Happy Friday the 13th and #whatchareadingthisweekend?

Are you a bit Friday the 13th phobic?

Not me. Half the time I don’t know what day of the week it is until I’m forced to look at my weekly planner.

Last year, I decided to make this day a promotion angle. I can’t remember if it worked. LOL. But why let a good meme go to waste? Grab it here: BABY.

Friday 13th FREE

 I hate to be bearer of bad news, but I live in California and the sad fact is our sky is a gray haze of smoke because there’s a disaster going on a hundred or so miles to the north. Everyone I know has some connection to this area—my FedEx driver this morning told me his uncle was awoken at 4 AM by a sheriff’s deputy pounding on the door. He was told to evacuate right that moment. By the time the husband and wife got into the car with just the clothes on their back, the fire had hopped the back fence and was racing toward their home. The house was destroyed. Luckily, the man had the foresight to store all of his important papers at the bank, so only the copies were lost…along with all of their possessions. I guess that’s the bright side, but still…the loss is almost unfathomable, even after witnessing such devastation first hand.

I know there are many reputable charities and GoFundMe pages available if you’re looking for a way to help those impacted by the NorCal fires. I donated to this woman because her story broke my heart and actually made me sob.

Patti lost it all

Here’s the article: http://www.sfgate.com/bayarea/article/12-Bernese-mountain-dogs-two-dachshunds-lost-in-12274310.php#photo-14338385. This poor woman was awakened by a sheriff and forced to leave her home, even as she cried, “My dogs! My dogs are inside.” By the time the deputy returned, the house was engulfed and her eight Bernese Mountain dogs, four Bernese puppies and two dachshunds were dead.

 I researched the Bernese breed when I wrote BLACK HILLS BILLIONAIRE and fell in love with these gentle giants. If you’re a dog lover, you can probably relate to Patti’s anguish. Donate to Patti here: Patti lost it all

 So…I don’t know about you, but I need a little escape. I just bought the 2nd book in Patricia McLinn’s Caught Dead in Wyoming series. I loved the first one—smart, intriguing, a fish-out-water story with a lot of twists—and can’t wait to dive into this one. Click on the cover to learn more and buy from your favorite retailer. Left-Hanging-screen

Have a great weekend.



Christmas in July?

Don’t panic. Nobody is suggesting you rush out and buy all your presents.

Quite the contrary. You know how hectic the holiday season is, right? Something’s gotta give.

For me, that usually comes down to reading time. But the holidays are so emotion-packed and rich with anguish, pathos, and joy, no season (except maybe Valentine’s Day) lends itself to such great storytelling potential.

So, when the wonderful Patricia McLinn invited me to join her and several other Rock Star romance authors in a promo called: Christmas In July, I jumped in–with all bells jingling.

Christmas in July-DS

I’m sure recognize most of these authors. I know you’ll enjoy the books they’d included in this promo. I’d love to hear which books you read and what you thought. (Click on the image to be taken to my Facebook page, where if you hover your cursor over each cover, you’ll find buy links to that book.)

My contribution is Judy Does Christmas–the holiday spin-off from Judy Uncensored.


Here’s a snippet I hope you’ll enjoy:

Judy’s traditional recipe for dealing with stress involved Oreo cookies and ice cream. Her new stress reliever had three parts: stair climber, inclined plank for ab twists and her awesome new headphones to block out everything but JT.

Justin Timberlake–the current king of reinventing oneself–had become her new role model. Despite the fact he was a man–and many years her junior. And he had talent. Still, she appreciated his positive attitude and fearlessness. Those two things, she’d decided, meant the difference between growing old and being old.

She closed her eyes and marched, ignoring the sweat running down the small of her back. Never in a million years could Judy have pictured herself working out in public, much less teaching a workout class.

Her Golden Sneakers group appeared to have gotten along pretty darn well while Judy was on her honeymoon. Judy’s personal trainer and workout mentor, Kelly, had subbed most of the time while training a new helper–Judy’s mother. Judy didn’t quite know what to make of that development. For most of Judy’s life, her mother had been a threat to her self-esteem and peace of mind. Now, Mom was a threat to Judy’s job.

Fortunately, Judy no longer depended on the income from the gym to put groceries on the table. Still, Judy felt slightly irked that Mom appeared to be popular with the class Judy had created.

The music changed and she slowed her pace, as Kelly preached. “Push yourself then plateau before you push again.” Judy lived for plateaus. Nice, even landscape. No hills, no valleys. A steady, even pace so she could check in and take stock.

Heart rate?



Not bad.


F-ed up. Truly f-ed up.

What am I doing at the gym in the middle of the night when my husband’s home alone, reveling in his late wife’s holiday madness?

What disturbed her most about the whole Julie-The-Dead-Queen-of-Christmas scenario was realizing Wiley didn’t see anything wrong in the excess. What if the selective blindness that inured him to his late wife’s foibles was the only thing keeping him from seeing Judy as she truly was? If she pointed out how ridiculous the house looked given the state of the economy and the gravitational pull of so much shit in one place, would he then open his eyes to the fact she had no taste? Or would he accuse her of feeling threatened by a dead woman’s junk?

Worse…what if that was true?

Her heart rate spiked despite the even keel of her pace.

The person on the neighboring machine poked her arm.

Her gaze cut sideways.

“Wiley,” she exclaimed–probably much too loud given her headphones. She ripped them off and hit the red button to stop her machine. “What are you doing here?”

“Watching you walk and mutter to yourself. A hundred bucks says you’re not listening to Christmas carols.”

She held one ear bud up for him to hear. “Rock. Predictable, huh?”

“I heard ‘Grandma Got Run Over’ by a Reindeer twice on the drive over here. I’d forgotten how much I hate that song. It’s going to be a long season.”

He adjusted the speed on his machine and started to run. “Good way to work off my pizza. Glad you thought of it.”

She turned sideways to look at him. “I was running away from…everything. The decorations…the f’n-la-la-la-la was too much for me.”

“I know.”

“I hate your house.”

“I know.”

“I think the pain and the drugs screwed up your late wife’s mind. Nobody’s house should look like that…not even Martha Stewart’s.”

“I know.” His breath remained even, not the slightest bit stressed. This pissed her off more than his pleasant if condescending replies.

“Then why are you here?”

“To tell you you’re right. I was blinded by tradition. Caught up in the moment. When you left, I finally started to see the place through your eyes. Kinda over the top, isn’t it?”

She’d never been comfortable defending her opinions. “Some people probably think it’s nice.”

“Well, you don’t. And you’re the only one who counts. In my opinion.”

Judy couldn’t reply at first. Her throat swelled with emotion. So, she gave him a light punch on the shoulder. “Wanna go home and take a steam shower together?”

He didn’t look at her, but his grin came through loud and clear.


:-) That’s my girl. I do love Judy Banger. Hope you will, too.



It Depends (Patricia McLinn)

Patricia McLinn, an excellent writer and wonderful friend.



It Depends. That’s it—my most used answer to just about everything, including researching historical fiction. A National Parks historian in St. Louis said something that’s stuck with me for years: “Historians are bound by what did happen. Novelists are bound by what could happen.” Oh, yes. I’ve been thinking a lot about those words and the topic of researching because one of my current projects is digging into specific details for an in-progress historical romance. (I do broad-stroke research ahead of time, but when I’m writing, I try not to be tempted into stopping to research details.

So I put in [chk amateur artist supplies for travelers in 1888] and keep on with the story. After the draft is done, I go back and track down all [ ]s.) In this research binge, I’ve encountered some statements from bloggers that are like fingernails on the blackboard to me. (No, I’m not using blogs as a research source. But when they pop up on searches, I’m nosy enough to want to read them.  Which explains why I don’t research while I’m writing the story – I’d never get back to the writing.) ~In their absoluteness, these statements are the antithesis of it depends.

~Things were different “in history.” When “in history”? Where “in history”? Who “in history”?  Under what circumstances “in history”? “History” is not a monolith

~Everyone was the same in the past. Time, geography, class, occupation, life-circumstances, family and more combine to create a specific set of expectations of behavior. To say “women in the Victorian era never X, Y or Z’d” is not useful (I’m being so tactful!) “Victorian,” as in the reign of Queen Victoria, covers 63 1/2 years.  A comparable period is from the summer of 1948 to today. It defies reason and human nature that there could be a unified, good-for-half-a-century-all-over-the-world way of acting for half of humanity.

Despite all that logic, when I started researching my first historical romance, WIDOW WOMAN, I almost fell for this one. I wondered if the character of Rachel Terhune, whose voice I heard so clearly and whose spirit I felt so strongly, was too modern for the 1880s in Wyoming Territory. I delved into journals and other first-person accounts of women in the western United States in the last quarter of the 19th century. And soon had a huge wake-up call, followed by the proverbial light bulb moment.

The wakeup call was reading the words of a range of women in that period and that region…and realizing that the women then were as diverse as the women now. Some accepted the mores of their time and place, some rebelled against them, some challenged them because that was their best (or only) path to where they needed to get. One of the most revealing documents was a privately published account (that I read thanks to terrific Interlibrary Loan librarians) of a woman traveling west that included both her journal and letters home. Invariably, she removed a good portion of the sass and bite from the journal when she recounted the same event in a letter. Haven’t we all done that—buffing out the rough edges on our reactions before presenting it to anyone. So, even when we read primary sources such as letters or transcripts of oral histories, we’re getting the buffed version. Heck, even journals are often run through an individual’s I-don’t-want-to-look-bad-to-myself censor.

And then there was the light bulb moment. If everyone acted the same – if everyone colored within the lines of societal expectations – we’d still be acting that way. Because there would be no source of change. Change comes from someone coloring outside the lines, then others following, then more, and more, until it hits a tipping point and the lines of societal expectations move to include the new behavior. So it is far, far more likely that there are rebels (from necessity or conviction) in any slice of the past than that there are not. Plus, the rebels are more interesting to read about than the conformists, as well as more likely to spark conflict, which is a core element of fiction. Sure, there are likely to be consequences for our characters for coloring outside the lines. The answers to what those consequences are, and how they affect our characters boil down to my favorite: It depends.

Afun guide to those iffy words you may be misusing or abusing.

~Everyone talked the same, and they all talked like textbooks. Even the cleaned-up letters and slightly less cleaned-up journals contradict this. But there’s an even more basic argument against this statement: We don’t all speak the same now (and certainly not like textbooks), so why would we think people did so in the past? I think a kind of myopia comes into play here. When we look at our own lives, we see the details with great clarity. As we look back to a past that we have not participated in, the individual blades of grass blur and blend into a bed of green, so we generalize and say people walked on beds of green, rather than on an accumulation of blades of grass.

~Everyone dressed the same. Reading those first-person accounts knocked the teeth out of this one. For starters, some of the women talked about how their ways of dressing changed during the journey West for practical reasons, and a few tsk’d at other women who adopted changes at a faster rate. And that’s on top of what I’ve learned from museum curators, starting as a docent in a North Carolina house built in 1774: The clothing items that have endured from the past tend to be special events clothes, not everyday wear. So when we look at historic collections or old photographs, we see Easter Parade finery, not going-to-the-grocery-store outfits.

I think of this as the Split Skirt issue. In WIDOW WOMAN, Rachel was running a ranch.  I had read accounts of women doing comparable work. But nobody mentioned how they dressed to do it. I had great difficulty imagining Rachel roping cattle from a sidesaddle, so she rode astride. Yet the citations I was finding for split skirts were for the late 1890s, while Rachel was operating in the early 1880s.      Then I wandered into a small museum in Wyoming, and there was a canvas split skirt on display with the handwritten label marked 1884. Okay, this wasn’t just a small museum, it was teeny-tiny. And informal. And I wondered, could the label be off by a decade?

Ahh, but then I came across a woman’s written memories of growing up in the early-to-mid-1880s near where WIDOW WOMAN took place, and she wrote about her family going to parties. The females would ride astride in their workday split skirts until they were close to the house hosting the party, then switch to party dresses (bunching up the skirts around the astride saddle) for the grand arrival. It was a head-thunking moment. Of course. Those late-1890s citations were the societal expectation lines catching up with what women had been doing on their own for some time. And women working on ranches were certainly likely to adopt—if not develop—clothing that suited their needs ahead of most. So Rachel wore split skirts to work, but a “proper” dress for company or when she was in town.

~Everyone X, Y or Z’d the same. I once saw a blog post blasting a book because the author had a trip take X amount of time in the Gold Rush era in California, when the blogger had calculated for that distance based on a report of a trip in England the same year and came up with Y. Are you all screaming It Depends! with me? Terrain, conveyance, equipment, load, weather, wherewithal to make the trip faster/easier…and probably another dozen other factors pile into that hopper of It Depends. Generalizations are the enemy, specificity is the goal of research. So, if you come across folks making categorical statements about “everyone in history” raise that banner of It Depends!