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Dead But Not Forgotten

When my kids left home, I found myself spending hours alone in the house, except for my dogs and my cat. Suddenly, I was Mom, Retired from Active Service. I began to read voraciously again, moving through a book a day. I tore through series, I dipped into genres I’d never touched. The bookstore and the library were my new best friends.

But I was lonely, and though the books filled that time for a bit, there were hours when I couldn’t read and felt forgotten.

Then I found Charlaine Harris’s books, and from there, her community forum. After a bit of the obligatory lurking, I started chiming in with commentary here and there. Here and there turned to daily comments. It had been years since I’d tried to write every day. Decades since I’d tried to impart feeling or thought in words.

I became a writer by writing in community forum. How’s that for weird?

That is why I have deep sense of gratitude and pleasure to announce the release of Charlaine Harris & Toni L.P. Kelner’s anthology DEAD BUT NOT FORGOTTEN. If you thumb through pages, you’ll discover my own contribution: Extreme Makeover: Vamp Edition. It’s the tale of Peaches and Toddy, two very determined fashionestas.

Find your copy in the stores tomorrow!

dead but not forgotten

 

The Danger of Destiny’s Cover Reveal!

Here it is folks. The cover for THE DANGER OF DESTINY, the final instalment in the Mystwalker series. How will Hedi’s life turn out? 

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WHY WHISTLE IN THE DARK…

There are very few days off when you’re on an epic quest. Believe me, I know. I’m Hedi Peacock—one half Fae, the other Were—and if being a half-breed with one foot in each world isn’t tough enough to manage, there are the four chambers of my heart to consider. The one who holds the strings? Robson Trowbridge, the Alpha of Creemore. If I had my way, he and I would be locked in a bedroom, for eternity, but a pressing family matter needs my attention. It’s true what they say: A woman’s work is never done.

WHEN YOU CAN HOWL AT THE MOON?

My twin brother is being held captive by the Old Mage in another realm. Lo and behold, as soon as Trowbridge and I arrive in Merenwyn, we’re separated in spectacular, dramatic fashion—and I’m left to figure out how to maintain the fragile balance between my Fae magic and my wolf’s blood in a realm that cries to both. Not easy, particularly when I’m keeping an iron-grip on my temper so as not to dispatch with extreme prejudice the odd wizard or smart-mouthed mutt servant who crosses my path. My mama never told me there’d be days like these, but I’m not going down without a fight…or my mate.

Life changes.

I have a vague memory of reading Hour of Gold, Hour of Lead; Diaries and letters of Anne Morrow Lindberg, 1928 to 1932. By any measure, Anne’s life was one filled with accomplishment and adventure. She flew! She wrote! That being said, she’s likely best known for being the wife of Charles Lindberg, the famous aviator and American hero, and the mother of little Charles Jr. who was kidnapped and murdered at age 20 mos in 1930.

As a writer, Anne Morrow Lindberg had a lyrical voice and an ability to write of sorrow without saying, “I’m sad.” But as I recall it (disclaimer: I haven’t read the book in 30 years), there was a gap in her journal entries during the days surrounding her son’s kidnapping.  Perhaps she wrote pages and pages about the massive search for her stolen baby,  and reams more for the subsequent manhunt for the perpetrators, and the headline-grabbing trial. Maybe she put down into words how she felt or what she did on the day they found Charles Jr.’s body.

If she did, those pages disappeared by the time her journals were publicized in the early 70s,

Though, personally, I think she didn’t write a single damn word. That some feelings stay inside you. Some thoughts are never aired. And even if you’re a writer, you find yourself lapsing into silence.

You lose your words for a bit.

I don’t believe you can compare losses; you can only understand that which you have experienced. And I hope that I will NEVER understand the loss that Anne bore. But still, like Anne, I lost my words for a few months in the winter of 2014.

After 30 years of marriage, Mr. E. and I have decided to part our ways. He’s a good guy. I’m a good lady. It just didn’t work anymore. The decision was made with great affection and deep sorrow.

And that’s all I’m going to say on that.

Merles the cat and I have moved out of the Toronto condo. We have bought a house–my feline companion and I–and it is from the dining room of it that I write this blog entry.

Pictures will follow. Once I figure out how to work this new Mac computer I bought. Going to a one-to-one class with a Mac expert is high on the list. Right below getting rid of that terrible paint I bought for the bedroom.

It was supposed to be the shade of the conch shell. It is Strawberry Cupcake pink. It must go….