Aspiring writers are told “write what you know”.
I took that advice to heart.
I know two things… business (based on decades in new business development) and romance (based on falling and staying in love with the man of my dreams).
September 2, 2009
September 3, 2009
September 10, 2009
A Short Story On Author Island
September 10, 2009
September 15, 2009
September 21, 2009
October 12, 2009
Interview And Fave Paranormal Book Contest
December 1, 2009
December 6, 2009
Host - My Christmas Traditions
February 15, 2010
“Thank you for letting me use your glove.” Not that it was used. At all.
“Anytime, Bethie.” Dave, her friend and teammate grinned. Everyone was happy because they won. Except for Beth, she was happy because the game was over.
“Not anytime soon, I hope,” she mumbled under her breath.
“Aw, it wasn’t that bad, was it, sweetheart?” Handsome, charming, oh-so-patient Mike with the super hearing ambled up to them, his movements loose despite being loaded down with the bases and a huge duffle bag.
“Not all bad.” She smiled, happy to see him. “There were parts I even liked.” Him putting his arms around her was one highlight. The way he laughed, another.
“You’re going to The Dog And Whistle, right?” Dog And Whistle? She blinked. “For drinks,” Mike explained. “It’s an after game tradition.”
She looked down at her grubby clothes and then up to Dave.
Dave nodded. “Yep, you got to go, Bethie. Good sportsmanship and all that.” A hand wave.
“Then I’m in.” More time spent with Mike. Not a hardship. She beamed at him. “Though I don’t know where I’m going.”
“I’ll walk you over. After,” Mike hiked up the slipping duffle bag, “I put these in the trunk.”
“I’ll take the bases,” she offered, reaching up for them.
He eyed her. “You’ll get dusty.”
“Dustier?” She patted her pants. “That’s not possible. I don’t know what happened. No one else got this filthy.”
He laughed, the deep and low rumble she adored. “You’re closer to the ground, sweetheart.” He draped the bases over her shoulder. Goodness, they were heavy. “Come. I’m parked over here.”
Mike placed his hand on Beth’s shoulder, pulling up on the bases, lightening her load a bit. She was such a team player, pitching in without being asked to. A cutie also, even cuter now with those glasses perched on the end of her freckled nose. Although he didn’t believe in love at first sight, that thinking for teenage girls, everything about her felt right, like she was meant to be by his side.
“Your captain tells me you’re a research assistant.” The idiot said it with ridicule. Mike knew better, research assistants having saved his ass many a time. “Bet you have a lot of great stories.” He stroked her shoulder with his thumb.
“I…I,” her voice caught, “do.”
Look at the shoulders on these suits
worn by Tiger Woods and President Barack Obama.
Not a hint of shoulder pads.
THAT is a sign of great quality suits.
And notice how the suits move
with these two very active men.
Photo Taken By pd2020@sbcglobal.net
(See Link For Copyright Information)
I’m helping to celebrate Leah Braemel’s birthday over at
http://leahbraemel.blogspot.com/
Share your party crashing stories to win.
Oh, and if you already have the prizes,
let me know
and I’ll sub in a couple great romance eBooks I’ve recently read!
(That holds true for ALL my contests,
if you have the prize, let me know and I’ll sub)
Party, party, party!
“Boyer, don’t just stand there, damn it! Are you stupid?!” the so-called team captain yelled at his sweet Beth.
As though it was her fault she had no one covering her. The ass put all his weakest players in one clump in the outfield, creating a hole the size of the Grand Canyon. Then he screamed at them when they didn’t catch line drives professionals would flub.
The verbal abuse continued. Mike’s grip tightened on the three bats he was swinging, limbering up. He was tempted to use one on the captain. The wooden one. His thick head would dent the metal bats.
He dropped two of the bats, striding up to the plate. The hole was the obvious place to put the ball. But that would mean Beth getting more profanities dumped on her cute head. And his homer wouldn’t make much of a difference to the score.
His team would lose. They were all exhausted from too many late nights. He had thought about canceling.
Now he was glad he didn’t. Some of the men, himself included, needed the physical release. And he had met Beth.
Although she clearly disliked baseball, was adorably afraid of the ball, he liked how she didn’t let her team down, offering to play, facing her fear. He liked how she had enough self confidence to ignore the ass right now yelling at her. He liked the way she cheered for everyone, no matter what team they were on.
He liked how she cheered for him.
The pitcher must have been tired, releasing a lazy lob over the plate. He made a solid connection. The ball sailed over the fence. Mike laughed as he jogged around the bases. Winning the State Championship was nothing compared to how he felt now, with Beth doing a crazy sort of victory dance for him in the outfield.