You can't use up creativity. The more you use, the more you have.

- Oscar Wilde

We Appreciate You!

As we at The Write Way Café do every Thanksgiving, we want to thank everyone who has blessed us with their input, their sharing, and their support over the past year. So thank you to all authors, readers, and visitors. We have truly appreciated doing our part to bring you all together.

As we review the journey we've been on since The Write Way Café debuted in 2012, we think back to our primary goal of establishing an inviting space where writers and readers could engage, share, vent, and celebrate. We had no idea when we started how many authors would touch our lives with their stories. To date, we've featured more than 180 authors, some more than once. It's been our treat to get to know the breadth of authors, and come to call some friends.

But things always change, and we, HiDee and Lynn, have decided it’s time for change at The Write Way Café. We need to evolve personally and devote more of our time to our writing. So with gratitude, excitement, and a little sadness, we are announcing that The Write Way Café Blog is closing down at the end of December.

But we're not going away completely! 

Please join us on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/TheWriteWayCafe/ and Twitter at https://twitter.com/writewaycafe2, where we plan to continue promoting books for our fellow authors.

Authors: please continue to send your book information (Title, genre, buy links and one preferred social media link) to us at thewritewaycafe@gmail.com and we will post on our Facebook page and Twitter. How often we post will depend on how many submissions we receive, but we sincerely want to continue helping you by promoting your books.

Again, a huge thank you to all the authors we've featured at The Write Way Café, and to all the visitors and readers who have taken time to share and support the blog and our authors. We thank you for a wonderful and enriching 2019!

We hope you will continue to support this circle of life in our writing world!

HiDee and Lynn

Tuesday Special: The Seeds of Change

Augustina Van Hoven

https://augustinavanhoven.com/

The last thing Dexter Thompson expected was to get a field promotion from being a member of the ship’s construction crew to the ship’s ambassador. When the Halcyon crash lands on Planet Kao, he’s the first one to interact with the aliens who showed up to help. The blue haired beauty, who led the delegation, haunts his thoughts and dreams.  Is it possible for them to have a future together?

Laize never believed in the prophesy that a new species was coming to their galaxy.  She didn’t believe until the day when a ship dropped from ski and landed at the base of Mount Denair. When the Council sends her to be their emissary, she’s surprised by the size of the ship and the humans inside. She’s even more surprised to find the handsome human ambassador is slowly melting her frozen heart.

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Augustina Van Hoven was born in The Netherlands and currently resides in the Pacific Northwest with her husband, two dogs and three cats. She is an avid reader of romance, science fiction and fantasy. When she’s not writing she likes to work in her garden or in the winter months crochet and knit on her knitting machines.

@augustinavhoven     FaceBook     Pinterest

 

Monday Morsels: Gold Lust Conspiracy

GOLD LUST CONSPIRACY

Lynda Rees

May, 1880

Jessie entered the secluded alcove near adjoining railcar doors toward the necessary. After dealing with her needs she exited to return to her seat.

Swish! Hot outside air assailed Jessie as the connecting doors between cars opened and closed.

Before she could turn, rough hands gripped her shoulders. The intruder spun her around and she slammed against the wall. A stunned gasp escaped as her heart skipped. Her head shook to clear her vision.

“What in tarnation?”

A burly man in soiled deerskin leaned into her. A wicked grin exposed a few rotting teeth left in his mouth. An array of revolting odors assaulted Jessie’s nose and she flinched then shivered, repulsed as the stench reeked of perspiration and something else—dried blood, urine? His smothering, steamy breath stank of cheap whiskey and decay.

The man sniffed Jessie’s neck, pushing against her body. His guttural voice slurred, “Give old Wheezer a kiss. Will ya? One smackeroo will do. I ain’t seen no white woman in more’n a year.”

He licked Jessie from her neck toward her ear, sending tremors of fear along her spine. Heart racing, adrenaline pumping through her veins, fumbling for the fan hanging from her wrist, exposed a slim, razor-sharp dagger hidden within its ivory tines. Attempting to aim the blade at the disgusting man’s side, Jessie groped for the hidden compartment in her skirt to withdraw another weapon, but couldn’t reach it.

Suddenly, the connecting doors slid open and slammed shut. Hot air swooshed in. Jessie’s attacker glanced behind him as she struggled harder.

Just in time to see a large hand catch Wheezer’s neck in a chokehold. His tongue lolled out as he gagged and sputtered.

A statuesque man had pulled Wheezer off Jessie. The towering intruder’s powerful appendage grabbed the back of Wheezer’s neck and dragged the now-helpless tormentor toward the open connecting door, pushing him through it. With a zip-slamming rumble from the door, they were gone.

Free from her attacker, Jessie stood, shaking but erect. She smoothed her skirt, righted herself, and surveyed what she could of her appearance, bringing a hand to her hat to ensure it remained properly attached.

A lady must look regal in every circumstance. That lesson had been ingrained in Jessie during the last year.

Jessie stepped through the door, curious about the gallant stranger who’d come to her assistance, following him out to a walkway connecting the railcars. Throat still clutched in her rescuer’s hand, Wheezer’s feet swayed above the floor. Squealing, protesting, mostly gasping, he attempted to fill his lungs with sufficient air.

The man flipped Wheezer across the barrier, dangling him above the train coupling and the open rail like a weightless rag doll, while the train raced above a steep ravine to a shallow rocky riverbed at least a mile downward.

Jessie gaped at the spectacle. Would her savior drop the rude mountain man?

“Listen, old codger,” The stranger spat, “if you accost this lady or any other on this train again, you won’t receive a warning. Your miserable ass will be sent to hell. Understand?”

Wheezer’s panicked eyes grew as big as saucers as he visibly trembled and frantically nodded. Between his parched lips, slobber drooled from his gaping mouth.

The scent of testosterone oozed from the impressive stranger, the essence of maleness. Powerful shoulders and arms threatened to burst his jacket seams. Her height barely reached the towering stranger’s shoulder.

“You owe this lady an apology.” He brutally shook the quivering Wheezer as Wheezer’s head wobbled back and forth helplessly. All the fight had deserted Wheezer. He became limp as embroidery thread.

“What’re you waiting for?”

Wheezer blinked at Jessie, seemingly forgetting her presence. Quaking, Wheezer rasped, “I apologize, ma’am.” Wheezer appeared sorrowfully on the brink of tears.

Satisfied, her rescuer brought Wheezer back across the railing, settled Wheezer’s feet gently onto the floor, and released him. The wretched bully scurried through the connecting door and disappeared into the next car.

Jessie’s champion turned, chuckling low, his face actually turned pink. The spectacular male appeared embarrassed.

Intriguing. 

A broad hand brushed back shaggy blonde hair which had come untamed during the tussle. His stunning face held a gracious smile. Flashing that adorable, dimpled expression at his mama, he could likely get away with anything.

Jessie tingled with a sudden desire to touch the appealing dent in his strong jaw. Hot blood surged through her veins.

Had someone fired the potbelly stove in the already s weltering railcar?

Heart pounding against the corseted restraints Jessie waved the fan over her face and pressed a gloved hand hard on her chest, as if keeping it from busting loose.

“Please forgive my rudeness. I apologize for my language. I don’t normally speak that way in front of a lady. I had no choice.” The stranger’s head bowed nobly. Raising his face to Jessie, his smile exposed perfect white teeth.

Jessie gazed transfixed at those lips, unable to hold back an involuntary sigh.

“The old coot got himself liquored up and bent on mischief, so I followed him. He’s a recluse, a mountain hermit. They rarely come out into public and don’t care much for people. When they do their lack of social skills leads to chaos. Wheezer’s sort only understands strong language and a firm hand.” The stranger’s voice held an apologetic note.

The handsome gent grinned. Had he read her silly thoughts? His eyes seemed to glint with an appreciative light as he inspected her from head to toe.

She should take offense. Oh, hell! She ogled him, too.

Want to read more?


A marriage of convenience turns Jessie Blackstone into a young widow responsible for the livelihood of many in savage, lawless Skagway, Alaska. Jessie faces severe weather, brutal landscape, her sordid past and her attraction to virile lumberjack, Logan Pace. She must learn to thrive in a man’s hostile business world.

Amazon



📚  Find Lynda Rees here:

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A writer is like a bag lady going through life with a sack and a pointed stick collecting stuff.

- Tony Hillerman

The Last Humans with Steven M. Moore

The Write Way Café welcomes Steven M. Moore to discuss The Last Humans.

Tell us a little about your post-apocalyptic thriller, The Last Humans.
     First, let me say that I thank you, HiDee, and the Write Way Café for interviewing me today. You offer a great service to readers and writers by sponsoring these posts about authors and their books.
     Now to The Last Humans: This novel from Black Opal Books starts with Penny Castro, an ex-USN diver and current Los Angeles County sheriff’s deputy, surfacing from a forensics dive off the SoCal coast. She finds everyone around her dead. But she’s not the last human on Earth.
     Some survivors become cannibalistic hordes; they pursue her. Two other survivors join her within a few years; they form a family unit. Penny’s adventures in the drought-afflicted, torturous apocalyptic landscape, scarred by fire and quakes and overrun by gangs of wild humans, are now shared adventures as they try to survive. Penny has a family to protect. But when they are placed in a refugee camp at Edwards AFB, Penny acquires a new foe, the mostly incompetent survivors of the US government. More adventures come her way as military leaders manipulate her and her new family.
     Some reviewers have called this book an unusual post-apocalyptic story, and they’re correct. Post-apocalyptic is a subgenre of sci-fi, but many books in that genre have a strong but depressing message that’s really a warning—Atwood’s Oryx and Crake comes to mind, for example. That novel has a similar biological apocalypse. My novel ends a bit more optimistically, though; hence the difference: the sane survivors make a new life for themselves. Same warning essentially, but a bit of hope in the aftermath too.

If The Last Humans was made into a movie, who would play your main characters, and why?
     This is a difficult question. Penny’s sweet but also smart and tough. At the risk of being accused of cultural appropriation, my first choice would be Jenette Goldstein, who played the tough Latina marine and almost upstaged Sigourney Weaver in Aliens. I think she’s been in a few TV shows too, but I haven’t seen her lately. Her role beside Ripley in Aliens might not exhibit enough sweetness and innocence, though, but she certainly can play smart and tough.
     I write about and feature a lot of sweet, smart, and tough female characters in my thrillers. Too often Hollywood includes them only as a romantic interest for the strong, male lead character to save. I’ve known quite a few real women who have shattered the glass ceiling in different ways and belie that Hollywood image of helpless female, though.
     Sean Astin would make a good Sammy, Penny’s adopted son, but he’s a bit heavyset and too old for the part right now—I’m thinking more of his role in The Goonies than Lord of the Rings. I’d like to have Ben Kingsley play the physicist Ben, Sammy’s friend who becomes the surrogate patriarch of Penny’s new family.

Tell us about the sequel you’re working on!
     It’s done, it’s different, and I’ve submitted the manuscript. While the publication process is percolating (one is generally in a long queue), authors should be writing their next novel.
     The first book is about Penny’s survival adventures, and it’s written in the first person. The sequel is written in the third person and uses multiple points-of-view as the reader hops back and forth between action in the country responsible for the biological attack and SoCal.
     At the end of The Last Humans, most readers must wonder, “What will become of Penny Castro and her adopted family?” The sequel answers that question. The remaining leaders of the US government are bent on avenging the biological attack and forcefully draft Penny and her new husband. Their children held captive, they’re forced to join a government-sponsored SWAT group that’s planning an invasion. Half their incursion fails, and Penny becomes a prisoner.
     How things evolve from there make The Last Humans: A New Dawn more of a standard thriller, although it still takes place in a mad, post-apocalyptic world.

Who is your intended audience and why should they read your book?  
     Hmm. Interesting question considering marketing gurus always tell authors to look for that “target audience.” Let me say this: At book events, I’ve met readers from young adults to ninety-year-olds who enjoy reading thrillers. It’s a very popular genre. The first book and its sequel are more thrillers than sci-fi, although the post-apocalyptic nature places them in the sci-fi genre. It’s very hard to define a target audience in this case.
     I’d say anyone who enjoys a thrilling plot, lots of action, and strong characters would probably enjoy these two books. I certainly read books of this type for my own reading entertainment.

How did you become involved with the subject or theme of your book?
     I’ll start by defining the theme. The Last Humans is about how failures of diplomacy and guessing wrong about an enemy’s intentions can make things go terribly wrong in a flash. A focused biological attack on the US West Coast morphs into a worldwide contagion and even affects the country that organized the attack. California, already battered by drought, brushfires, and earthquakes, becomes a battleground between a few sane survivors and groups of wild humans. In brief, the book is a warning about unintended consequences.
     But it was also a personal challenge to return to my roots a bit. I’m originally from SoCal, my hometown of Visalia not far from Lemon Cove where Penny ends up. My other books take place on the US East Coast, Europe, Korea, China, or South America. Also, I’d done dystopian sci-fi, so it was also time to do post-apocalyptic. I’ve done a lot of reading in both subgenres. I was an avid reader as a kid—all my life, in fact—and the Cold War and threat of Soviet attack was a constant in our everyday lives, leading to a plethora of books in those subgenres that I devoured.

Who is your favorite character from your book and why?
     Penny is undoubtedly my favorite, but I like Ben Hur a lot. That’s the nickname given to the ex-physicist Ben, Sammy’s friend. Although it sounds a bit immodest, Ben’s a bit like me. He becomes the surrogate patriarch to Penny Castro’s new family, the sage of the family who helps Penny stay focused. He has a less important role in the sequel, but he’s still around and kicking.

How about your least favorite character?  What makes them less appealing to you?
     That’s easy: Penny’s brother Roberto. There are many villains in The Last Humans, but he’s the worst because he’s family. He tried to control Penny’s life previous to the apocalypse and left her alone to take care of their mother, who had Alzheimer’s, and became furious when she joined the USN. He’s a mental distraction for Penny all through the book and haunts her until the end. He’s the flip side of Penny, not a nice guy at all. Yen and yang, darkness and light—whatever you call it, that describes Penny and Roberto.

Tell us a little bit about your cover art. Who designed it? Why did you go with that particular image/artwork? 
     Black Opal Book’s cover artist Jack Jackson designed the cover. As is my custom with cover artists, I offered him several “word pictures” taken from the novel to give him ideas, and we agreed upon the one you see today. He let his creative juices flow to produce a great cover. It’s the scene where the purposeful Penny is on a borrowed Harley coming off I-5 and heading towards the radio station to broadcast her “Help me!” message to whomever might be listening, hopefully not the gangs of wild humans.
     This is all before she finds other survivors and begins to create her adopted family. She thinks she’s all alone with the world against her as she rides on that motorcycle. (By the way, her only experience with a Harley was on a road trip with an old boyfriend, a Navy SEAL she’d lost during a tour of duty in the Persian Gulf. She dwells on his loss throughout the book, yet still finds love again.)

Give us an interesting fun fact or a few about your book or series.
     Part of the book takes place in Yosemite Valley, now an air force fuel supply depot and a sanctuary of the sane against the insane bands of roving humans. I cut out a scene where Penny climbs to the top of the falls. I did that once and discovered I was afraid of heights. I was afraid that fear might enter my prose! Penny is such a strong woman, I couldn’t imagine her fearing anything.
     Okay, maybe that’s not a “fun fact”—acrophobia is a serious business—but it’s an example of how a writer’s life experiences, no matter how trivial, can affect her or his prose.

2019 has been a productive year for you! Would you like to share your other accomplishments?
     Considering the time it takes to publish a novel, I suppose we’re talking about more than a year’s stretch of time that ended with my new book Son of Thunder. In March, Black Opal Books published The Last Humans; in May, Carrick Publishing published my YA sci-fi mystery Mind Games (written under the pseudonym A. B. Carolan); and in September, Penmore Press published my mystery/thriller Son of Thunder. I also finished the manuscript and submitted the sequel to The Last Humans to Black Opal Books.
     Writing a novel is a mental marathon. I ran four of them, so I thought I deserved some time off. Writing a lot of short fiction and taking a trip to Europe we’d been planning for a while (lots of new ideas for stories!) gave me a bit of a respite from these four mental marathons. I also plan to dedicate more time to my blog, helping other authors with reviews and interviews in particular. I’ve been doing this all along, but I hope to do more.
     I’m also a bit involved with the Wolfpack Authors. They have an anthology of short fiction and poetry out titled Once Upon a Wolfpack. All proceeds of that go toward helping wounded wolves and wounded warriors, so it’s a good cause. They’re planning another anthology too.
     But I’m addicted to storytelling, so 2020 might be just as busy as far as novel writing goes. I hope I can pace myself better!

Why are you a writer?
     The last paragraph indicates the reason: I’m addicted to storytelling. I’m having a great time as a full-time writer without the hassle of stealing a few hours to write while working at a stressful day-job. That’s where many people often start now, and I know the difficulty. However, I always wanted to be a writer. As a kid, I would tell myself after finishing a book, immodestly to be sure, “Hey, I can write stories like this.” The joy in telling a good story or in reading one keeps life interesting.
     I have to admit I’m a bit of a nerdy introvert, but writing has also allowed me to associate with intelligent people and make many friends, even if it’s via the internet—readers who love to read books and authors who write them. Of course, there’s also the wonderful people who help readers and writers learn about books. They all create a wonderful community.

Do you have any tips for readers or advice for other writers trying to get published?
     Here’s a bit of advice from my English prof at UC Santa Barbara: “I simply kept my goal in mind and persisted.  Perseverance is a large part of writing.—N. Scott Momaday. (Note: Prof. Momaday, a Kiowa Native American, taught me to love poetry, even though I can’t write it very well! He would later receive the Pulitzer for House Made of Dawn in 1969.) Of course, the goal always is to write good stories. Persistence, perseverance, and patience are all required to get the job done. When added to talent and skills, we have a winning combination.

What can readers who enjoy your book do to help make it successful?
     Tell their family and friends. Word-of-mouth is still the best advertising. If they belong to a book club or discussion group, have them suggest it to their group (I can provide a list of discussion questions to help out). Write a review on Amazon saying what they liked about the book and why—or anywhere else, for that matter (almost every online retail site allows reviews). In general, create buzz about the book. Small press and self-published authors offer great reading choices that are often lost among the many books that are published. Authors need readers’ help to get their books known.

What can we expect from you in the future?
     The sequel, The Lost Humans: A New Dawn, is coming. I also generated a lot of ideas for a third “Esther Brookstone Art Detective” novel during that recent trip to Europe. I also have lots of ideas percolating for other stories. Many only become short fiction, which I now give away at my website, either via free downloads or in blog posts. But I’m sure there will be more novels in my future.
I intend to maintain my efforts of helping other authors and small presses. We’re all in this together, and I think readers can help there too. After all, the more good novels that are available, the more choices readers will have for their reading entertainment. And storytelling and reading those stories are quintessential human activities that must never be lost—they’re what make us human.

###

The Last Humans. Penny Castro, ex-USN Search and Rescue and current forensics diver, goes on a forensics dive for the LA County Sheriff’s Department off SoCal shores and surfaces to find herself in a post-apocalyptic world. A bioengineered and airborne contagion has been delivered to the West Coast. It will be carried around the world, killing billions. Her adventures trying to survive in this new and dangerous world will make you ask, “Could this really happen?” (A sequel has been submitted.)

Amazon


About Steven:  Born in California, Steven M. Moore is now a full-time writer of many thriller, mystery, and sci-fi novels, short fiction, blog articles, and book and movie reviews. His stories reflect his keen interest in the diversity of human nature that he has observed in his different abodes across the U.S. and in South America as well as in his Latin and European travels for work and pleasure. After spending more than two decades in scientific R&D in the Boston area, he and his wife now make their home just outside New York City, where he devotes most of his time to storytelling.  For more details, visit him at his website https://stevenmmoore.com. He can also be found on Facebook  and @StevenMMoore4.

Tuesday Special: A Call to Charms

DENISE SWANSON

http://www.facebook.com/groups/428723763963797

Chocolate, men, and magic. Who can turn down that inheritance?

If life had gone as she planned, Lexie Green would have been teaching English at a prestigious university, not persuading spoiled, rich women to buy overpriced clothes they didn’t need and often looked ridiculous wearing. Can you say electric yellow see-through skirts and Torn jeans with unfinished hems?     

Still, although this isn’t the life Lexie would have chosen, all is going well. At least until Lexie is fired and her deranged ex-boyfriend tries to kidnap her.

Deciding that it’s better to accept a mysterious inheritance from a great aunt she’s never heard of rather than end up kept in a cage as her ex’s pet poodle, Lexie packs up and heads to Kansas. So, what if she has to go by a new name and live in a town that she can’t find on a map?

Unfortunately, once she arrives in her new hometown, everyone there seems just a tad off-kilter and Lexie’s cousin insists that the citizens are magical. At least there are a couple of hot guys hanging around for eye candy. 

Even though Lexie doesn’t believe the nonsense about her being the Ravenscraft Shield, she does believe her father was murdered—a father she never knew existed, and she investigates his death. 

Too bad, whoever killed her father, now wants Lexie dead as well.

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New York Times Bestseller author Denise Swanson was a practicing psychologist for twenty-two years. She writes the Scumble River, Devereaux’s Dime Store, Chief-to-Go, and Forever Charmed mysteries, was well as contemporary romance. Her books all feature small-town heroines with lots of heart.

Denise’s books have been finalists for the Agatha, Mary Higgins Clark, RT Magazine's Career Achievement, and Daphne du Maurier Awards. She has won the Reviewers Choice Award and was a BookSense 76 Top Pick. 

Denise Swanson lives in rural Illinois with her husband, classical composer David Stybr.

For more information, please check her Website. You may also find Denise on Facebook or follow her on Twitter. 

Monday Morsels: Horse Power

HORSE POWER

by Nancy Loyan

Shelby Shane was used to rescuing strays. After all, she had numerous dogs, cats, horses, and assorted chickens roaming her farm. On the rural highway in front of her sprawling acreage, she observed another lost soul.

What was unusual, though, was to see a tall man clad in black leather kicking the tires of a very shiny, very expensive, and very broken-down Harley with his heavy black leather boots.

She was pulling out of her expansive gravel drive in her trusty old pickup truck when she encountered him. He was enraged by the look of things, and she was afraid to interfere for fear of how he might react. She sat, windows rolled up, watching him kick the tires, remove his helmet and toss it to the ground. Even in the enclosed truck, she could hear him cuss.

He turned and froze in place upon seeing her. She expected to come face-to-face with some Hell’s Angel’s type. Instead of being rugged, surly, muscular, and unkept, this man was clean-shaven, with trimmed black curly hair, and shimmering amber eyes. He had cheekbones to envy and the body encased in black leather was gym-worthy.

“Oh, my, what have we here?” she muttered out loud in her lazy Texas drawl.

He approached her window. Hesitating for a moment, she rolled it down a bit.

“Lady, do you have a phone I could use to call for help? My cell is just not working out here,” he said with perfect pitch and diction, though he was visibly rattled, evidenced by the vein throbbing in the corner of his forehead.

This guy was definitely not a hoodlum, she thought. He not only looked like a prep school grad, he sounded like one.

Rolling her window down more, she answered, “Most cell phones don’t work way out here. We haven’t many cell towers in these parts.”

“Great. Just my freakin’ luck.”

“What’s with the bike?”

“Just bought the damn thing. Thought I’d take it on ride to my friend’s cabin in the U.P., and the thing breaks down in the middle of nowhere.”  He sneered in the bike’s direction.

“Where you from?”

“Indiana.”

She snickered. “You’re a ways from Indiana.”

“Yeah, and the dealership. Don’t remind me.”

“Tell you what? I have a ramp in the back of my truck. We can push your bike up onto the bed. We can check it out and see if there’s a Harley dealer somewhere nearby,” she offered. He seemed harmless enough. Right, as harmless as a handsome hunk of male could be. She shook her head. What was she so concerned about? After all, the only relationship she had recently fell apart.

“A Harley dealer around here?” He scanned the winding ribbon of asphalt highway.

“You have to understand that the term ‘around here’ means anywhere within a hundred mile radius.” She smiled.

He smiled back with teeth that surely had endured years of braces.

“I see. What do you suggest?”

What the hell, she thought. “Let’s get your bike on my truck first. After, we’ll ride up to the house. It’s too cold to be standing out here.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“You haven’t many options, I’m afraid.”

She opened the door and stepped out of the cab to face him. She thought that she was tall, but he towered over her. His eyes met hers like a panther sizing up its prey. She trembled, not from the fear of being harmed, but from the mix of leather and testosterone that this stranger emitted. Even in the autumn chill, she was getting rather warm.

She stepped away from him and walked to the back of her truck, lowering the tailgate. Dragging out the steel ramp, the stranger moved in to help. After, he went to his bike and rolled it toward her truck. She took one of the handlebars.

“No need,” he said. “The bike’s heavy and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m a lot stronger than I look,” she said, assisting him in rolling the bike up the ramp and on to her truck bed. She closed the tailgate.

He stood staring at her, brows cocked as if in amazement.

“Well, get in the truck,” she invited.

On the ride up her drive, she asked him his name.

“Travis. Travis Harrington,” he answered. “And yours?”

“Shelby Shane.”

“Pleasure meeting you, Ms. Shane.” He smiled.

“Same here, Mr. Harrington.”

He laughed. “Cut the formality. Call me Travis.”

“Okay, Travis. I’m Shelby.”

“Shelby. Interesting name.”

“Not in Texas, where I come from. Travis sounds more Texan than Midwest.”

He shrugged. “My family had a thing for cowboys.”

Okay, he was as easy to talk to, as he was easy on the eyes.  Her day was getting interesting. She had pulled out of her drive to go to the feed store, and instead pulled into the path of a fascinating stranger.

“Is that pasture yours?” he asked, pointing out of the window.

“Yes.”

“That’s quite a collection of horse flesh you have there. Let’s see, Appaloosas, a Quarter Horse, a Friesian, and an Cobb pony.”

“You know your horses.” The man was a contradiction. Refined, yet riding a Harley, educated, but wearing leather, and a preppie who knew horses. She pulled in to the front of her small storage barn.
He chuckled. “I should. I run an equestrian center, instruct riding, and direct a troop.”

She was grateful that her truck was in “Park.” Now he had completely thrown her off balance.

“Really?” Her gaze met his and it was startling.

“I’m the Director of Horsemanship Instruction at the Vaughn Equestrian Center at Culver Academies,” he said.

He was a preppie. She had read about the prestigious boarding school and its famous Black Horse Troop, that had participated in most presidential inauguration parades and the like. His was the Rolls Royce of stables and educational facilities.

“You traded horses for a Harley?” she quipped.

“Let’s just say that I wanted to try out something with a little more horsepower.” He winked.

“A real horse would have been more reliable, albeit slower,” she said, opening her door and sliding out of her seat and truck.

He exited her truck, closing the door and came around to the back where he met her.

“Hey, let’s leave it on the bed. It’s not going anywhere. How about some hot tea?”

“Sounds like a great idea on a cold day.”

“Follow me.”

### 

Want to read more?

Shelby Shane is used to rescuing strays. She has numerous dogs, cats, horses, and chickens roaming her farm. On the rural highway in front of her sprawling acreage, she observes another lost soul, a tall man clad in black leather kicking the tires of a very shiny, expensive, and broken-down Harley.

Just when Jonathan Travis Harrington III thinks that he is having a bad day, an angel named Shelby appears. He wonders why such a beautiful woman is living in the boondocks of rural Michigan. He was riding his new motorcycle to visit a friend in the Upper Peninsula and wasn’t expecting the detour to change his life.

Shelby and Travis come from two different worlds. Hers is from the school of hard knocks, his from privilege. She’s a dog and horse trainer. He’s the Director of Horsemanship at the prestigious Culver Academies in Indiana.

The love of horses brings them together. Will tragedy drive them apart?

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If you start to revise before you've reached the end, you're likely to begin dawdling with the revisions and putting off the difficult task of writing.

- Pearl S. Buck

Writing is an Adventure by @lcrandallwriter

I write.

Yes, I’m a writer. I can say that out loud.

I love writing and presently write primarily romance. I like to write about relationships and the conflicts, obstacles, growth that go along with them. I have about fifteen books and novellas published. I say about because I’m afraid I might miss one or two in my calculations. And I’m not done. I have a plan. It’s written down on a blue piece of thin cardstock and in my journal. I created that plan a year ago, and at this point, have accomplished some of the seven projects planned. When I put it down on paper and considered it, I thought it would be something that would take me through about five years. And who knew what would occur after that?

Then something happened.

My list contained projects for books in paranormal, fantasy, and contemporary romance, a screen play (what the hell?), and women’s fiction. But a quirky-for-me thought popped up. The idea of writing a sci-fi romance tickled my imagination. Whoa! How fun, I thought. That thought was followed by the fairly new phenomena that keeps suggesting trying new things with a, Why not? (similar in nature to the What the hell? sentiment.) At that point, a favorite author of mine spoke up, reminding me of something important.

              “Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, 
I am large, I contain multitudes.” –Walt Whitman

My friend Walt was right. I have many parts. One of them wants to write sci-fi romance, and her name is Kelynn Storm. So while she is me, author Lynn Crandall, it is fitting that I give her her own name, my pen name, and follow a new interest. I have research to do and brainstorming to get busy with – as soon as I complete two more books in my new contemporary series, Love in Dunes Bay – but Kelynn will have her story. In fact, though not a sci-fi, she wrote her first story for the Common Elements Romance Project, which features the stories of more than seventy authors and five common elements in each one: a key, a stack of books, a character named Max, a haunted or presumed to be haunted building, and a lightning storm. Kelynn’s contribution is a novella titled Touch of Breeze. Here’s a blurb: 

A rare white were-jaguar, she’s on a mission to save her twin brother from certain death. She didn’t plan on teaming up with a Jag Guardian who would just as soon break her heart.

Mortician London Satos works with the dead by choice. Using her were-jag ability to witness their final moments, she helps them pass over in peace. Those special moments contrast greatly with the life she leads haunted by an ancient Japanese spirit with revenge on his mind. On top of that, her twin brother is missing. Just when she thinks she has enough on her hands, Breeze Dawson stumbles into her path. Compelled by a guilty conscious, she thinks she must help him survive the evil spirit, but it doesn’t stop there. She is forced to team up with him to rescue her brother from an evil madman intent on using him to fulfill a diabolical prophesy.

Recently suspended from his job as a Jag Guardian, were-jaguar Breeze finds himself looking for anything to distract him from his troubled life. So when the beautifully captivating mortician needs help fighting battles on several fronts, he finds himself embroiled in a murderous plot that not only threatens his Guardian team but the supernatural community in general. Together, Breeze and London race to locate the mad man’s stronghold where he’s holding London’s brother, all the while fighting mutual attraction that will only complicate everything.

I hope you’ll pick it up and give Kelynn’s voice a try. She’ll show you that writing is an adventure. For me, a pantser, there isn’t much set out for what’s ahead in a story. For me personally, it seems to be the same. So one thing I would like to emphasize for writers and just anyone living: never say never. Never say you would never be able to give a presentation or write women’s fiction or create a podcast or anything else. Stay open and let all parts of you express their desires. You might just add something entirely different to your list of things to try and have fun doing it.

Follow all the stories in the Common Elements Romance Project as they release by visiting the website, and sign up for monthly giveaways. Learn more about my writing on my website. Find images related to Touch of Breeze and all my books at Pinterest. Follow me on my Amazon Author Page and Kelynn Storm's Author Page, Bookbub and Kelynn Storn's Bookbub page, and Goodreads. Interact with me on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram @lcrandall246 . I'm always eager to hear from readers.

Tuesday Special: Release Day for Then There Was You

Lynn Crandall

https://www.lynn-crandall.com/

Runaway bride Cherish Moss never anticipated the outcome of her wedding day. Will she regret the path not taken or embrace new adventures and opportunities ahead? Opposites attract in Lynn Crandall’s Dunes Bay novel debut, a truly unputdownable story.

Cherish Moss is well aware that most people would do anything for the life she has: accomplished attorney, daughter of a wealthy family, and hours away from her wedding day. But on the inside, she is barely breathing and no one even notices. When she leaves her fiancé at the alter she waits for the feeling of remorse…so why as she runs out of the church and down the street does she feel like she’s reclaiming her life?

Grayson Steele is hiding out having left his dream job in Chicago as an investigative reporter. After exposing police corruption, the threats on his life came fast and furious and now he has to not only protect himself but his family too. He’s not interested in a relationship. He can’t be, because he won’t put anyone in danger. But after meeting Cherish at a local bar, his longing for her is intense and it won’t go away.

The timing is all wrong for them both, but Grayson and Cherish must face the unwanted fate they helped create or follow their hearts to survive.

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After cutting her writing teeth as a feature writer for commercial and trade magazines, a reporter for newspapers and radio, and an executive editor for a communications company, award-winning author Lynn Crandall tuned her voracious appetite for stories to writing contemporary and paranormal romance and romantic suspense. In her books, she enjoys taking readers on emotional journeys with relatable characters who refuse to back down, and face challenges and tribulations with heart and soul. She believes every love has a story, and hers is with one handsome husband and a large, beautiful circle of family, including her cat, Winter.

Website        Facebook        Instagram        @lcrandallwriter 

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Monday Morsels: Cravings by @lynncrandallwriter

CRAVINGS

by Lynn Crandall

If it weren’t for her parents—correction, fake parents—trying to take over her life, maybe even trying to kill her, Kennedy would burst out laughing. The situation was all so surreal. Laughter would be better than giving in to the urge to curl up into a ball and cry. What good would that do?

So she sat there in Lara Monroe’s kitchen wearing her best stoic face and not saying a word while Lara, Tizzy Sands, Asia Blue, and Asher Monroe, members of the were-lynx colony that rescued her two weeks ago from William Carter Enterprises’ drug research project, chatted about the handling of her day for her. She suspected they meant well; they just wanted to keep her safe and away from her adoptive parents. Muscles throughout her body tensed at the idea that they didn’t trust her. But the truth lying in the bottom of her stomach reminded her that from the first moment they’d released her from the cage at William Carter Enterprises, she hadn’t trusted them, either.

That day two weeks ago was the day everything she’d known as her life crumbled beneath her. When she’d learned her real parents were not dead and had not abandoned her either—both lies from her fake parents. When she’d learned the colony leader, Casey Mitchell, might be her brother. Yes, they were both black, but that didn’t mean they shared DNA. Heck, before her fake parents had handed her over to William Carter’s experiment, she hadn’t even known other were-lynxes existed. She’d been told she was one of a kind, a lone freak. But there were more freaks, At least a whole colony of them. And maybe none of them were freaks, but just another species. For a brief moment after her rescue she’d been at once shocked and encouraged by the discoveries. She wasn’t sure what was the truth. At least the one about Casey, her sibling or not her sibling, would be cleared up as soon as the results from their DNA testing returned. As for his colony, so far, the eight were-cats were very real and very interesting, and each one had their own special ability beyond their preternatural senses, just like she did.

But the whispered voices when she was out of the room and the pointed looks they shared between them clued her in that they were assessing if she was genuinely trustworthy or a plant, gathering information to report back to The Nexus Group, a group of people who were interested only in acquiring more power and more riches, regardless of the pain and chaos they caused. The group her parents belonged to.

Hurt stung her heart at the situation. The colony cats didn’t know how she’d longed for a better life away from her parents and among people who would actually care about her. She was assessing them, too. It was the prudent thing to do. Things were very confusing, but so far, other than treating her like an object, they hadn’t given her any reason to want to leave, especially not to return to her old, unbearable life.

“Kennedy, did you hear me?” Tizzy poked her once then smiled, her big eyes the color of cognac peeking out from the blond bangs that swept across her forehead. She tossed her head, and her short hair gleamed in the sunlight slanting in through the kitchen window.

“Oh, sorry. I was zoning out.”

Smiles, understanding and sweet, came her way from the three female were-lynxes. Asher just stared at her. Which was okay, because all the smiles made her stomach tighten.

In the two weeks since her rescue from the insane project aimed at turning were-lynxes into warriors and headed by the now-dead kingpin of The Nexus Group, William Carter, she’d gotten so much understanding and sweetness she dripped with it. She knew she should be more grateful. They’d been so kind. They’d even taken her shopping to buy a new wardrobe since hers was left behind. But in her whole life, kindness and caring had been absent. Memories of her adoptive parents’ idea of showing their love slivered through her mind, making her shiver. Memories of them forcing her to stand in a corner for hours, all in the name of helping her reach her potential. The things they made her do growing up were done out of love, they’d said. The training, the fasting, and harsh treatment were good for her, they’d said. And finally she’d come to understand that even gestures that seemed soft and fuzzy would be followed with something painful. Soft and fuzzy was just a way to catch her off guard and administer pain. So was it any wonder she felt at once skeptical and appreciative about the colony’s treatment of her?

“That sounds fine. I’ll spend the day with Tizzy in her elementary classroom.”

“Right. I’ve already cleared it with my principal. With your bachelor’s degree, I was able to get you certified quickly as an aide, so you’ll fit right in.” Tizzy slanted her head and beamed. “It will be fun having you there.” Tizzy was a beigeish lynx who also had a very dramatic, very enthusiastic human side.

Kennedy gave a smile back but couldn’t muster much enthusiasm. Her fingers began following a familiar pattern of touching each one to her thumb, first one direction then back again. It kicked in without conscious thought as a response to stress. Just as did her counting. Focusing on the number of crackers in a bowl when she was nine had helped prevent her fear of lack of food later from overwhelming her completely.

Asia rubbed her arm soothingly. “This is a hard time, I know. But we’re just trying to keep you safe.”

Kennedy shook her head. 

“Oh, I know. I appreciate all you’ve done, all of you.” She lowered her gaze to the table. It was the truth, nothing to hide there. But still, the raw reality of her life throbbed through her painfully as if she were still living in that life, under her adoptive parents’ thumb, being prepared to help The Nexus Group expand its power. As before, living with her fake parents, she was being handled, like an object. An object with no last name, because the one she’d known for all of her twenty-two years of life was fake. An object that was told how her day would be spent and only as she needed to know. No chances were taken that she would have an opportunity to share information with the enemy—Jonathon and Kathryn Novak, her so-called parents, and other members of The Nexus Group, the group everyone in the colony wanted more information about from her. Her special cellphone, the one her parents had complete control over, had been taken from her when she’d been crated by TNG. It had not been returned to her in the rescue. The colony didn’t want her near one or near a computer. Like TNG people, the colony was keeping her isolated, at least until she gave them information.

She felt their frustration that she couldn’t fill them in. She’d never been told much, and parts of her memory were like dead computer cells—dark and nonfunctional.

She picked up her breakfast dishes and joined the others in cleaning up. Then she went to her room and closed the door behind her. She glanced around, near-panic seeping through her veins. This handling was all too familiar. Different in that these people showed compassion. But so close to her old life that she couldn’t breathe. She needed air and right now.

Kennedy quietly slid open the window, grateful Lara’s apartment was located on the first floor, climbed over, and jumped the short distance to the ground.

Her skin itched, and the longing to shimmer—to change into her lynx form—pushed up her adrenaline several notches. The urgency in her gut sent her racing down the street, past the line of apartments, past the strip mall, until finally she found an alley to disappear into while she made the transition. She pulled at her sweatshirt, then stopped. She caught a whiff of another were-cat.

“What are you up to, Kennedy?” It was Asher Monroe, a were-bobcat who was one of the colony cats and Lara’s brother, standing at the opening of the alley.

She sagged to the ground, clothes still intact. She watched him shuffle toward her and with little effort tamped down the adrenaline surge she’d been running on. She was all about control of her body and its mechanisms and emotions, thanks to her training with her fake parents and her handlers with The Nexus Group.

Asher’s blond hair caught a glimmer of sunlight, and suddenly, it was all she could focus on. The mussed-up look fit his devil-may-care expression. His broad shoulders and muscled biceps under his jacket spoke volumes about his fit physique. She might be numb inside, but she wasn’t dead, and her rapid heartbeat proved it. “I’m not up to anything, you idiot. I just needed some air.”

He looked down at her, his eyes a startling, pale yellow rimmed in brown, and chuckled. “I get that.” He squatted near her, not so close that her invasion alarm went off but not so far that he felt impersonal. “The colony can crawl down your neck without knowing it, but they mean you no harm.”

She sent him a glare. “What are you, the sentinel? Making sure the subject doesn’t escape?” Her remark landed hard, she could see that in his eyes, but she wanted him to know no one was pulling the wool over her eyes. They didn’t trust her any more than she trusted them.

Asher shook his head and pursed his lips. “You’re a tough one, aren’t you,” he stated rather than asked. “It should be obvious to you that these people are only protecting you and exercising caution. It’s prudent to do so. A skilled lynx knows that.”

The dried autumn leaves in the alley suddenly lifted on a cold breeze and whirled around briefly before scattering at their feet. “You didn’t answer my question. Are you the designated tracker?”

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Kennedy, just Kennedy, recently dropped down into the rabbit hole complete with no surname and landed in an entirely different life than the one she’d been living for 22 years. That’s when she learned her parents were people who had been given the job of raising her and keeping from the truth—her real parents were alive and she had been groomed to progress the plans of a secret group. It was also the day she learned her life was in jeopardy and she could trust no one, except maybe the brother she hadn’t known she had, Casey Mitchell, and his colony of were-lynxes.

Always a charmer, Asher Monroe, a were-bobcat who belongs to Casey’s colony, is willing to help her investigate her past. As a sports writer, he is skilled at ferreting out the truth. He’s also willing to use his special ability of “nudging” others to do what he wants so he can learn as much as he can about Kennedy and her life before. He needs to discover whether she is a threat to the colony or simply a lost soul.

As their needs for truth take them into escalating danger, their individual woundings expose what really brings them together and pulls them apart.

Kennedy Monroe doesn’t know who to trust when she learns she’s been living a lie for 22 years, but wouldn’t it be nice if fellow were-lynx Asher Monroe could be her safe place in a world full of danger? Looking for truth, they face their individual woundings that expose what really brings them together and what pulls them apart.

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📚  Find Lynn Crandall here:

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If you don't have time to read, you don't have the time (or  the tools) to write. Simple as that. 

- Stephen King

Welcome Back to Brandywine Valley with Saralyn Richard

The Write Way Café welcomes Saralyn Richard, who returns readers to the last place anyone would expect a murder and Detective Oliver Parrott's jurisdiction.

Tell us a little about A Palette for Love and Murder.

COMING IN 2020!

     Welcome back to Brandywine Valley, Pennsylvania. The scenery is lush, the mansions are huge, and the secrets run deep. Detective Oliver Parrott’s next case takes us to the ancestral home of Blake Allmond, a renowned artist, whose paintings have been stolen from the studio on his property. Before Parrott can get a foothold on the case, Allmond is murdered in his second home in New York’s Gramercy Park. It’s out of Parrott’s jurisdiction, but he can’t help thinking the two crimes are related, and he’s got the itch to work on both.
     What Parrott doesn’t realize is that Blake Allmond’s life is full of mystery, and the theft of the paintings turns into a treasure hunt and search for a killer—and then the investigation becomes personal.

How is this book related to Murder in the One Percent?
     In Murder in the One Percent, we meet Detective Parrott, a former college football star whose fiancée is serving in her second tour of duty as a Navy helicopter pilot in Afghanistan. Parrott’s just been promoted to detective in the swanky Brandywine Valley, where people spend more on their horses per month than Parrott earns. His strong moral compass and dedication to the job bolster him as he investigates an apparent murder in a country mansion following an elaborate party. His job is made harder by the pressure brought to bear by the rich and powerful one percenters, who close rank on him at every turn.
     After Murder in the One Percent was released, I began receiving feedback from readers who wanted “more Parrott.” Apparently Parrott’s struggles with the “establishment” has resonated with readers, and he has become a hero to root for again. Parrott’s character, his relationship with Tonya, and the exotic location of Brandywine Valley offer fertile ground for another mystery.
     In A Palette for Love and Murder, Parrott trades horse folks for art folks. Some of the same characters reappear in the new book, but the sequel can also be read as a stand-alone.

How did you become involved with the subject or theme of A Palette for Love and Murder? 
     I’ve visited Brandywine Valley many times. It’s one of the most naturally beautiful and serenely peaceful places I’ve ever been, the last place someone would expect a murder to occur. Because of the rustic landscape and wonderful light, the area attracts artists, many of whom have achieved success among America’s best. The Brandywine River Museum, one of the best regional art museums in the country, inspires me with its collections, as well as its educational features. My visits there have motivated me to write about the Brandywine art community.

Who is your favorite character from A Palette for Love and Murder and why? 
     You’re asking me to choose a favorite from among my children—quite impossible to do, since I love all of my characters for varying reasons. Of course, Parrott is a favorite, and in this book we see him at his worst and at his best, as he meets challenges, both professional and personal. Tonya, who is back from Afghanistan, plays a larger role in this story, and I admire her strength and resilience. Another favorite is Elle Carmichael, Blake Allmond’s live-in girlfriend, who has reinvented herself once before, and finds she must do so again.

How about your least favorite character?  What makes them less appealing to you?
     The obvious answer to this question, when the book is a murder mystery, is the murderer, and there’s no way I would spoil that. There are characters whose flaws stand out, and I wouldn’t want to go on vacation with them or work at the desk next to theirs. But none of my characters are all bad, and none are all good either. Everyone has an intriguing role to play.

Tell us a little bit about your cover art. Who designed it? Why did you go with that particular image/artwork?
     I’m incredibly fortunate to have the advice and expertise from two talented artists, Jack at my publisher, Black Opal Books, and Rebecca Evans. I wanted a cover that would tie in with that of Murder in the One Percent, but one that reflected the sinister nature of the art world in A Palette for Love and Murder. The cover you see is the culmination of many discussions, and ultimately Rebecca’s finish. If you look closely, you’ll find the artist’s palette is more than just globs of paint.

Give us an interesting fun fact or a few about your book.
     Without giving too much away, I’ll say that many of the experts I consulted in the writing of this book came from such diverse occupations as:  banker, baker, death services manager, priest, entertainer, community college student, veteran, artist, police detective, and butler.

If you had to choose, which writer would you consider a mentor? 
     I’m an avid lifetime reader, so there are many writers whose works have inspired me—Agatha Christie, Michael Connelly, John Irving, Barbara Kingsolver, to name a few. But the writer who has taught me the most about the craft and the process is the amazingly talented Ann Weisgarber, author of The Personal History of Rachel Dupree, The Promise, and The Glovemaker. Ann’s wisdom extends from the esoteric to the mundane. I can’t imagine this journey without her.

Do you have any unique talents or hobbies? 
     I teach creative writing and a “literary tapas” class, in which we explore pieces of literature using the Socratic method. I’ve worked as a legal secretary, party consultant, babysitter, teacher, administrator, and school improvement consultant. I make delicious salads and Star Wars pancakes. I also have more than a passing interest in fantasy football, although I’m not a football fan.

Do you have any tips for readers or advice for other writers trying to get published? 
     My main advice to writers, and part of every assignment in my creative writing class, is to have fun. If you’re not having fun while writing, the reader won’t have fun while reading your work. Part of having fun is being open to trying new things, both in writing and in reading.

What can readers who enjoy your books do to help make them successful? 
     Word of mouth is the best way to help a book to be noticed and read. I’m so grateful when readers recommend my books to book club members and other readers and write reviews. I love to hear from readers, too, and I enjoy attending organization meetings or book discussions, either in person or by FaceTime.

What can we expect from you in the future? 
     A Palette for Love and Murder will be released on February 15. Next is a stand-alone mystery that takes place in an urban high school. My current work in progress involves friendship, bullying, and murder. Someday I’d like to complete a historical novel I started long ago, based on the 1900 Storm in Galveston, Texas.

Someone comes to the party with murder in his heart and poison in his pocket.

When old friends gather for a weekend retreat at a country mansion, no one anticipates how their lives will be changed—or that one of them will turn up dead. Remote and serene, the Campbells’ horse farm is the perfect setting for a lavish party. The guests, members of the country’s elite wealthiest one percent, indulge in gourmet food, fine wines, Cuban cigars—but greed, lust, and jealousy insinuate themselves into the party.

Playboy and ex-Secretary of the Treasury, Preston Phillips, brings his new trophy wife to the party, unaware that his first love, the woman he jilted at the altar years ago, will be there, enchanting him once more with her timeless beauty. A snowstorm, an accident, and an illicit rendezvous later, the dynamics crackle with tension.

When Detective Oliver Parrott is charged with solving the untimely killing of one of America’s leading financial wizards, he realizes this will be the case to make—or break—his career.

Amazon         Barnes & Noble        Black Opal Books        Website bookstore

Watch for A Palette for Love and Money

coming in February 2020!

     Award-winning mystery and children’s book author, Saralyn Richard, is a writer who teaches on the side. Winner of the Killer Nashville Silver Falchion Readers’ Choice 2019 Award, and first in the Detective Parrott series, Murder in the One Percent pulls back the curtain on the privileged and powerful rich.

     Kirkus says about it, "An Everyman detective is asked to solve a murder in a wealthy community in which ample motives and abundant resources make everyone a suspect. Detective Oliver Parrott, who takes charge of the case, is so struck by the partygoers' consensual impressions of the selfish businessman that he realizes the case may be more about who didn't kill Preston than who did."
   Reviews, media, and tour schedule may be found at www.saralynrichard.com.
   Saralyn's children's book, Naughty Nana, is narrated by the fluffy sheepdog puppy who "just wants to have fun." The now not-so-naughty Nana leads a busy life as a tourism ambassador and guest "barker" at schools and libraries.
   A member of International Thriller Writers and Mystery Writers of America, Saralyn continues to write mysteries. Look for A Palette for Murder in 2020. Her website is www.saralynrichard.com.

I enjoy meeting readers through social media. Here are my links:

Twitter        Facebook       LinkedIn        Pinterest

Instagram       Goodreads

I am available to meet with book clubs and organization members. Contact me at saralyn@saralynrichard.com.