories?
A: I not only want them to enjoy the adventure, my hope is that it touched them in some way...inspired them.

WP: What’s your latest news and do you have anything releasing soon?
I have a new inspirational, Renegade Hearts, and a new suspense, Kill Shot: Wounded Heroes Book One.

WP: Where can we find you on the web?
A: My website: and my blog:

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Put this one on your list!

Buy me

Justin Reeves is a man who has it all: a good job, a loving wife and children who are the center of his
universe. Justin also has a secret he's hidden from everyone his entire life—or so he thought. Quite
innocently his small daughter, Debby, stumbles upon his secret and is shocked by what she finds. She
confronts her father with the awful truth, and together they embark upon a journey which takes her father
from the darkness of shame into the light of victory.

Drawing from true events in her own childhood, author Diane Craver captivates the reader from page
one to a stunning climax which will touch your heart and impact your life forever in this must-read story of
love's triumph over adversity.



It was 1957 when I saw something that I wasn’t meant to see. I have never forgotten this night because it
had such an impact on me. I was only seven years old, and what I saw my father doing confused me.
Finally, I had enough courage to ask my mother about it. After she explained everything to me, I was
shocked and saddened.

What happened after I learned my father’s greatest secret was extraordinary to our family. When my
father, Justin L. Reeves, decided to conquer an overwhelming disability in life, he was fifty-four years
old. He gave our family an incredible gift to last a lifetime because of what he accomplished at this age.
His triumph made me into the woman I am today. My three older siblings were able to make the best
decisions of their adult lives because of our father's influence.

This is a story of determination and hope. My father's journey was not easy. But if it had been easy, I
wouldn't be telling his story now. After you finish reading this book, I pray that the true meaning will linger
in your heart and mind; just as the outcome of my long ago memory has remained in my soul for fifty-
three years.

My name is Debra Reeves Cunningham, and I am sixty years old. It’s not hard to take you back to the
beginning in 1957 when I was seven. My life was good and simple. My memories of this wonderful year
are crystal clear. We lived on a farm with eighty acres outside of Findlay, Ohio. My petite mother, Lucille,
worked hard doing whatever needed to be done on the farm. She was a big help to my dad when it came
to dairy chores. With no milking machines, they milked seven cows by hand in the morning and again in
the evening.

My siblings didn't help with this time-consuming job. My oldest sister, Gail, was twenty-five and lived at
home, but not by her choice. Whenever she mentioned moving to an apartment, our mother insisted that
wouldn’t be proper for a single woman. Gail worked as a secretary at the impressive Ohio Oil Company
in Findlay. She always dressed in pretty clothes and went out on dates all the time.

My brother, Carl, at the age of twenty-one was in the Army, and he hated it. He wrote me the best letters.
The past summer, we all traveled in our blue Mercury car to visit him in North Carolina.

Next in the family was my fourteen-year-old sister, Kathy. We shared a bedroom, and she never
complained about sharing a room with a younger sister. She only worried about not being able to dance.
From the time she was a small child, she wanted to be a dancer. She watched all the Shirley Temple
movies and practiced on the kitchen linoleum floor. I was told how her dancing entertained me when I
was a fussy baby with teething pain.

A short time after Kathy celebrated her seventh birthday, she was stricken with polio. She wore a brace
on her left leg because the polio had weakened these muscles. Dancing was no longer a realistic dream
for Kathy.

It's time to take you back to the night when what I saw made me question everything. From my siblings, I
learned that sometimes we see only what we want to see, and only face the truth when we can no longer
deny it. I remember everything about that night so well. In my mind I see my bare feet softly walking down
twenty-two steps. I enjoyed counting the steps and jumping off the last one.

It drove Gail crazy whenever she was in a hurry and be-hind me. “Why do you have to count these
stupid steps all the time?”

“I like to count them. I always get twenty-two.”

And so on this particular night I counted them again. With no light on to guide my footsteps, I didn't want
to fall in the dark. I didn't switch the hallway light on because it would shine through the register. My
parents might wake up and see the light from their bedroom. Mommy liked to keep a door open for air
circulation in their small room. I knew that I had to be very quiet since I wasn't supposed to be up at this
late hour. I skipped the jump off the last step so my parents wouldn't hear me. With a racing heart, I
slowly opened the old stairway door, hoping it wouldn't make a sound.

Monday, October 24, 2011

Have you missed this one?

Don't miss out!

Buy here

Retired from the Marine Corps and the California Department of Corrections, Major Matt Rommel's life has been one long exercise in applied violence. The gold rush in internet stocks made him a wealthy man. Now, he is a docent at San Francisco's Palace of the Legion of Honor. He spends his days surrounded by art treasures and his nights in the Mission District at Vince's bar. Matt Rommel is a grizzled combat veteran who is afraid of women.

The roller-coaster years of the internet boom and bust have also changed the life of Carolyn Kast, leaving her with a failed marriage to a man committed only to his forlorn hope of a technology company. Now, Carolyn is a single mother in her middle forties with a troubled six-year-old daughter who is obsessed with the scarred, giant of a man she saw on a visit to the museum.

As Carolyn struggles to make a living at her fledgling ad agency, Brand Loyalty, and keep her two new partners from each other's throats, it is becoming clear that someone is trying to kill her. Carolyn is at a loss for either a motive or a suspect.

But her daughter Aubrey knows what to do. Go to the man she has decided is an enforcer for Santa Claus: The Scary Man!


Matt Rommel stood at the door, a thoroughly surprised man. That, in itself, gave Carolyn Kast some satisfaction. She was still uncomfortable. How was she going to explain herself?

“Madam, what are you doing here? How else have I transgressed? What new injury have I perpetrated?”

Carolyn looked at Matt Rommel. “You could invite me in.”

“Yes, of course. Won't you please come in?”

Carolyn stepped into the foyer, making a deliberate effort not to be seen looking around, surveying the home, any gesture that could be interpreted as mercantile. She had to know. What was this man doing? Was he living in one place and pretending to live somewhere else? Why? Of course, she knew that before she could reasonably ask, she was going to explain why she was here at all. How was she going to explain her own actions first?

“You're probably wondering why I am here,” she began.

Matt Rommel motioned toward the spacious living room, its carpets and furniture a careful study in tans, browns and gold. The ceilings were high, but it still seemed warm. “Would you like to sit down?”

This reception was much different from the one above Vince's bar. Carolyn had an insight. This was his home and, being his home, the demands of hospitality were greater. “No thank you,” she said. “When I left the bar, I got turned around in traffic. When I finally got things straightened out, I noticed your Cadillac. You were driving so slowly that I thought you might be having car trouble so I followed you in case you had to pull over. When you pulled into the garage, it occurred to me that maybe it wasn't car trouble. I thought maybe you were ill, so I…”

“Knocked on the door to see if I was all right?” Rommel ventured.

“Exactly. I gather you are. All right, I mean,” Carolyn continued.

“Yes, thank you. I'm fine.”

“I'm glad,” she said. “Well, I have to be going. You just remember that little talk we had.”

“About respecting your privacy?”

“Yes.” Carolyn flushed scarlet. However lame it seemed, it was apparent that Mr. Rommel was prepared to accept the pretense so she would just have to bluff her way through. As she stood, a chirpy tune blared from her purse. “I'm sorry. I have to get this,” she said, answering the cell phone.

“Carolyn Kast.”

“It's me, Denni. Are you still in the City?”

“Yes, but I'm just leaving, and I should be there to pick up Aubrey in less than an hour.”

“I don't think so,” Denni responded. Her tone seemed strained.

“Why? Is something wrong?” Without knowing why, she braced herself. She could see, both Mr. Rommel and the dog were responding to her tension, studying her.

“The San Francisco Police called. They need you to meet them back at the office” Denni spoke slowly, choosing her few words with care. “Sarah has been murdered.”

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Need some suspense in your off time?

Then this book is for you!

Buy me

Angelica Chappell’s story made huge headlines. Only a few months ago, she released a new
pharmaceutical drug called Krytonix that effectively slows the spread of cancer cells. She had no idea her story would attract the attention of a serial killer. Suddenly, she is a target whether she realizes it or not. This killer is interested in more than her life. He wants her reputation, too. His first mission is to sabotage Krytonix.

William Pierce worked undercover for the FBI for five years to bring down a ruthless mobster that he ultimately is forced to kill. Two months have passed by since that assignment. Still, William saw things he can’t talk about. He did things he can’t talk about. He believes his soul is damned. Returning to “normal” everyday life isn’t an option. He isn’t the same man he used to be. He refuses to return to FBI headquarters, and instead, becomes a rogue agent with an agenda.

When Pierce's agenda leads him to Chappell, it will take both of them to keep Angelica alive and figure out who is after her. William soon finds himself developing feelings for Angelica. Too bad for her killer, William worked as a trained hit-man for the mob. Will he find her killer and hand him over to the legal system to see that justice is served, or will he search and destroy?


She wished he would leave her alone. She even considered putting up the optional privacy window between the front and back of the car. Of course she wasn’t okay. Didn’t he understand just how serious this situation was?

“Want me to turn the radio to that funky station you like?”

The “funky” music he referred to was a hip-hop channel that played a combination of some rock, some rhythm and blues, and a bit of rap. It was actually the most listened to station of the area. It was also Patrick’s favorite. The old man had odd tastes. One of her grandfather’s rules was that the station had to be turned off, or tuned into a classical station unless otherwise requested by the passenger. That rule applied to Chappell family or guests. Patrick was asking if she wanted that music so he could listen to what he really wanted to. She wondered if he knew she was onto his little deception.

“Sure,” she said.

“Here you go.”

A new Justin Timberlake song filled the car. It didn’t help Angelica to relax. Her chest burned with stress and fear. The air she breathed actually hurt. Her life as she knew it could be over.

After another couple of minutes, Patrick tried again to start a conversation. “This will blow over, honey. Trust me. Everything does. People aren’t going to blame you. Everybody loves you.”

He was so wrong on so many levels. The public would want someone to blame and she would get that honor. She would be crucified. She expected that reaction and it was justifiable. She knew the burden was hers. Truth be told, she didn’t care what people thought and never had. Why should she? She never saw anyone outside of the lab anyway. She didn’t care if people hated her because of Krytonix. She did care that people were going to die because of her drug. It was her failure. It was her responsibility to figure out what was wrong. People’s lives were on the line. She accepted that accountability.

“Oh shit. Hang on.”

The hair on Angelica’s neck stood up when she heard the panic in Patrick’s statement. Her stomach nosedived to her feet and returned in utter turmoil. Her eyes darted to the road to find the source of the problem. They were close to home, a quiet part of town where tourists didn’t venture and traffic was far less dense. The road was curvy, leading to a steep grade to the top of a deserted hillside that held the Chappell Mansion.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” Patrick said again.

They were traveling much too fast for the winding road, even heading uphill. Patrick was wildly stomping on the brake, but nothing was happening. The car continued to accelerate as if he held the gas to the floor. He fought for control of the steering wheel, but it looked as if it simply rotated round and round with the ease of an arcade game. Patrick’s face was flushed bright crimson and sweating, his eyes wide and glazed.

“Do something!” Angelica cried in desperation, torn between shock and fear.

It was obvious Patrick was doing his best. The sharp curve before them would be upon them in seconds, and unless some kind of miracle intervened, they were going straight ahead—over a sand dune and into the ocean.

Angelica grabbed onto the seat and held as tightly as she could. The car continued to accelerate. Everything seemed loud. Patrick was groaning. The radio was blasting. The roar of the tires was like drums beating a tune of anticipation.

In the last second, when all possible hope of rescue was gone, Patrick screamed. Angelica dipped her head in her lap and closed her eyes. The Lord’s Prayer was on her lips when she felt the car lurch into the air and plummet into empty space.

Monday, October 3, 2011

NEW! Don't miss this great mystery

Buy me

When the case of an alleged suicide of a local poet is handed to her detective boyfriend, and things just don't add up, Police department counselor Alayne Vaughan pursues the case, almost losing her love,

-and life-

in the process.


“Yes, I mean, in the middle of a protective order, you don’t sleep with your ex. How can you do this kind of work?”

“Lance, we slept together in the middle of my restraining order.”

“Those restraining orders don’t mean anything.” Lance moved his chair back from the table so he could sit with his legs spread wide.

“My boss took it pretty seriously.” Alayne was in the last month of her six months’ probationary period at her job, so she could still get fired.

He flapped his hand. “The only reason Norma Jean got one—she knew the judge. What Norma Jean wants, she gets.” He frowned. “And now she wants me.”

“She has you.”


“Well, you knew there’d be a price to pay.”

“I would rather marry you than her.”

Another country music song yodeled to a close. “Can you see what you’re playing at?” When she was mad, Alayne occasionally slipped into her mother’s phrasings. “When it’s safe, you come forward. If I
moved one step toward you, you’d run a mile. Angel does the same thing.”

“If he was here, he probably wouldn‘t even let me talk to you, right? You know I never stopped you from talking to whoever you wanted to.”

“At least I know he cares.”

“Then why are you here all alone?”

“He’s mad because I keep wanting to find out what’s happening in his case. Remember that night we went to the poetry reading—Kaitlin Sommers?”

“That girl who killed herself?”

She nodded. “Did you think she was beautiful?” She had been jealous of Kaitlin that night at the reading. She had accused Lance of staring at her, but he pointed out that as Kaitlin was the only person on stage, who was he supposed to look at?

“Sure…what a waste.” At his words, she realized she experienced no jealousy. She was over him!

“It might not have been suicide.” Alayne pitched her voice lower. Not that anyone had returned from the dance floor. “Supposedly, she had coke residue in her nasal passages, and there was a dirty condom under the bed, freshly used.”

“Why would you kill yourself after having sex?”

“I can think of all sorts of reasons,” she said. “But Angel won’t even try to find out who it was.”

“He’s the investigator?”

“Yeah, but he’s convinced it’s suicide—the gun shot wound, the suicidal tendencies.”

“And you don’t think so?”

“I’m going to look into her death, find out what happened.”

Alayne was about to tell him more when, suddenly, a flash of white descended on them—Mary Beth in her wedding dress. “You can’t spend the whole night talking to people you already know. Circulate!”

After Lance left, Alayne pretended to be absorbed in her wedding cake, but the granules of sugar coagulated in her throat. As she convulsively tried to swallow, she told herself she had done the right
thing by leaving Lance. He had cheated on her with Norma Jean.

Then why was she sitting at a wedding reception alone while he danced with a rich, blond lawyer? And why, on the nights she had been unable to sleep, had she driven out to West Lake Hills to see where they now lived together? That last night—she still couldn’t think of it as stalking even though that’s what Norma Jean had called it in the police report—the sleek black BMW in Norma Jean’s slanting driveway had invited Alayne to stop her own little Toyota, grab the jack from the back, and smash in the head and tail lights of
the BMW. Alayne would have broken the windshield, but hadn’t known until she took a big thwack, that it was basically impenetrable. She had scuttled away, horrified at how far she had gone. Norma Jean’s house had been dark, but at the sound of glass breaking and neighboring dogs barking, lights flickered on before Alayne drove off, her foot shaking on the accelerator.

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Go on a Journey...

Buy me

Author Mark McGrath discovers that to raise four children as a single parent, along with continuing a career in nursing, he needs more than a pair of ruby red slippers. He needs the help of family and friends. Tears and laughter flourish throughout his many adventures, trials and unforgettable moments as a nurse and as a father. Join him as he makes...

the journey home.


And we all continued to watch Rico.

Still he struggled, and his breathing remained in the high forties. His daughters were each holding an arm and his wife was stroking his face telling him it was all okay now, that they would be fine and to please go to wherever he needed to go. They all told him to let go, that the family loved him and would miss him, but that his suffering needed to end. His breathing came in short pants, much as a winded athlete breathes after a long race or shift of ice time on a hockey rink (something yours truly can personally relate to).

I listened silently and struggled with the scene myself as it was heart rendering and touching to
witness. I thought to myself how lucky he was to have a family who loved him so much that they wanted him to die so that the pain and illness he was suffering would finally come to an end. The girls were begging Daddy to please let go and stop suffering. The sobs coming from them were unbearable for me to hear.

I watched intensely as another half hour rolled past and Rico continued to writhe and moan. As soon as I was able, I increased the drop rate to eight mg an hour and went about monitoring his progress. His respiration rate dropped from the mid fifties to around forty. But even though the rate had dropped, he still was uncomfortable and was extremely rest-less.

I called Barbara when I increased the rate and asked her to please come speak with me on my dinner break. She told me she would be there shortly and to meet her in the conference room. I told her I would and got myself ready to leave for a well deserved half hour break.

I quickly gave my relief nurse an overview of what was going on and told her that I would change the drip rate if needed when I came back. Both of Rico’s daughters had left to get something to eat themselves and his wife had her head on his hand in what seemed to be a prayer vigil.

I met Barbara in the conference room and gave her the latest news on how he was doing. She knew I was still struggling with things and she sat listening again about how I felt. I told her that I felt I was contributing to his death and that I was having an issue increasing the drip to 16 mg.

What she said to me made a profound difference in how I have approached life and death since that day in the ICU. She told me to put myself in Rico’s place, and asked what would I want?

“Not to be in pain, that’s for sure,” was the first thing I said.

“Mark, he is terminal. You are smart enough to under-stand what’s happening and know that nothing more can be done. The family wants his suffering to stop. Whether he dies now, five minutes from now or five hours from now, don’t you think that the best thing is be humane and make him as comfortable as you can? You can’t kill someone with humanity, Mark. What you can do is treat him as best as you can given what you know, and make the last hours as pain free and comfortable as humanly possible. You need to increase the drip and not worry about how things look. Remember that you are the nurse in charge of making sure he is getting what he needs to be comfortable and pain free. If that was you there, what would you want your family to tell me to do?”

As I listened to her words, I realized that she was right. Both rules applied here: he was one of those patients who got sicker and was going to die, and nothing I knew or did would ever change the fact that he was going to die. So, I did what I would want someone to do for me in my time of dying, in pain, and suffering unbearably.

I went back into the ICU and turned the drip rate to 16 mg.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Outline of Murder- Now available!

Buy me

Tired of the politics as well as the bureaucracy of his job, Lieutenant Brad Schrader is contemplating early retirement and pursuit of another career, that of a mystery writer. His endeavors prove useless when he’s called upon to investigate the murder of Melody Anselmo, a Radio City Music Hall Rockette. While searching for the killer, Brad becomes personally involved with the twin sister of the victim.

The story is based on Lieutenant Brad Schrader’s notes while working the case with his partner, Sergeant Detective Phil Barrecca. During the investigation, the pair discover something neither ever expected, something best left unsaid. They agree to let matters rest and not expose the killer even though they know the consequences of their actions could be disastrous.

To this date, the murder of Melody Anselmo is still on the books as a cold case in New York City.


It was the worst case of bad timing that I had ever seen. Everything seemed to be happening at once. The girl, carrying two mugs of coffee, entered, while at the other end of the room, with hat in hand, Phil came strolling in from the foyer.

"Lieutenant, I…" Barrecca's words died in his throat. His mouth dropped open as he stared at the girl. He made a feeble attempt to recover his shock, but failed.

I slowly rose to my feet, taking the whole situation in hand. "Melissa," I said, "this is Sergeant Barrecca. We work together."

"Sergeant," she nodded.

"Phil, this is Melissa Anselmo, Melody's sister."

"Miss Anselmo," he said, and managed to smile.

The moment was awkward and as the girl leaned over to set the mugs down, I gave Phil a high-sign not to say anything.

"Will one of you kindly tell me what is going on around here?" she asked while straightening up. "I'm sure you didn't come here to feed Mr. Tibbetts, Sergeant. Or did you?"

"Who's Mr. Tibbetts?" Barrecca said in complete bewilderment.

"Thank you, Sergeant," she said. "Thank you for your honesty." With unbridled contempt, she looked at me. "I believe he called you Lieutenant. Exactly what division are you in, Lieutenant?"


Her shock was genuine. I could tell by her lower lip; it trembled. Fear flashed into her eyes. "It's about Melody, isn't it?" Her voice cracked with emotion. "Something dreadful has happened to her."

There was no easy way of putting it. "She's dead, Melissa."

"Dead!" Unbelieving, she shook her head from side to side. "It was minor surgery…one doesn't die…"

"The surgery had nothing to do with her death," I said.

"How? How then!" She lashed out at me.

"Melody was murdered."

"Murdered," she gasped. "I…I don't believe you. Why? Why would anyone…?" She started to back away from me as if I were an escapee from a loony bin. "You're wrong," she cried, eyes frantically searching the room. She spotted the fancy white phone on the end table and headed directly toward it.

I followed.

"You're wrong. You'll see," she said, tears spilling down her cheeks. "There's been a mistake. I'm going to call the hospital right now. How could you make such a horrendous mistake?"

Time and time again, I had witnessed the same reaction. The truth was tearing at her guts while her mind was clinging to the hope that a mistake had been made.

I roughly pulled her hand away from the phone. "Stop it, Melissa," I said, "there's no mistake."

My words struck her like a blow.

"Oh, God," she groaned. Her knees buckled beneath her and I caught her about the waist, backing her into the couch.

"Phil, see if there's some brandy in that cabinet over there."

"Sure thing."

Phil managed to get some brandy into her and then we waited. With a terrible feeling of helplessness, we waited. We waited until she was all cried out.

"Is there someone you would like us to call?" I said.

She shook her head in answer.

Finally, through red, swollen eyes, she looked over at Phil and me sitting in the occasional chairs opposite her. "Who…" she sobbed, "who would do…such a thing?"

"We don't know," I said.

"You never knew my sister, did you? All—all this time you knew she was de—dead, and yet…and yet you led me to believe—" she stopped, fresh tears clouding her eyes.

I swallowed hard. "No, I never met her. I'm sorry, but I had good reason for not telling you sooner."

She glared at me. "What reason could you possibly have?"

I didn't answer. If she despised me, I couldn't blame her. For that matter, I wasn't too pleased with myself. "What you might think of me isn't important," I said. "The important thing is to catch the person responsible for Melody's death. You can be of great help to us by answering questions that concern your sister."

"I can't," she whispered, voice filled with despair. "I haven't seen her in over two years." With the handkerchief that I had given her earlier, she brushed at the wetness of her face. "There's something I have to know," she said, making a strong effort to pull herself together. "How did my sister…"

I drew in a sharp breath. "Suffocation. A bed pillow was used."

Even from where I was sitting, I could see the sudden quiver of chills that ran through her body. In an attempt to control the trembling, she folded her arms across her chest. "I knew it," she said, "even before you told me, I knew it."

Phil and I exchanged a puzzled glance.

"How?" I carefully asked. "How did you know?"

She vaguely looked over at Phil and me. "I don't think you would understand," she said.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

What's Better Than Chocolate? Find out!

Buy me

Years ago Van Marshall, lead singer and guitarist of the metal band Bleeding Passion, let the love of his life get away because he lacked the courage to tell her how he felt about her. He has been plagued by the memory of her ever since then, unable to fully commit to another because of the love he still held for her in his heart. Now, she is thrown unexpectedly back into his life, bringing with her all of the feelings he has hidden inside for so long.

Because of a brutal assault, Kat Vauss hates men and trusts no one. She is a martial arts expert and devotes all of her time to her work and her training. The only person to ever come close to her heart was a shy, awkward boy she knew in high school who she thinks is gone forever.

When Kat is given an assignment to shoot a DVD for Bleeding Passion, she is not prepared for the way her body and heart react to the sensual singer, who coincidentally helped her out of a sticky situation some years before. His presence stirs to life dormant feelings inside of her, but will he show her that not all men are evil and life can still be beautiful and worth living?


He reached over to a bowl that was on the floor next to the couch and he offered it to her. “Chocolate?”

Kat looked at the chocolates and picked one out, smiling to herself. “I have very good memories of these,” she murmured.

She frowned. “My chocolate?”

He grinned. “No. Your memory.”

She looked away sadly and the deepest kind of sorrow welled up inside of her. She felt tears sting her eyes and she swallowed. “It was a long time ago,” she whispered.

He gave her a look of concern, as if wondering why the memory should cause her such sadness. “Are you all right?”

She tried to mask her grief with a fake smile and nodded. “There’s nothing better than chocolate,” she said, trying to change the subject.

He regarded her with an expression that was solemn, but exuded warmth. It was one of those unnerving looks that made it seem like he was looking straight into her soul. It made her squirm and her pulse accelerate in a way that was extremely abnormal for her.

“Some things are,” he said, his eyes holding hers.

Kat’s heart lurched and she felt sick to her stomach. She looked away and pretended to be interested in a thread on the couch.

“Van!” Lance cried. “Dude! This girl’s whipping us all! I’m gonna be naked soon!”

Kat and Van both looked over to see Lance sitting only in his boxers and one sock. Van laughed and Kat took the opportunity. She snapped her book open again and pretended to read, sticking her nose further into it than she needed to, trying to escape. She glanced at Van out of the corner of her eye. He looked at her and smiled knowingly, then stood and went over to Lance. She let out a relieved sigh and didn’t move for the rest of the trip. She had never been so happy to see a hotel in all her life.

Hank helped Rochelle and Kat with their luggage and got them checked in. Kat listened to Rochelle go on and on and on about Lance’s chest, Lance’s torso, Lance’s tattooed arms and rippling biceps, etc., etc., etc. as she put her pajamas on, glad to be in her own room and away from Van. Though she had refused to show any sign of life for the last leg of the journey, she noticed his continued quiet watching of her. He kept to himself, but she could feel his eyes burning into her. It had been the longest ride of her life.

“So I saw you talking to Van,” Rochelle said.

Kat sighed as she set her suitcase inside the closet. “Yeah.”

“What did you talk about? Did he hit on you?”

Kat rolled her eyes. “No, we talked about work and he gave me a chocolate. Big whoop. I’m gonna go find the ice machine.” She left the room and wandered through the halls for awhile, trying to regain her usual composure. Van had rattled her much more than she would have liked. She was always in control, always cool and collected and reserved, but he had made her feel completely neurotic. The things he had said…. The way he had looked at her…. It was freaky. He made her remember things she had tried to forget a long time ago. Things that still hurt like they had happened yesterday.

She paced restlessly for a while longer, until she felt like she had control over herself again, then meandered back to the room, never actually having located the ice machine. She stopped in the doorway and frowned when she saw a folded piece of paper on the floor. She picked it up and stared at it for a moment. Her name was written on the outside of it. She felt instant dread. This was something else that was going to freak her out. She could feel it. She opened it reluctantly.

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Waiting for Mary Elizabeth: Now available and 1/2 off in ebook!

Buy me
Facebook me

Gregory is a world renown artist, drop-dead gorgeous and sincerely believes a promise should never be broken. At the age of twelve he promises to wait for four year old Mary Elizabeth to grow up. Every day of his life since then has revolved around keeping that promise. Now the time has finally arrived to discover if she still wants to marry him.

While Mary Elizabeth doesn't believe in fairy tales, she believes in Gregory. Her parents keep insisting he won't come for her, but she knows he will. At four years of age her young heart recognized the person it belonged to. But just when she believes her perfect future is coming true, a spiteful adversary causes her to doubt Gregory's sincerity. Now the future doesn't seem quite so bright or certain. Gregory and Mary Elizabeth will have to overcome many obstacles in order to stop waiting and to finally begin living and loving.


After a moment of silence, Gregory grinned through the railing. "Well, here we are. It isn't exactly how I
thought our first meeting would go."

A fluttering in her chest made it hard to breathe, but she somehow managed to smile in return. "How did you think it would go?"

He leaned backward until both elbows rested on the cold, concrete flooring. "I thought I would ask about your life and then I would tell you about mine." He shifted his weight. "I wanted to ask about your future plans." He leaned over slightly and grinned. "What are your plans for after graduation?"

The way he studied her mouth made it difficult to concentrate. "I want to open my own floral shop, but my parents want me go to the university to study business. They think I should understand business first before I rush into ownership of a shop."

He gave the tips of his shoes some serious consideration before finally nodding. "That sounds like wise advice."

A comfortable silence surrounded them. Mary Elizabeth leaned on the railing and finally broke the silence. "Why are you really here?"

He sat up, leaned forward, and wrapped both arms around his knees. "I needed to know you still wanted me to wait for you." He glanced over for a brief moment before looking back down at the steps. "You were very young when you asked."

She wanted to reach and touch his hair. Just to see if it was as soft as it looked, but she resisted the urge. "Why have you kept your promise? Even my parents said you wouldn't."

He looked up and locked eyes with her. "But someone did expect me to. You did and I did. Did anyone else matter?"

She did reach over then and touched the sleeve of his shirt. "There's more. Isn't there?"

He completely covered her hand with his. "I wanted you to know that I believed you that day. It never mattered to me that no one else did. I did." He gave a shy grin. "I want you to enjoy this time in high school and at the university. Don't give up living just because you know where our journey ends." He increased the pressure on her hand for a moment. "Promise me to do this, okay?"

She nodded.

He released her hand and stood. She stood as well.

"When I return, I don't want you to have any doubts about if we belong together or not."

Before any more could be said, the cab arrived behind her father's car.

Gregory passed Mary Elizabeth at the bottom of the steps. She slipped his jacket off and handed it to him. When he reached over for it, his fingers lingered on the top of her hand in a final caress. The touch was so brief Mary Elizabeth would have thought she had imagined it, but he paused in mid step and smiled before continuing toward the cab.

They both stopped and looked at each other before opening their respective car doors.

I'll wait for you if you'll wait for me.

"I made you a promise. It is still just as good today as it was the day it was made. Enjoy your time here at school. Go study your business classes and then open your floral shop. I'll be back soon."

There were a million things she wanted to say.

"Is that a promise?"

"Yes, but this time, you have to give me a promise. You have to promise me to live and enjoy this time of your life."

"How do I do that?"

"You take each day as it comes. You live each day as if it were your last day on earth."

She could feel her father staring from inside the car, but the only person who mattered at that moment was Gregory. "I'll try."

He laughed. "You have to promise."

His smile made her laugh as well.

"I will. I promise."

Monday, August 15, 2011

If you missed this book, you're missing out!

And get it now in ebook for 1/2 off!

Buy me

Facebook me

What’s the world to do when gold starts disappearing and the agents assigned to the case are turned into life-size lawn ornaments?

Send in Double O Fang Agent Pierce De Vein, and Shifter Intelligence Agent (SIA) Kitty Katt to
investigate. Unhappy with their forced alliance, each loner must learn to work with a partner and stop trying to outdo one another long enough to solve the case. When the evidence points to an evil gnome and his army of rogue leprechauns, the agents infiltrate the organization in the forms of a bat and a cat.

Will their plan work, or will they end up sleeping with the daisies as a pair of garden decorations?


“You and your partner are to start by reviewing all the security fo—”

“Whoa. Wait a minute. Back the fourteen karat cart up, Sir.” Pierce leaned forward, mouth opened with something between a frown and a smile claiming his lips. “I think you’ve mistaken me with one of the other agents. I don’t have a partner. I work alone.”

Well aware of the fact, and that none of Pierce’s partner problems had been his fault, Methos ignored the young operative’s interruption and continued. “All three branches of P.L.A.S.M.A, Vampire, Shifter and Witch, are in agreement. This is very serious. If the gold is not returned to the Federal Reserve soon, we’ll have a worldwide economic disaster. So far, they’ve kept it under wraps, but it’s only a matter of time before the news gets out. And you know the type of panic it can cause.”

“Yes, Sir, but—”

“No buts.” Methos leaned forward and stared hard at the vampire. “Due to the severity of the situation, and the unknown supernatural cause to those agents’ afflictions, we’ve agreed to send in two of our top agents, with several more standing by if needed.”

Pierce slipped the file into a soft, leather case, then sat back. “I can handle this mission on my own.”

Of that, Methos had no doubt. But he wouldn’t be given the chance.

One of four remaining Ancients, Methos had the ability to track and assess every single Vampire. He’d hand picked his agents, and if he hadn’t deemed Pierce worthy, they wouldn’t be having this conversation. DeVein brought to the table an unusual intellect and wit, and had the uncanny ability to talk just about anybody or anything into doing his bidding. Charm was the boy’s deadliest weapon, but charm alone would not solve this case.

That’s where the shifter came in. Methos had had his eye on her for some time now. Although he couldn’t track her, he could read the woman and had observed her work closely over the past year. She was cunning, swift and strong, but just a little too impulsive. His hope, and the shared hope of her boss, was for this pairing to teach her the merits of Pierce’s slower, more thoughtful approach and for Pierce, in turn, to experience the advantage of having a strong partner he could trust.

Methos sat back and stared at his agent through narrowed eyes. “Need I remind you who’s running things around here, DeVein?”

“No, Sir.” The young vampire wisely dropped his gaze. “Of course not.”

Methos continued with a wave of his hand. “I know you’ve had trouble in the past, but maybe you just haven’t found the right…partner.”

Pierce stiffened, his narrowed gaze lifting bright with alarm. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

A knock on the door saved Methos from answering. Far better for the agent to see rather than hear. “Come in,” he called to the door. This was sure to be memorable. Methos rose to his feet, more than a little curious to see DeVein’s reaction. “Meet your new partner.”

His agent didn’t bother to get up. He just sat there with a disgusted look on his face and gazed at the opening door. A wave of air rolled in, carrying a mixture of three scents. Confidence, curiosity and—cat.

DeVein didn’t utter a word, but his white-knuckled grip on the chair spoke volumes to Methos. The boy recognized the scent.

“Is this a private party or can anybody join?” Clothed in black leather, the beautiful shifter trotted in, long black hair swaying past her waist while her green eyes sparkled with pride above an ear to ear grin.

“Oh, hell no,” Pierce blurted before he vaulted to his feet and glared.

The cat’s full presence appeared to light a fire under his agent. Interesting. Most uncharacteristic of him. Methos could understand the reaction, though. She was potent. The combination of exquisite beauty, coupled with her effervescence, made the shifter intoxicating. A trait he’d watched her use to her advantage on many missions. One which helped shape the shifter into an excellent agent. Now, if she could just quell her impulsiveness.

“No way,” Pierce repeated, thrusting a finger at his new partner. “I’m not working with that animal!”

Monday, August 1, 2011

Great new release with a slash in price!

Check out Journey to Redemption by Anne Patrick

And don't forget, all ebooks at Whimsical Publications for the month of August are half off! Check out this and other awesome titles without breaking the bank!

Buy me
Facebook me

Detective Morgan Reynolds thought her nightmare was over when serial killer Gerald `The Slasher' Tate was sent to prison for her husband's murder. But she was wrong. The Slasher has escaped and he's making it even more personal this time. Tate has kidnapped her son and is giving her 72 hours to find the answers he wants or Jared dies.


The amusing smirk she'd worn all morning was gone, her face now void of expression.

She jerked open the passenger side door. "Will you drive please?" she asked, handing him the keys. "I'm sorry, go ahead," she spoke into her cell phone.

Chase scooted across the seat and she climbed in.

"Hang on a minute…I need you to drop me off at my house, forty-six eleven Crestview."

Realizing she was speaking to him, he turned to her. "Everything okay?"

"Just hurry please," she said. He watched as she dumped out the contents of her purse in the seat beside her. She picked up a small leather address book, and fingered through it while steadying the phone between her shoulder and chin. "We aren't moving, yet," she said, her voice much sharper.

He put the unmarked police cruiser in reverse and took out of the parking lot. Keeping his eyes on the road, he listened to the one-sided conversation.

"Jeremy Metzer, Tommy Stewart and Melissa Davidson. Davidson's mother is a dispatcher, nights, I think. The Metzers live a couple of doors down from us. Stay at home mom and a dad who are in realty. Tommy Stewart lives with his grandmother over on Elm. He and Tommy spend quite a lot of time together. He slept over Saturday night. Okay, let me know as soon as you hear something. I will."

Chase glanced over to see her rubbing the bridge of her nose. Her cell phone lay in her lap. He
sensed something was terribly wrong. "How long are you going to keep me in the dark here?"

She glanced up at him briefly, just long enough for him to see tears forming in her eyes. She then turned to stare out the windshield. "Jared didn't make it home from school," she said stiffly. "He usually walks home with his friend, Jeremy, and stays at his house till I get home. They had an argument, though, and he walked home alone."

"It's not even two yet."

"School got out at one today because of a parent teacher conference. I phoned to make sure he'd made it to the Metzers, but they hadn't seen him. When I called home and didn't get an answer, I had my neighbor go over to check on him. He wasn't there."

"Maybe he stopped for a snack or something along the way."

She shook her head. "The school is only a block and a half from the house and there aren't any
stores along the way."

"I'm sure he's fine. He probably dropped by a friend's and forgot the time."

She glared at him. "I don't let my child wander the streets, Lieutenant."

"You said he was rebellious."

"Yes, but he's not suicidal. He knows how I get when I don't know where he is."

He wouldn't have taken her for an overprotective mother. "Well, I'm sure he'll be fine," he said, and offered her a supportive smile before saying a prayer. Lord, please let the boy be all right. With all that's going on, I hate the thought of him being out on the streets alone. Keep watch over him.

Chase stopped the car. Morgan leaped from the passenger side and ran up the small slope to her front door.

"Jared," she called out as she entered the foyer. After dropping her purse on the bottom step, she ran up the stairs to his room.

He wasn't there.

She crossed the room to the unmade bed and searched for any sign that he'd been there since that morning, but his backpack was nowhere in sight. Glancing out the window, she spotted Cosmo lounging next to his doghouse.

Please, God…please let him be at one of his friends'. Please let him be safe!

Morgan fought off the threatening tears as she searched her bedroom, the guest bedroom, and the bathrooms before heading back downstairs.

"Afternoon, Sergeant." Morgan froze at the familiar voice coming from her answering machine. She stepped into the living room and stared at the black box next to the phone. "Not to worry, you're little boy is safe and sound. He'll stay that way as long as you don't contact your buddies down at the police station. I'll be in touch soon." She looked at Chase.

"Sorry. I thought maybe he'd left you a message," he said.

"Oh no." Her worst fear confirmed, Morgan sank onto the couch and wrapped her arms around her midsection. She struggled to fight off the nausea that threatened to consume her.