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 40^th, 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 35^th 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

Broken Soldier

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:

AMAZON: http://tinyurl.com/zbbwpue
KOBO: http://tinyurl.com/job8hge
ARe: http://tinyurl.com/j5yx5on
SCRIBD: http://tinyurl.com/ze6nm5l

B&N: http://tinyurl.com/zghkqyr

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:

Email: jamielynnmiller@live.com

Blog: https://jamielynnm.wordpress.com/

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/jamielynn.miller.3

Twitter: @JamieLynnAuthor

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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:

http://www.loose-id.com/seeing-is-believing.html?___SID=U

https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-seeingisbelieving-2000667-149.html

http://www.amazon.com/Seeing-Believing-Terry-Poole-ebook/dp/B01D0S3NCA

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/seeing-is-believing-terry-poole/1123535458

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/29523580-seeing-is-believing

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.

Visit with her at www.facebook.com/authorterrypoole/

Website   http://diveintopoole.wix.com/terrypoole

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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.

Hard as Stone

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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Birthday Guest: Atom Yang

Please welcome my birthday guest - Atom Yang!

Pen names are funny things.

I had always thought of them as something a writer hid behind—well, literally because their real name and the details of their real lives were hidden. Even the fancier word for them, pseudonym literally means “false name.”

However, now I don’t think there’s anything fake about a pen name. It may be a mask that shields our privacy, protects our loved ones and careers, even defends us against friends and family who would judge us—but masks work both ways. They may also allow the person behind the mask to be someone they’ve always wanted to be to the people in front of the mask.

More than a novelist, or author, or writer; more than a specific profession like romance writer.

I’ve found that having a pen name is like having an alter ego. Even though we may follow the adventures of Superman or the X-men, and that’s our focus—they do still have personal lives they attend to: Superman works at The Daily Planet and the mutants of X-men go to school. We’re just not as interested in the non-heroic aspects of their lives; we’re not completely disinterested, but comic books aren’t titled Lifestyle of the Rich and Famous Bruce Wayne or Poor Peter Parker for a reason.

My point still stands, though, that a pen name is an alter ego. I alternate between this identity (ego) as Atom and my other identity. There’s nothing different between the two except the focus—one is on writing and I would say more open about what he finds sexy and romantic. The other is more reserved, and regards the nature of his current profession with caution. I know there’s a difference because I post and share slightly different things on social media as each ego.  

I’ve been tempted to change my real name to my pseudonym. I find I enjoy what Atom has come to mean to me and to other people. And I think the name is cool! I did pick it myself, after all. I’ve had people tell me it sounds too complicated, superheroic, or silly, but you know what? It’s a bona fide real name—I couldn’t get it as a handle on a lot of social networks because it had been taken (and there were other variations also taken, given how many Atom Yangs are out there). So it’s a cultural thing, too—what we consider out of the ordinary, and I’m glad that on this planet, I sound like an alien guy with powers, but on another planet, I’m just Joe the Plumber.

All this said, Atom was born when my first story, Red Envelope, was accepted by MLR Press, and the executive editor Kris Jacen asked if I wanted to use a pen name. Did I want to publish under my own name and stroke that ego, or did I want to separate my worlds? I chose to separate them (duh) and originally, I had as my “birthday” the day I chose my nom de plume.

But then I changed it to my actual birthday.

Because we’re the same person. We just alternate names, not who we are. 

BLURB: 

The Chinese New Year is a time for saying goodbye to the past and hello to the future, but Clint doesn’t want to bid farewell to his cousin’s handsome American friend, Weaver, after they share an unexpected passionate encounter.

The Lunar New Year is the biggest holiday in the Chinese calendar, a time for family reunions, and for saying goodbye to the past and hello to the future. Clint, however, doesn’t want to bid farewell to what happened after last year’s celebration, when he and his Cousin Maggie’s handsome Caucasian friend, Weaver, shared an unexpected but long-desired passionate encounter. East is East and West is West, and Weaver seems to want to keep it that way, but maybe Clint can bridge that great divide this coming New Year, and show Weaver what it means to be loved and accepted.

BUY LINKS:

Amazon (http://amzn.to/1RTj5yp)

Goodreads (http://bit.ly/1qhHwga)

iTunes/iBooks (http://apple.co/1NuCJlS)

AllRomance Ebooks (http://bit.ly/1UQyqUA)

MLR Press (http://bit.ly/1T8ORty)

EXCERPT:

Prologue

Growing up, I lived two lives.

In one life, I watched the same programs and played the same video games as the other kids in my neighborhood. We skated, made friends, got into fights, and did most of our homework. My name was Clint, and I was named after Clint Eastwood because my maternal grandfather loved the TV show, Rawhide, cowboys, and the Wild West (despite how the Chinese were treated during that time and place) and wanted me to have a real American name. I’m grateful they didn’t pick Rowdy.

In my other life, I went to Chinese school on Sundays where my teachers called me by my Chinese name, and I got extra homework on how to be more Chinese. I had to learn to read and write in a language I rarely saw in my daily life, although I spoke and heard it every day from my parents. It was a bummer, but I suppose it made me realize how much being Chinese was about doing Chinese things, and how much being American for me was about doing twice as many things, and being who you are was about doing one thing: staying true to yourself.

Once I understood that, I didn’t live two lives anymore. I lived one.

Chapter One

I called up my mom to make sure I had the family recipe right for mapo tofu. It’s a spicy dish that’s usually made with ground pork, but I told her I was leaving the meat out to offer an option to my favorite aunt and host of the celebration, Shirley, who had become a vegetarian since the death of my uncle last year.

“Your mapo tofu is not vegetarian,” my mother said in Mandarin, “it has garlic in it.”

“Garlic is not slow meat that got stuck in dirt, Ma,” I replied testily in Mandarin. My generation spoke to each other in English, but to our parents and elders, we spoke Chinese.

“I’m not criticizing you, don’t be so sensitive!” my mother shot back. “I’m only telling you so you’ll know. Onions and garlic, they’re not considered vegetarian.”

Yes, I’m going to ask it, because some Chinese ways were foreign to me. “Why are they not considered vegetarian?” I said in a calmer tone. Mea culpa for snapping at my mom.

“Oh, it increases your yang,” she answered.

“Are you saying it makes you, uh, makes you want to, um…” What was the word for horny and sex in Mandarin? I never learned that vocabulary in Chinese school.

“Make love,” she said conspiratorially with a giggle. The words were translated literally from English.

“Ma, that’s silly. I’ve never noticed that when I’ve eaten garlic.”

My mother heaved a dramatic, disyllabic sigh. “Hai-ya, you think you know everything. What about Italians?”

“They’re not all wanting to…make love,” I said, feeling squeamish about using the new words with my mother. “Anyway, I hope Aunt Shirley will eat my tofu.”

My mom laughed again, a sound like wind chimes that’s tickled me as far back as I can remember. “Don’t say that! Eating someone’s tofu means you are, ah…” She searched for the English word, knowing my limitations, and quickly completed her thought in Chinese: “Touching someone’s body where you should not.”

“Really? Ha! Thanks for letting me know!”

“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. Weaver will be at the celebration.”

At the sound of his name, the laughter in my throat stilled and I found myself annoyed with my mother again. “Weaver is Maggie’s friend.”

“You like talking to him. Every year, since you both were little.”

“Since we were twelve. And I talk to everyone at the party, especially if they’re around my age.”

“Has it been that long? I remember you would talk about him all the way home and for weeks after. He has grown to be such a handsome man, don’t you think?”

“I wouldn’t know,” I mumbled. It’s not that I never noticed Weaver—his brown hair bleached by the sun, lightly toasted skin, and eventual six-foot height made him an easy game of Where’s Waldo in a crowd of my family members. I couldn’t help but notice him, and the way he had grown into his broad shoulders, big hands, and large feet that seemed so awkward when we were boys. It didn’t escape me, the way his square jaw, softer when we were both in middle school, became chiseled over time, and sometimes covered in stubble the color of burnt caramel flecked with ginger and bright gold.

She went on as if I had said nothing. “I love to look into his eyes! They’re so blue, like marbles! It’s so strange!”

My mouth went dryer than the Gobi. I tried to swallow, but failing that, I cleared my throat. “Yes, his eyes are very blue.” They reminded me of sea glass: navy in the evening, like the traditional changshan he wore to last year’s celebration; and the brilliant blue of a summer sky, which I saw on the winter morning before he left.

That morning was the first day of the Lunar New Year, and traditional belief held that the people you see on this first day would be the ones in your life for the rest of the year.

This didn’t turn out to be true.

“I thought you would be happy to know he’s coming back from China to visit. Maggie says he’s met somebody over there.”

My shoulders, which had been trying to say hello to my ears, dropped and I hunched over a little, a boxer weathering a punch. “I’m sure Maggie will be happy to see him,” I said, trying to sound cheerful. “Okay, I have to…do stuff. Get ready for tonight!”

“Are you upset about something?” My mother was either telepathic or she had secret cameras in my apartment, and I hoped for the latter; I glanced around suspiciously. “Mama knows when you’re unhappy,” she added in a soothing tone when I took too long to answer. When she spoke in the third person, I knew she meant business—there was both a formality and an intimacy when she talked like that; it wasn’t cute like “mommy knows best” or generic like “a mother doesn’t have to guess.” She meant, “I am your mother, you are my son, and I know you because you are a part of me, I raised you, and I want you to be happy.”

Yes, it’s kind of codependent compared to American individualism, but it’s kind of normal in a highly interdependent culture. There was something about her concern for my happiness that formed a lump in my throat, and made me wish I could hug her, tell her my hurts and cry them away on her bosom like I did when I was a child.

My throat tightened as if I had failed Darth Vader for the last time. Shit, my mother was part of my sadness. I couldn’t tell her what happened between Weaver and me after last year’s celebration because she would be upset—and for all the wrong reasons. I didn’t want to risk losing my relationship with her, and I didn’t think she would try to understand.

“Mama understands you,” she said.

Great, she’s telepathic. Hidden cameras would’ve been nicer. Creepy, sure, but at least my heart would be private.

I took in a controlled breath, hoping that she couldn’t hear on the other end as I ironed flat my emotions.

“I’m okay, don’t worry; a little nervous about making the dish correctly. I’ll see you later tonight.” She was quiet on the other end, and I knew my refusal to share what was bothering me hurt her feelings. And I had lied. “I love you,” I said in English.

We never expressed this to each other in Chinese, because it wasn’t something said in Chinese culture; the emotions were too strong, the words too coarse, and besides, it was assumed that parents and children loved each other. Still, my mother and I, we chose to be indelicately Western with this feeling, which meant we had to say it in our other tongue.

“I love you,” she said in singsong English. She hadn’t given up, and I knew she’d press me again later, or ask one of my relatives to get me to divulge what was bugging me before too long. “Okay, bye-bye!”

“Okay, bye-bye,” I echoed, and hung up, and stood there.

And stood some more.

Weaver was coming back

BIO:

Atom was born to Chinese immigrant parents who thought it'd be a hoot to raise him as an immigrant, too--so he grew up estranged in a familiar land, which gives him an interesting perspective. He's named after a Japanese manga (comic book) character, in case you were wondering.

SOCIAL MEDIA:

Website: http://AtomYang.com (Facebook author page)

Twitter (@MightyAtomYang): http://bit.ly/1rPyh7k

Goodreads: http://bit.ly/22dNDPN

Instagram (@MightyAtomYang): http://bit.ly/1LThhGB

YouTube: http://bit.ly/1YbAvIn

Pinterest: http://bit.ly/1XfDfGa

SHOP LINK:

Amazon author page: http://amzn.to/1SKui6T

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Birthday Guest: Laura Baumbach

Please welcome my birthday guest - Laura Baumbach!

Hi everyone! My name is Laura Baumbach. I write m/m erotic romance. Currently I'm writing a romantic suspense novel, the start of new series for me. I've been writing for fifteen years or so, and have hit a few milestones in both my writing and my life. 

I'd like to start out by wishing Nicole a fabulous fortieth birthday!

I remember my own fortieth vividly. It was the year I decided I'd wasted too much time on 'everyday' things and hadn't accomplished as much as I had hoped to by that time in my life. At the time I was (and still am) a happily married woman with a good, hardworking engineer husband and a six-year-old darling son. We lived in a great big old brick farmhouse in the country. Still do. I was working as an Emergency Trauma nurse in a local hospital and a vibrant circle of friends and family. I wasn't writing at this point in time. That came about a few years later with the arrival of our second son.

There I was busy, happy, and comfortable, but vaguely discontent. There were a few things I'd wanted to learn to do since I was a little girl and it seemed as if my time to accomplish them was disappearing fast. So I set up a plan to try to do them all. I wanted to learn to ride a motorcycle, scuba dive, downhill ski, sky dive and play the piano.             

Skiing came first. My birthday is in February so it seemed the natural first choice. My husband's employer arranges a ski night as a local resort each year and this year we attended to get the feel for it. Afterward. my husband agreed to join me and we began taking lessons. By the end of the season we were fairly good skiers, even getting our son into to it. I felt like I had accomplished something of note. I was surprised that what started out as a selfish desire turned into a family event that gave us many hours of enjoyment and time together. Score one for turning forty!

The motorcycle license was a bit more daunting. I should explain that my husband has ridden since he was none. My brother, who lives close by, and both his sons ride. It's kind of a family thing, but just among the men. I wanted to do more than sit on the back of the bike. I went and purchase a bike, a small Honda 250 Rebel and asked my husband to teach me. That lasted one lesson. He's been riding so long, doing things so automatically, he would leave steps out, expecting me to know them. I went and enrolled in a motorcycle course the next day for the sake of my marriage. Lol. By the end of the summer, I was a licensed motorcycle rider.   

Between learning to ride, I took scuba diving lessons from an ex-navy diver from a dive shop in the city. It was along, challenging process. I had always been a Jacques Cousteau fan as a child. I managed to completed the class, work my open dives and – found out I was claustrophobic in the course of the whole thing. In the beginning, I would have to go to the top of the water before everyone else because I would hyperventilate so much I'd use up my tank before the class was over. Plus I had to use additional weights to keep me down because of all the air I used. LOL. I was the instructor's nightmare. But over time, I used less weights, less air and managed to control my responses to the point I learned how to do something that totally freaked me out. Accomplishment number three!

That's as far as I got. Every time I tried to schedule a sky diving class my son would have a melt down. He was sure I was going to die. My husband has never been the kind of man to tell me I couldn't do something but he was unusually quiet when I talked about skydiving. So in the end, I let concern for them outweigh my desire to try jumping from a plane.

The piano went the way of skydiving, mainly because pianos cost a small fortune and I couldn't find a private teacher whose schedule meshed with mine.

And that was my fortieth birthday wishes. It took all year to accomplish. I felt empowered, with a renewed sense that I was experiencing life not just living it. I think it made me a more interesting person. I use everything I learned in my writing.

That was twenty years ago. My goals were less dramatic for my sixtieth birthday but they too had a sense of time running out about them. I want to keep my business, MLR Press, a safe, healthy place for authors to publish their work, I want see my youngest graduate from college and get a good start in life, I want to plan a quiet retirement some place warmer with my husband where I can write and enjoy my grandchildren. Now that I've experienced life, I'd like to enjoy the memories of all of those experiences and put them into more stories. 

I hope your birthday is as adventurous as mine was, in whatever manner pleases you, Nicole!

In case you are interested, my website is here:

www.laurabaumbach.com

My upcoming novel is listed under FUTURE RELEASES.

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Birthday Guest: Crystal Marie

Please welcome my birthday guest - Crystal Marie!

“SURPRISE!!!”

I quickly jumped back and almost ran out the door when everyone started shouting at me.  I couldn’t figure out what was going on, and to be perfectly honest, the yelling was starting to bug me.

“Happy birthday to youuuuuuuuuuuu!  Happy birthday to youuuuuuuuuu!”

Once the singing started, I ducked my head, because let’s be honest, they can’t really sing that well.  None of them could carry a tune in a bucket if their life depended on it.  But that doesn’t stop them from singing some more.

“Happy birthday to youuuuuuuuuuuu!”

Wait…

They were all looking at me while they were attempting to sing, and so I looked behind me to see if anyone was standing there.  Nope, I was by myself. 

Wait a minute…

Is it MY birthday?  No, it can’t be my birthday, wouldn’t I have known that it was coming up?

I stood there looking at everyone trying to smile at them while at the same time I was doing the math in my head.  Carry the 4, drop the 17…What am I trying to do? I don’t know this common core math stuff!

And then it hit me, all the weird things that have been going on all day seemed to suddenly make sense.

**Flashback 12 hours ago**

The really nice breakfast that my mom had made me… scrambled eggs with some chicken thrown in them. (My all-time favorite food of course.)

**Flashback 8 hours ago**

My dad bringing me home a cheeseburger for lunch, that I didn’t have to share and he let me eat it all myself without trying to steal any of it. (Which is a big deal here, Daddy always tries to steal some of your good food.)

**Flashback 4 hours ago**

AND THEN I got steak for dinner.  I never get steak for dinner!  (It was also awesome in case you’re wondering.)

**Flashback present time**

I was still standing there while everyone was looking at me, and then I realized that it more than likely was my birthday.  And I figured there was no problem in celebrating it because even if they were wrong, who is going to argue with a free party?

Wait… are those gifts?? 

And the free gifts.  I mean come on, you have to be crazy to say, “Oh no thanks, I’m not in the mood to party tonight”.  My mama didn’t raise an idiot.  Well she did but he’s in Alaska!  (Oh yeah I totally said that.)

I was trying to remember the last birthday party that I had, and to be honest, I couldn’t.  I don’t think that I’ve ever had a birthday before. I mean, I know logically that I should have because I was born, but I’ve never had a party before.

Wait, before you get all huffy at my mom and dad, you should know that I was adopted.  And this is, I guess, my first birthday with them.  My old mom and dad weren’t super nice to me, even though I tried my best to make them happy with me, it seemed like nothing I could ever do was good enough.  They would yell and scream at me, and would even ground me without my supper. 

But I didn’t realize how mean they were until after my new mom and dad adopted me.  How nice it was to have a real bed to sleep in, and not just sleeping on the floor.  To have so much food that I would never go hungry again.  Even though there were times when we had to go shopping because I was eating so much.  (Hey, curves are awesome! I don’t care what anyone says, everyone wants curves!)

After I moved in with my new family, I realized how lucky I was to be there.  All the love and food that I could ever want, and it was all within my reach.  Things were finally looking up for me.  Oh, and did I mention that I get to take hot baths now?  Not just cold ones?  Hot baths are HEAVEN!  Seriously, you should try one sometime!

“Ummmmm why are you all looking at me like that?” I asked, because that’s when I realized that everyone was standing there looking at me like I had lost my mind.

“Whatcha doing?” asked my brother.  (Because yes, I now have 3 brothers and 5 sisters! I know it’s awesome!) “Why aren’t you going to get your cake?”

“What cake? What are you talking about?”

That’s when Dad looked at me and with a sad look on his face he replies, “I don’t think he knows what to do. I don’t think he’s ever had a birthday party before.”

Wait a minute… I’m supposed to do something?  Wait, what am I supposed to do? I’m so confused!

I didn’t have any time to really focus on one thought before Dad picked me up and carried me into the kitchen and there on the counter was a huge birthday cake that had writing on it.

I tilted my head to side trying to understand the strange squiggles that were on top of it, but to be honest, I was more excited about the cake than anything.

Out of the corner of my eye I catch a bright flash and that’s when I realize that mom is taking a picture of me and my daddy.  So of course, I put on a huge cheesy grin and tilt my head to the side so that she can get my good side. 

Dad poked me in the side, and when I looked at him he pointed at the cake.  “Look at what it says.”

I tried my best to understand what he was talking about, but I just couldn’t.  I looked at him trying to figure out what he wanted me to know, but I couldn’t read his mind.  I didn’t know what to do!

“It says, ‘Happy Birthday Issac’.”

**Person who wrote this note** (Because I’m really NOT an author, I’m just a blogger but still!)

Issac is a dog that my parents and I adopted/rescued but in turn he ended up adopting us.  When we first got him, it was really touch and go for a while because his previous owners had beaten and abused him. Since we have been adopted by him, he is a completely different dog than from when we first got him. He has never yet met a stranger, and he is constantly ready for cuddles on the couch and of course naptime.

Crystal Marie

Crystal Marie is the founder of Crystal’s Many Reviewers, a cross-genre review site that has a number of reviewers on staff. Formed in March of 2013, Crystal’s Many Reviewers has successfully stayed afloat these past years by giving honest reviews for the readers.

The Reviewers at the website review a variety of different genres, and are always willing to give a new genre, and author, a chance. Known for being honest in their reviews, Crystal’s Many Reviewers stays busy with many different authors and publishers that they work with.

Crystal Marie not only runs Crystal’s Many Reviewers, but also a small editing company called Little House of Edits, where she provides edits for Indie/Self-Pub authors at reasonable rates.

Crystal's Many Reviewers

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Birthday Guest: Caraway Carter

Please welcome my birthday guest - Caraway Carter!

A funny thing about my family: my Fathers (That's my childhood name for my mother's dad.), my Mom and I are all twenty years apart in age. And our birthdays are December, January, & February respectively.

The year, I turned twenty, my mother would have already turned forty and Fathers would have had his sixtieth, so we celebrated all of them on the weekend of my mom's birthday. We each got to invite our own friends.

His mobile home park had a large community center, where over a hundred people wandered in and out through the day. We play music from each of our eras. My college friends made jokes with my Fathers’ friends and my mom's friends danced with everyone. It was a wild, long day of our favorite foods & music, laughter and friends and gifts that were opened throughout the day.

Sadly, my Fathers is no longer with us. He past several years ago, though I might see a fifty-five, seventy-five, ninety-five party in the future. We'll remember the man who made our lives a wonderful. We'll celebrate our past youth and our future ahead and laugh and love and eat with new friends and old family.

Thank you Nicole for giving me space to remember my Fathers and my Mom.

Origin of Fathers: When I was a little kid, my mother's mom insisted I call them grandmother and grandfather. Well, that's an awfully tall order for a kid. I ended up calling them Gran and Fathers.

She'd spend time when we visited teaching me and training me to call her grandmother. She'd say, I'm your grandmother, she's your grandma. And I'd eventually learn to say it correctly, but Fathers stuck. And the best thing of all, is that he'd sign anything to me as Fathers. There was never a question, they were my Grandmother and Fathers.

I really miss him, Fathers was this tall man with German ancestry. He was born on Christmas day, and his name was almost Jesus... but he ended up being named Irving, nicknamed Fritz. But, he'll always be Fathers.

The Scarlet Lock

Love Unlocked Anthology

Blurb:

Brandon Marshall, in Paris for his twin sister’s wedding, has a fling before the big day. At the end of a whirlwind week of discovering each other, Brandon and his lover place a scarlet lock on the Love Lock Bridge.

Follow Brandon through six years of letters – to the citizens of Paris, on everything from how to make love, to eating passionate fruit – and to the lover, who is now his brother-in-law.

The locks are being removed, the bridge refitted… What will be the fate of The Scarlet Lock?

* * *

A story from Love Unlocked – a collection of seven short stories and novellas – unique LGBTQ romances inspired by the Love Lock Bridge. 

Caraway Carter:

Hi, my name is Caraway Carter, and I am creating characters and worlds that I hope you love as much as I do. Welcome!

You can reach me at caraway@carawaycarter.com and http://www.carawaycarter.com/

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