Wednesday, May 25, 2016

Birthday Guest - Amy Lane

Please welcome my birthday guest - Amy Lane!

Birthdays and Other Things I Forget

There is a thing on FB—you know the one? Where FB prompts you to wish a friend a happy birthday, and sometimes, it sends an automatic birthday wish to your friends, and then you can send an automatic reply back to all of the automatic birthday wish and no.

I don’t really participate.

Don’t get me wrong—I love getting birthday wishes from friends on FB.

And I love telling friends happy birthday.

But the computer thing is way too organized for me.

My Modus Operandi for other people’s birthday is usually the following:

About two days before a friend’s or family member’s birthday, I will call them up. Why am I calling? I have no idea. There is a tickle, somewhere, that tells me I need to talk to them. I am thinking about them in some way. It’s weird.

Anyway, I call them up, we have a chat—a warm, wonderful, amazing chat, one that lasts an hour, at least. And I hang up so happy that they are my friend and/or a member of my family. 

Four days later, I remember that there was a birthday I forgot.  I call this person up in full contrition, not sure how that day got away from me, and they are usually very hurt. “I thought, you know, after our conversation, you would remember my birthday.”

“Oops—apparently the phone conversation was your birthday present. Surprise!”

I am famous for this. This behavior has become a staple bitch of family dinners, Christmases, Easters, and summer reunions.

I am the person who forgets the birthday.

Or confuses it—I have two friends who are almost six months apart. I’ve known them for thirty years. To this day, I can’t tell you if Stacy’s birthday is on May 22nd or 23rd, and if Wendy’s birthday is on November 22nd or 23rd.  It’s infuriating. I know Maryanne’s birthday is sometime before Wendy’s because they are both Scorpios, but is it the 18th, 19th, or 20th?  I know my brother’s birthday is in May, but is it Mother’s Day this year or did I completely blow it off? My dad is Leo on the cusp of Virgo, but does that make his birthday the 21st of August or the 22nd? My stepmom’s birthday is a day off of an old friend’s—one I haven’t spoken to in seven years, by the way—but is that April 16th or 17th?

And my phone has apparently set itself to European time, and the calendar is no help at all.

In fact, in the entire world, there are exactly six people besides myself whose birthdays I remember consistently and with fanfare.

October 1st is my mother’s birthday. I remember this for two reasons.

One is that my birthday is September 30th. The other is that Mate’s birthday is also October 1st. Mate and I are 26 hours apart. Bam! Instant mnemonic, and that’s two birthdays for the brain space of one. I’m covered.

The other four are my children’s birthdays—probably because I was there when they happened originally, and it was a significant achievement on my part to push the little buggers into the world. My youngest was ten pounds and four days late. Her due date was March 31st which is when I went into labor. She was born on April 3rd, and April frickin’ Fools! You better believe I remember that day.  But other than that?

It’s a crapshoot.

In fact, that crapshoot—coupled with the fact that I’ve never met a deadline I couldn’t blow the fuck off—has led me to just abandon any kind of schedule while making people gifts. If I know you and I like you, I shall knit for you, and you shall receive it at a random time during the year. Happy Birthday/Christmas/Chanukah/New Years/I Just Generally Love You Day to YOU.

You’re welcome.

So what’s so special about birthdays, besides a number that explains who that old woman is in the mirror whenever I look?

Hopefully it’s about survival. “Look! I lived to be this old, and I could have sworn I wasn’t that bright!”  If you’re really good, it’s about wisdom. “Oh my God! I learned so much this year, and I have the battle scars and/or wrinkles to prove it!”

If you’re winning at life? It’s a celebration.

“I am both older and wiser, and I can still party, even if a party to me is a game of scrabble with my family and the extra Oreo during TV time. Woohoo!”

And if you’re getting the blue ribbon, gold star win at life?

Then you have other people to help you celebrate.


Happy birthday, Nicole—you are getting the blue ribbon gold star birthday treatment, and you so deserve it. Now go out there, play some scrabble, eat the last Oreo and write yourself a book, hon. Us writers gotta know how to live!



Selfie: A Bluewater Bay Novel
One year ago, actor Connor Montgomery lost the love of his life to a drunk driver. But what’s worse for Connor is what he still has: a lifetime of secrets born of hiding his relationship from the glare of Hollywood. Unable to let go of the world he and Vinnie shared, Connor films a drunken YouTube confession on the anniversary of Vinnie’s death. 

Thankfully, the video was silent—a familiar state for Connor—so his secret is still safe. He needs a fresh start, and a new role on the hit TV show Wolf’s Landing might be just that. 

The move to Bluewater Bay may also mean a second chance in the form of his studio-assigned assistant. Noah Dakers sees through Connor’s facades more quickly than Connor could imagine. Noah’s quiet strength and sarcastic companionship offers Connor a chance at love that Hollywood’s closet has never allowed. But to accept it, Connor must let Vinnie go and learn to live again. 

* * * * * * * 

Bluewater Bay stories can be read in any order — jump in wherever you'd like! 

Purchase:
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Selfie-Bluewater-Novel-Amy-Lane-ebook/dp/B01EED4QK8?ie=UTF8&ref_=asap_bc
Riptide: http://riptidepublishing.com/titles/selfie


Amy Lane
Amy Lane exists happily with her noisy family in a crumbling suburban crapmansion, and equally happily with the surprisingly demanding voices who live in her head.
She loves cats, movies, yarn, pretty colors, pretty men, shiny things, and Twu Wuv, and despises house cleaning, low fat granola bars, and vainglorious prickweenies.
She can be found at her computer, dodging housework, or simultaneously reading, watching television, and knitting, because she likes to freak people out by proving it can be done.
Connect with Amy:
Website: greenshill.com
Twitter: @amymaclane
Facebook group: Amy Lane Anonymous



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Monday, May 23, 2016

Birthday Guest - Charlie Cochet

Please welcome my birthday guest - Charlie Cochet!

She brought along our favorite gummy-bear-loving-cheesy-doodle-crunchy favorite THIRDS agent. Though, as usual, I think he hijacked the post from her. 

Hey there! Dexter J. Daley here to talk about birthdays. Not just any birthdays, but milestone birthdays. I love birthdays! Doesn’t matter how old I get I want to celebrate. I mean hey, I made it another year older. How is that not something to celebrate? Listen up, I’m a THIRDS agent. It’s my job to go out there and face lethal criminals who can disembowel me with one swipe of their paw. When my birthday comes around, I am rocking that shit. I don’t just have a birthday party, I have a pre-birthday-party party because why not? Dude, my birthday celebration lasts at least a week. My thirtieth? That went on for a month. Drove my dad absolutely freakin’ nuts.

So here’s how it went down. This party went global. I took my party wagon on the road. First two weeks of August, 2010 I was in Europe. I let it all hang out. Uh, sort of literally in Spain. I had one too many mojitos, and there was this hot guy, and let’s just say Sloane doesn’t need to know about that night. Ever. Somewhere in Barcelona the police are still looking for the blond American dude who streaked down Las Ramblas naked with only a souvenir paper fan to cover his boy bits as he shouted incoherent Spanish. It made the papers. My goal was to hit as many pubs across the continent of Europe in as few days as possible. There are a couple of towns out there I’m no longer allowed in. That’s all I’m going to say about that.

Third week of August I was back in the good old USA ready for round two. I started at the Grand Canyon, swept through Vegas, caught a few shows, did not run naked through the strip. I did however land in jail. Don’t look at me like that. It was one night. Didn’t even go on my record, though that was probably down to Tony. Man, you should have seen his face. He was so pissed. And rightly so seeing as how he had to catch the red-eye because my dumb ass thought it would be a great idea to try out some synchronized swimming in the Bellagio’s fountains. In my defense, I asked for a frozen daiquiri light on the alcohol and the guy must have heard the opposite. I was too busy running around the place to notice my drink was quickly melting away into nothing but vodka. Not to mention this drink cup was as long as my arm. Vegas is lucky I didn’t try to climb the damned Eiffel tower. Anyway, when Tony showed up, the arresting officer took one look at him, and handed me over with a prayer. No, seriously, the guy actually prayed for me, said a Hail Mary and everything. Then he whispered “good luck”, and made like the wind. I’d never been in a police station that quiet. My temporary cell mate told me it sucked to be me.

Of course Tony being Tony didn’t rain his wrath down on me right away. He never does things half-assed. He was going to let me enjoy the rest of my birthday celebration before unleashing Merciless Maddock. “But you’re a grown man,” you say. Let me impart some wisdom on you. You are never too old to get your ass handed to you by Tony Maddock. I was an HPF agent old enough to know better, be able to control my stupid, and end up in a fellow officer’s cell to embarrass myself, my THIRDS sergeant dad, and all my ancestors. I should probably also note that my detainment from the fountain incident came after several other incidents where I was let off with a warning.

I’m no longer allowed inside Caesar’s palace. Or the Luxor. Let’s just say it involves booze, lots of sugar, and my convincing a couple of white tiger Therians to shift into their Therian forms in the casino so I could walk around pretending I was a magician. Security kind of drew the last straw when I attempted to make a life-sized chocolate statue of Benedict Cumberbatch disappear.

After Vegas, I headed for Cali, then hit the major cities before hopping a cruise ship, doing some snorkeling, almost getting eaten by a shark I thought was a dolphin, then making my way back home. A lot of stuff happened in between, but I gotta leave something for my memoirs. Anyway, got home, went to face the music, and when I got to Tony’s he had a surprise party waiting for me. Sounds great right? No. Nope. He’d invited all my ex-boyfriends, including a couple of guys who I never called back after a night of getting frisky if you know what I mean. In my defense I lost their numbers, I swear! My dad tracked down every frat boy I ever flirted with, even the barista from the coffee shop on campus that I whispered sweet nothings to for an extra shot of espresso. He also invited my Aunt Danelle. Seriously, my aunt! The woman who wiped my snot when I was sick, who cleaned up my unholy spewing after I got food poisoning. It was of Exorcist proportions. Never underestimate how much puke can come out of an eight-year-old. Embarrassed is a word chumps use. My dad annihilated me.   

So, yeah. Milestone birthdays. Have fun, be safe, don’t drink and drive, and for the love of donuts don’t get thrown in jail. Have a good one!



Love in Retrograde Synopsis
Enthusiastic, play-it-safe Kelly Sutton is an American intern at the Photonic Royal Society in New London. He’s been working on Project Mars for over a year, a mission kept so secret by the Society even Kelly doesn’t know exactly what it is. What Kelly does know is his contribution to the task will benefit mankind, and that’s enough for him.
Kelly’s world turns upside down when concerns over his mentor’s behavior lead Kelly to investigate and stumble upon a wicked truth. What is supposed to be a project to advance human life turns out to be an endeavor capable of mass destruction. The terrifying reality forces Kelly to choose between looking the other way to keep his job, as he’s always done, or risking his career and even his life to do the right thing by saving the man who’s captured his heart.

Buy links

About the Author
Charlie Cochet is an author by day and artist by night. Always quick to succumb to the whispers of her wayward muse, no star is out of reach when following her passion. From adventurous agents and sexy shifters, to society gentlemen and hardboiled detectives, there’s bound to be plenty of mischief for her heroes to find themselves in, and plenty of romance, too!
Currently residing in Central Florida, Charlie is at the beck and call of a rascally Doxiepoo bent on world domination. When she isn’t writing, she can usually be found reading, drawing, or watching movies. She runs on coffee, thrives on music, and loves to hear from readers.

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Saturday, May 21, 2016

Birthday Guest: Andrew Grey

Please welcome my birthday guest - Andrew Grey!

My 40th Birthday – Andrew Grey

The big birthday for me was my fortieth.  My family had a surprise party with a piƱata filled with things like Geritol and coupons for senior lunches.  They also gave me a blanket for taking naps and a bunch of over the hill stuff.  Of course the capper on the whole thing was the cane with a horn, rear view mirror and god knows what else.  My niece was about six and she thought it hilarious that I was that old.  Of course I get real presents too, all wrapped in black paper with tombstones on it.  My brother, who is a year younger than I am was the instigator of the whole thing.  So when his fortieth came around, he made sure to be out of town.  Spoil sport!!!


Happy Birthday Nicole.


Title: Fire and Snow  
Author: Andrew Grey
Series: Carlisle Cops #4
Genre:  M/M Contemporary Romance
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Release Date: May 20 2016
Edition/Formats Available In: eBook & Print
Blurb/Synopsis:

Fisher Moreland has been cast out of his family because they can no longer deal with his issues. Fisher is bipolar and living day to day, trying to manage his condition, but he hasn’t always had much control over his life and self-medicated with whatever he could find.

JD Burnside has been cut off from his family because of a scandal back home. He moved to Carlisle, but brought his Southern charm and warmth along with him. When he sees Fisher on a park bench on a winter’s night, he invites Fisher and his friends for a late-night meal.

At first Fisher doesn't know what to make of JD, but he slowly comes out of his shell.  And when Fisher’s job is threatened because of a fire, JD’s support and care is more than Fisher ever thought he could expect.  But when people from Fisher’s past turn up in town at the center of a resurgent drug epidemic, Fisher knows they could very well sabotage his budding relationship with JD.

Excerpt:

He was hunched and curled into his coat, arms wrapped around himself, chin to his chest.

“Sir, are you all right?”

The man looked up and then lowered his gaze once again, saying nothing.

“Sir, is something wrong? It’s way too late and too cold to be out here. You should head on home.”

“I’m fine. Doesn’t matter, anyway. No one cares.” He lowered his gaze once again and continued sitting where he was.

“You’ll be a lot warmer and safer if you go home.” JD was becoming concerned. “I can help if you like? Can you tell me where you live?”

“Of course I can. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.” He got to his feet. He seemed steady enough. “People are crap; you know that? Everyone takes advantage of everyone else, and no one gives a crap about it.” He took a few steps, weaving slightly, and then he straightened up and headed off toward the courthouse. “No one cares about anything or anyone.”

“Do you need some help?” JD asked.

“No. There’s nothing you can do.” He walked off and JD watched him go. Something wasn’t right, but he was cold and the guy seemed harmless enough. JD went back to his car and slowly drove down the road. He saw where the man turned, and then watched as he went inside one of the apartment buildings in the first block of Pomfret.

His phone rang, so JD pulled to a stop before answering it. “You heading back to the station?” Red asked.

“Yeah.” He checked the time.

“Terry is going to meet me at Applebee’s. They’re still open, and we can get something to eat.” Red had been nice enough to befriend him when he’d joined the force six months earlier.

“Sounds good. Let me get back and finish up. I’ll meet you there.”

JD drove back to the station, checked in, and then left. The snow barely covered the ground, but it was enough to make him itchier about driving. He knew people here didn’t think too much about a little snow, but he’d rarely driven in it back home. As he clutched the wheel, he tried to remember the last time he’d actually driven in snow. It must have been four or five years ago.

JD approached Hanover Street and saw a hunched figure walking back toward the square. JD knew he was off duty, but he turned left instead of right anyway. He watched as the man went back to the same bench and sat down. There was something very wrong.

JD pulled off the road, then got out and jogged across the street to where the man sat. “I thought you’d gone home,” JD said gently.

“This is my bench. I like it here.”

“Dude, it’s really cold, and you’re going to get sick.” JD helped him to his feet. “It’s also really late. You need to get home where it’s safe and warm.” He hoped the guy wasn’t sick, but he couldn’t leave him out in this weather. “When was the last time you ate?”

The man shrugged. JD looked at his arm, checking for a medical bracelet. He’d had a friend who acted like this sometimes, a little loopy and strange. He’d been diabetic, and when his blood sugar got wacky, he’d act really out of it. “Why don’t you come with me, and I’ll see about getting you something to eat.”

“Okay,” the man agreed, and JD helped him walk across the street. He got him into the car, wondering what Red was going to think when he showed up with a stranger. The guy sat quietly, lightly fidgeting with his hands as JD drove to the edge of town and pulled into the restaurant parking lot.

“Let’s get you something to eat, and then maybe you’ll feel better.” JD had committed himself now. He’d crossed a line between officer and public a long time ago—and if this turned out badly, he could be in a hell of a lot of trouble—but something told him the guy wasn’t dangerous, just a little confused.

He parked and they got out, the man following docilely.

Red met him at restaurant door, staring quizzically. “Who’s this?”

“He’s….” Shit, how was he going to explain this? “A guy who needs some help.”

Andrew Grey

Andrew grew up in western Michigan with a father who loved to tell stories and a mother who loved to read them. Since then he has lived throughout the country and traveled throughout the world. He has a master’s degree from the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee and works in information systems for a large corporation.

Andrew’s hobbies include collecting antiques, gardening, and leaving his dirty dishes anywhere but in the sink (particularly when writing)  He considers himself blessed with an accepting family, fantastic friends, and the world’s most supportive and loving partner. Andrew currently lives in beautiful, historic Carlisle, Pennsylvania.


Author Links:
Facebook Group All the Way with Andrew Grey

For Other Works by Andrew Grey
(Please Be Sure To Stop by His Website to See All of His Works)
The ones listed below is for the Carlisle Cops Only
Fire and Snow (4)

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Friday, May 20, 2016

Birthday Guest: Jamie Lynn Miller

Please welcome my birthday guest - Jamie Lynn Miller!

Hello everyone! Many thanks to Nicole for asking me to be one of her party guests. Happy 40th, Nicole! Just remember, “Growing old is mandatory. Growing UP is optional.” :-)

For my party gift I wrote up a brand new snippet with Connor and Shawn from my new release, Broken Soldier. It’s hard to remember to celebrate birthdays when you’re chasing down terrorists…

Sergeant Connor Finley fell back against his bed roll with a grateful sigh, staring up into the millions of stars shining brightly overhead from where he lay on the edge of the sand in the Sudan desert. It was the end of a successful mission, and for once no one was chasing them or shooting at them. It was a rare opportunity to relax and Connor was going to take full advantage of it.

Connor looked across the small fire at his partner. From the looks of it, Sergeant Shawn Weller had the same idea, also laying on his back, arms behind his head, eyes closed, a content expression on his face.

A companionable silence had fallen between them, which is why the single beep from Shawn’s watch sounded so loud in the quiet desert night.

Connor raised his head and looked at his own watch as Shawn sat up and started rummaging around in his backpack. Midnight.

Curious, Connor rolled to his side. “What is it, mate?” he questioned his partner.

Shawn held up a finger and continued pulling out items from his bag until he turned around and triumphantly held up a small box wrapped in plain brown paper. He moved over and sat down next to Connor and held out the box to him.

“Happy 35th birthday, Finn,” Shawn smiled.

Connor grinned in return and accepted the gift. His birthday. And a milestone one at that. He’d nearly forgotten. Easy to do when you were chasing down terrorists.

“Cheers, mate.”

“Well go ahead, don’t just stare at it, open it up,” Shawn told him.

Connor shook his head at Shawn’s eagerness and tore off the brown paper to reveal – a box of Earl Grey tea bags. Connor’s laugh was loud and surprised.

“How on earth did you get this?” he questioned Shawn, smiling.

Shawn shrugged. “Mandy gets the credit. I told her what I wanted to get you and the next thing I know the box is in my locker at HQ.”

“Well then I’ll just send her the thank you note,” Connor joked then chuckled at Shawn’s offended expression. “No, seriously, thank you, Shawn,” he said sincerely, as a pang of homesickness hit him, looking at the box. “It’s been ages I’ve had a proper cup of tea.”

“You’re welcome, buddy. Though how you can drink that…” Shawn trailed off and made a face like he was sucking on a lemon.

Connor laughed. “You’re such a heathen! Have you ever even tried drinking tea?”

“I prefer my drinks to be a bit more…manly,” Shawn answered with a smirk, pulling out his silver flask filled with whiskey and taking a long swallow.

Connor shook his head then picked up his tin cup from where it was sitting next to the fire, still filled partially with water. He pulled out his canteen and filled his cup up the rest of the way before carefully placing it on the edge of the fire to boil. He didn’t care if it was 85 degrees out and he was in the middle of a desert. It was his birthday and he was having a hot mug of tea.

A few minutes later Connor busied himself with carefully removing his cup and dropping a tea bag in. He didn’t let it steep for long, eager for a taste of home and nearly burned the inside of his mouth on the hot water. He closed his eyes with a pleased sigh as the familiar flavor of the Earl Grey exploded across his tongue.

Shawn laughed. “Dude. It looks like someone’s giving you the best blow job of your life.”

Connor cracked one eye open. “See what you’re missing out on by not drinking tea?”

Shawn snorted and took another swallow of his whiskey as Connor smiled and closed his eyes again.

They drank in comfortable silence for several minutes before Connor set down his empty cup and turned to his partner.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

Shawn smiled. “You already said that.”

Connor shook his head. “No, for this.” He waved a hand between them. “For us.” He paused for a moment. “This life we live…it’s hard and it’s lonely. I didn’t think it was possible to find happiness among the death and violence that surrounds us. But I found it. With you. You’re my gift, Shawn,” he finished, voice rough.

Shawn was very still beside him, staring at Connor intently. He could tell his words had affected his partner, he saw it reflected in those piercing blue eyes. Not that the hard-ass, tough-as-nails solider would ever admit it out loud, though. Sure enough…

“Thanks for that Hallmark card moment, Finn,” Shawn cracked.

Connor shook his head in exasperation. “Fuck you,” he laughed.

Shawn moved then, straddling Connor’s waist and cupping Connor’s face in his hands. “God, I hope so,” Shawn ground out, then he was kissing Connor hard.

It wasn’t long after that Connor admitted Earl Grey tea had nothing on Shawn.

THE END

Blurb:

Sergeant Connor Finley and Sergeant Shawn Weller are dedicated soldiers working covert ops for Shadow Unit -- a joint UK/US anti-terrorism task force.

Partners in the field and out, they had been through hell together for the last four years and made it through standing side by side. But when their latest undercover op to bring down an arms dealer plunges them into a world of drugs, sex and violence, Shawn must literally get in bed with the enemy in order to complete the mission. And Connor is forced to watch, helpless, as his partner is broken into pieces.

Will love be enough to put them both back together or will this be their final mission?


BUY LINKS:



Jamie Lynn Miller:
Jamie Lynn Miller has been writing fiction since childhood and decided to take the plunge and go pro in 2008, finding to her amazement that people truly enjoyed her love stories. She’s a romantic at heart, and her tales reflect the desire we all have to find “the one,” persevering through trials and heartache for that happy ending.
Jamie has a degree in fine arts and has spent the last twenty years working as a graphic designer, though she’d much rather be writing. She was born in Chicago and still lives there today with her husband and their two furry, four-footed children, er… cats.
If she’s not brainstorming story ideas, you can find Jamie at a sci-fi convention, in front of a furnace doing glass blowing, or on a mat twisted into a yoga pose.

CONTACT INFO:





Twitter: @JamieLynnAuthor

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Thursday, May 19, 2016

Birthday Guest: Terry Poole

Please welcome my birthday guest - Terry Poole!

A Hauntingly Happy Birthday - Terry Poole

Max stared morosely at his monitor. It was time he admitted defeat. The words were simply not going to come to him, his characters completely silent. Maybe they knew it was his birthday, and had decided to give him a break. He really wished they hadn’t.

Birthday’s sucked, at least for him. The only one worth remembering was the day Everett, his ex, brought home Alfred…after the fact, and as an apology for forgetting.

Max extended his hand up to the cat sleeping on his computer tower and gave Alfred a gentle loving stroke. Alfred cracked an eye open, peered at Max, and began to purr as he closed his eye again. Yeah, Alfred had the right idea.

Max was not about to tell Nick what was really bothering him. The man had enough to deal with, what with being a ghost trying to find his killer, than to worry about something as trivial as Max’s birthday. Max also didn’t want Nick to feel pressured to get him a gift.

Well, that was a silly thought. Just how in the heck would Nick buy him a gift? He was a ghost. And what would he use to buy it with? The ‘Discover the Afterlife card’, or the ‘Masterwraith card’? Now he was just getting silly.

You are such an idiot, Max chastised himself. It would be best he simply forgot what day it was.

Scowling at his monitor again, Max blew out a frustrated huff of air.

“I heard that.” Nick came up behind him, dropped his hands on Max’s shoulders and began to massage Max’s tight muscles. “What’s the matter, baby?”

“Thank you, that feels fantastic.” Max sighed, rolling his head on his neck. “I just can’t seem to get into the zone today.”

Nick reached down, clasped Max’s hand and pulled him to his feet.  “I know what your problem is.”

“You do?” Max starred at Nick. Did he know? How?

“Yup. You need some fresh air. Let’s go for a walk. Maybe get some of that fancy coffee for your Keurig machine. That should get your juices flowing again.”

“Sure.” Max pasted on a smile and tried to muster some enthusiasm for the idea.

As it turned out, Max enjoyed himself tremendously. He and Nick ended up walking down to the farmer’s market. Nick had him laughing so hard with his ghostly antics that Max suspected several of the vendors thought Max belonged in a padded room. Nick managed to pull Max out of his funk and make his day a whole lot brighter.

Back at the condo, Nick stopped Max from opening the door after Max had unlocked it. Slowly, Nick drew nearer and gave Max a soft sweet kiss that Max felt all the way down to his toes. What did he care about birthdays anyway, when he had Nick to make his life perfect?

“Don’t be afraid.” Nick warned as he pushed the door open while hanging onto Max.

Max frowned at the odd statement. It was a good thing Nick was behind Max holding him tightly when the lights flashed on and Jackie, Kevin and Erik yelled ‘surprise’. Max clung to Nick as Max’s heart threatened to beat right out of his chest.

“Happy Birthday Max!” Everyone yelled while he stared in shock.

Balloons and streamers were everywhere. A cake sat on the kitchen island with wrapped presents beside it. On the back of the couch, Alfred stood on his hind legs, one paw on the wall for balance, as he frantically tried to bring down a ribbon with the other paw.

Stunned, Max stared up at Nick. “How?”

Nick smiled down at him. “You let me use your tablet and there happens to be a calendar on it with today’s date circled. It wasn’t hard to find out why. I know you haven’t had a lot of good birthdays over the years but with a little help from friends…” Nick waved his hand in Jackie, Kevin and Erik’s direction. “I wanted to make today special for you. I definitely have a reason to celebrate the day you were born. Happy Birthday sweetheart.”

Max flung his arms around Nick’s neck and held him tight. Ghost or not, this wonderful, selfless man thought more about Max having his first enjoyable birthday, than about his own uncertain future.

Max thought he couldn’t love Nick more – he was wrong. 


Seeing is Believing

As the only witness to the murder of a police detective Max Cooke never thought the dead detective’s ghost would appear at the foot of his bed two days later. Not only does Max have to deal with the often ridiculous fallout of being bonded to a ghost, he ends up falling in love with the dead man haunting him.

 Instead of wings and a harp Detective Nick Horvath ends up with a writer of romance stories, a sweet lonely man who brings out all his protective instincts.


When the murderer comes for looking for Max, Nick has to find a way to stop him. But if Nick succeeds, he may be forced to leave the man he loves.  If he fails, Max could become the killer’s next victim.

Buy Links:


Terry Poole

Nestled between the two massive lakes that bisect Manitoba, Terry lives with her three fur children, her hubby, and her three human children (this number varies depending on who is staying at home at any given time). Her first book was created at five years of age, using stick figures drawn on a roll of adding machine paper. When Terry isn't writing (which isn’t often), she can be found crocheting, making handmade soap or hanging out on Facebook. Terry’s number one complaint is that she has more stories in her head than she will ever be able to get down on paper.



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Wednesday, May 18, 2016

Birthday Guest: Rory Ni Coileain

Please welcome my birthday guest - Rory Ni Coileain!

I’m told the theme for my post is to be “milestone birthdays.” I have a few to choose from – Lochlann Doran, my Fae healer from Deep Plunge and the rest of the SoulShares series, turned 2,500 a few years back, and that qualifies as a milestone even among the Fae. But he hates having anyone make a fuss over his birthdays. Just ask his partner Garrett sometime. And ‘Mac’ McAllan, one of the protagonists in the upcoming Undertow, just turned over the odometer at 65 – but while he may finally be freeway legal, his book is still under wraps, so I can’t really tell you about his party, either.

So… since I’ve been left high and dry by my boys, let me tell you a little story about my own most recent milestone birthday. It was on the day I turned 50, almost four years ago, that I received – and signed, and returned – my first book publishing contract, for the first four SoulShares novels. I can still remember feeling my phone buzz to let me know the e-mail had come in. (For those of you who haven’t met me yet, I’m kind of joined to my phone at the hip. Literally. When my phone buzzes, I can usually feel it in my hip pocket even if my phone’s across the room. I think they call that symbiosis. Or delusional thinking…)

Only my phone wasn’t in my hip pocket. It was in my purse, which was over my shoulder. And I couldn’t take it out to check it, because my son was walking me down the aisle to my seat at my dad’s Masonic funeral service.

That birthday was more memorable than I wanted it to be… and less, in a way, because I don’t remember a whole lot of it. Three days before my birthday, I’d been driving to work when my phone rang; it was my mother. “I think your father’s dead.” And as quick as that, I was turning the car around and heading to my mother’s house. Calling work, telling them I wasn’t going to be in. Trying to figure out how I was going to break the news to my son, who was home alone, on summer vacation. I was on auto-pilot. The very last thing on my mind was my imminent birthday.

Mostly, what was on my mind for those hectic days was a little bit of relief – I knew for a fact that my last words to my dad, the previous week, had been ‘I love you’ – and a lot of regret. I never told him I’d had an offer of a contract. Four books. My dad was a printer – he taught printing for many years, and all through my childhood he had a foot-operated offset press in our basement, foundry date 1886. He’d typeset the programs for my college graduation party, my first wedding, my law school graduation reception. Fifty years of family Christmas cards. His veins ran with printers’ ink, and he passed that on to me. But I was afraid he wouldn’t approve of what I write, and I never told him.

I wasn’t thinking of my birthday. But my family was. They made sure everything was scheduled so we wouldn’t be burying Dad on my birthday… and at the family dinner after the Masonic funeral, there was a cake for me. Life does go on, whether or not we’re engaged with it.


And there had been that buzz, in my purse. The sound of a dream coming true. After we left the chapel, and before we went down to dinner, I quickly checked my phone. And before going downstairs, I went back into the chapel… and my dad was the first one I told.



Blurb:
Hard as Stone was my first book under that first contract. Now in its second edition, I’d like to give away a copy, to help celebrate Nicole’s birthday!

Tiernan Guaire was exiled from the Fae Realm a century and a half ago for his brother’s murder. His soul torn in half, he lives by his vows — never to trust, never to love. And if he can only be whole by finding and loving the human with the other half of his soul? He’s content to live broken and half-souled.

Kevin Almstead’s future, the career he’s worked for as long as he can remember, has been taken away by a vote of the partners at his law firm. Chance brings him to Purgatory, the hottest all-male nightclub in Washington, D.C., to a meeting with a Fae with long blond hair, ice-blue eyes, and a smile promising pleasures he’s never dreamed of. But there’s no such thing as chance.

But Tiernan isn’t the only one to find Kevin in Purgatory. The most ancient enemy of the Fae race sees in the handsome lawyer a way to destroy the world from which it, too, was exiled. And only the strength of a true SoulShare bond can keep it from what it seeks.

Finalist for Best Debut Novel and Best Gay Erotic Romance, 2012 Rainbow Awards; Finalist, Best Erotica, 2012 Preditors & Editors Readers Poll


Rory Ni Coileain:
Rory Ni Coileain majored in creative writing, back when Respectable Colleges didn't offer such a major, so she designed it herself - being careful to ensure that she never had to take a class before nine in the morning or take a Hemingway survey course. She graduated Phi Beta Kappa at the age of nineteen, sent off her first short story to an anthology being assembled by an author she idolized, got the kind of rejection letter that lets therapists send their kids to Ivy League schools, and found other things to do, such as ballet, flamenco, nightclub singing, and volunteering as a lawyer with Gay Men's Health Crisis, for the next thirty years or so, until her stories started whispering to her. Now she's a lawyer and a legal editor who’s learning to sing in Irish, the mother of a budding film-maker, the property of two cats, and the multi-published amanuensis of a host of fantastic creatures who are all anxious to tell their stories and who tend not to let her go to sleep at night until she does right by them.

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