Soon, it'll be a new year and a new time of possibilities.
If you've read my New Year posts before then you'll know I don't make resolutions, I make goals for myself.
By New Years Day, my goal is to be 199. I want to be under 200 pounds. I know I can do this. Why? Because I've lost over sixty pounds already.
As for my writing goals, I should be getting my rights back on some of my titles in 2020, which I will be self-publishing after the mandatory three months wait.
I'm also working on some new titles.
So, my goals are a thinner healthier me, and more books published.
Blurb:
Morgan isn’t expecting romance when she accompanies her friend for a week of skiing, but when she meets Jared all bets are off.
Haunted by the loss of his parents, werecat Jared Catterick earns his keep working for the Catclaw Clan. Jared has secrets that he doesn’t mind sharing with a special lady, and he hopes Morgan is that special someone. When his past and present collide it’s worse than he imagined,
and he’s forced to fight for his life.
Excerpt:
Auntie walked into the middle of the hollow. “We the Catcall Clan are gathered here together to witness a challenge. Called by Munch son of
Tiger, who challenges Jared Catterick son of nobody.”
“I am the son of somebody,” Jared yelled. The sudden flow of anger had his heart pounding hard against his ribs.
“Who? What are their names?” Auntie crossed her arm and leaned on one hip and tapped a toe.
“I donna remember. I was too young when they killed them and took me away,” Jared muttered.
“And she knows that.”
“Is Catterick your real last name?” Killer asked him in the canine speech.
“Aye. I donna remember much about me old life, but I never forgot me name.”
“Just tell her Mr. and Mrs. Catterick,” Killer said.
“Me parents were Mr. and Mrs. Catterick,” Jared said in a loud clear voice.
A few people around the hollow snickered.
Auntie gave a quick nod. “Jared son of Mr. and Mrs. Catterick. Munch challenges you for the death of his da, Tiger.”
Munch marched to Auntie’s side. He was every bit as big as his father. Well-muscled and not just tall but wide. Where Tiger’s hair was gray and white, Munch was blond and black. Another man accompanied him,
his second, a tall, lanky male named Boyd. Jared knew him well, even though he was younger.
“Och. Here we go,” Jared told Killer and walked out into the middle of the hollow.
“He’s big,” Killer said in the canine speech.
“And ugly. I wouldna want to ride him into battle.”
It’s
Christmas Eve, a magical time for me, and I hope for you.
I know most
of you are extremely busy with last-minute shopping or parties, or family
gatherings. Savor your time with family and friends. Hug them, tell them you
appreciate them. The same for the furry members of your family. Hug your cats
and dogs.
Take time for
yourself. Relax, put your feet up, preferably before a roaring fire. Have some
hot chocolate, a glass of wine, a hot toddy, whatever is your drink of choice.
While you’re relaxing, read a romance to put you in a happy mood.
MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ONE
AND ALL!
PS-This is my last blog for RB4U. As of January 1, 2020, I will no longer be a member author. Personal circumstances have caused me to make changes in my writing life. I will still be a member of RB4U. I want to thank Marianne for all she's done in putting this great group together. She's left it in good hands with Nicole.
I started thinking about what to write for this post. I thought of a few ideas—Holiday gift list for writers and readers, a writing craft post, holiday movies and television shows—but in the end I discarded them all.
Why?
They were boring or I wasn’t sure exactly how to write the actual post or various different reasons. I swore that somehow an idea would pop into my head. But absolutely nothing came.
I have no topic for this post so I decided that that would be the subject. After all in life sometimes we don’t know what to do.
For writers that can be a scary truth, our own personal horror like a haunted house except nothing pops out of dark corners. Yet, that happens for some writers they can stress about that fact until writer’s block takes over then nothing comes. A very bad thing. It affects all parts of life, not just writing.
So, instead of tearing at the anxiety until it’s nothing but frayed bits, I always decide to let it go. Focus my energy on something else and let the pounding demand for an idea fade away because one day, probably tomorrow after I post this I’ll have something.
Like
so many other traditions, the exact origins of red and green as the colors of
Christmas are lost in time. Despite a variety of theories, it is clear the
tradition didn’t evolve as part of the Christian religion, but can be traced to
the ancient Celtic peoples who commemorated
different holidays, usually related to the change of seasons, with different
colors.
They venerated the green holly with red berries for being
evergreen during the cold winter and believed the plant was meant to keep the
world beautiful even in the winter. Decorating their homes with holly for the
winter solstice celebrations was believed to protect them and bring good luck
in the coming year. Celtic peoples as well as many other pagan religions
celebrated winter with evergreens.
Even the Romans used Fir Trees to decorate their temples at
the festival of Saturnalia celebrated in the season that is now Christmas time.
WHEN WAS
CHRIST BORN?
Most Christians understand
that Christ was not born on the day we now call December 25th. The
scriptures don’t identify the season although there are indicators that He may
have been born in the spring time because Luke references sheep grazing in the
fields, which only happened in warmer months.
The birth of Jesus was not celebrated until the fourth century
AD. In that era, the Roman scholar Hippolytus
projected the birth of Christ at a time of year near the winter solstice. The first recorded commemoration of Christmas was 336 AD in
the time of Roman Emperor Constantine, the first Christian emperor, and was
used as a way to discourage Christians from participating in pagan winter
solstice rites.
THE MIDDLE
AGES
During the Middle Ages, after the fall of Rome, not many
people celebrated Christmas. However, during this period many Celtic and other
pagan traditions and celebrations were subsumed by Christian beliefs and
practices.
After a month of fasting (Advent) and preparation, the
Christmas festivities lasted for 12 days, from Christmas to January 6
(Epiphany). Replicating the pagan traditions, “inversions of
order occurred across medieval society around Christmas. One of the most
colorful was the election of a boy bishop, who presided over processions and
church ritual on the Feast of the Holy Innocents (28 December).
SIGNIFICANCE OF GREEN AND RED
Regardless
of the origins, each of the colors has accumulated traditional beliefs which
still hang around today.
Green
● Green signifies life - Plants are
green because they depend on chlorophyll for life. Thus, to many societies the
color green symbolizes life, fertility, and the rebirth of life after winter. About
two hundred years before the birth of Christ mistletoe was used by the Druids
to celebrate the coming of winter. Green is an ancient reminder that winter
doesn’t last forever.
● Christian belief - The
color green is a natural representation of eternal life, specifically the
evergreen tree and how it survives through the winter season. That’s why, in
Christian belief, green represents the eternal life that Jesus Christ offers.
●Paradise or Miracle Plays of the 14th
century – On Christmas eve these plays were performed to teach
Bible stories to people who couldn’t read -- the vast majority. The tradition
was to present the Paradise Play, the story of Adam and Eve and the Garden of
Eden. The Paradise Tree within the garden was normally a pine tree with red
apples tied to it. That inspired people to decorate their homes with evergreen
bows and decorating with red apples.
McMillian
Education Poster – Painting by unknown 20th century artist of a
Miracle Play
● Red Berries signify fertility and new life – Holly is one of the plants that remains green during the
winter and it happens to have red barriers. Berries, because they carry the
seeds for new plants, could be symbolic of fertility and new life. Mistletoe
has green berries. Go figure.
● Christian belief - The
color red symbolizes the blood of Jesus that he
shed to save mankind.
●Paradise or Miracle Plays of the 14th
century – The association of red with these play comes
from the story of the apple tree and the apples tied to the evergreen.
●
Red is also the color of Bishops robes. St. Nicholas, as a bishop, would have
worn red. It is a possible connection to the Santa Claus uniform.
Coca-Cola
started using a Santa image in its advertising in 1931. Later, when they hired
artist Haddon Sundblom to draw their Santa Claus ads, his image of the jolly
elf bestowed on Santa Claus by western culture became that created by Coca-Cola.
I’m excited to have had the opportunity to return to Forever
Christmas in Glenville, a collection that is near and dear to my heart. Forever
Christmas in Glenville was inspired by my childhood memories of the village of Sherburne, located in upstate New York.
Christmas Chemistry, book three of Forever Christmas in
Glenville was recently released in the Christmas at Mistletoe Lodge collection.
This multi-author collection hit the USA Today list.
I hope you enjoy this Christmas Chemistry book trailer and excerpt below.
Excerpt from Christmas Chemistry:
Owen stood at the
door. He’d grown up in this house, but it never felt like home. He reached out
for the door handle and hesitated. He released it and rang the bell.
“Welcome, Owen! Glad
to have you home,” the maid said as she opened the door.
“Thank you, Betty,”
he said. She reached for him and hugged him. Betty’s hair had turned gray, although
her eyes still twinkled with warmth. She’d been the one constant in Owen’s
life. Betty loved his family and had freely expressed it. It was good to see her
still at the house. She’d been with his family for the last twenty-two years.
“Your mother is in
the library. Rose should be down soon.”
“How is mother?”
“She has her good
days and her bad days. More bad since the loss of your father.”
“And Rose?”
“Rose is Rose,” Betty
said, rolling her eyes. Owen chuckled and patted her on the shoulder.
“You’re a saint, Betty.”
He walked into the
library. Nothing had changed. Four years after his father’s death, everything
remained where he’d left it. His father’s favorite chair was still in the
corner of the room, his side table still held his father’s ashtray and pipe. A
book, curled from reading one-handed, still perched on the chair. Owen was
certain his mother’s rapidly declining health was worsened by her need to
remain in the past.
His mother sat in
front of the huge bay windows and gazed out at her glass hothouse. Her favorite
place, she used to spend hours there with her orchids. Owen walked over to her
and laid his hand on her shoulder.
“Hello, Mother.
How are you feeling?”
She looked up at
him and blinked rapidly.
“Alfred, you said
you’d be joining your friends at the club for lunch. I have nothing prepared.”
She blinked again as she broke eye contact and her gaze darted around the
room.
“Mother, it’s me,
Owen.”
She studied him
and he could swear he saw the very instant she realized her Alfred wasn’t here.
“Owen. I didn’t
know you were coming.”
“Mother, we talked
about this last night and again this morning,” Rose interjected as she swept
into the library. “See what I mean?” she asked him. “She’s been
experiencing more of these episodes over the last few weeks.”
“I’m fine, Rose.
Stop fretting over me,” their mother snapped.
They spent the
next hour in the hothouse. Owen pushed his mother around in a wheelchair that
was new since his last visit. He and Rose had spoken about it and agreed with
her doctor’s recommendation; it was safer for her, as she had fallen a couple times.
Betty joined them
in the hothouse. “Mrs. Brock, it’s time for you to come inside and rest,” she said.
“You’ve been out here enjoying this wonderful day for a long time now. But if you
don’t rest, you won’t want to come down for dinner.” Betty smiled sadly at Owen
and wheeled their mother away.
“We need to talk,”
Rose said.
“That’s why I
came, Rose. To talk.”
“The doctor came
by yesterday. He feels the time has come to put Mother in a home where she can
be cared for.”
“Is that what he
feels is best for her?”
“He does. Mother
has left the house twice in the last few days,” Rose said. “She doesn’t get very
far, but we’re all worried one of these times she will fall down the front
steps or get mugged.”
“Mugged? In
Glenville?” Owen smirked at Rose.
“It could
happen,” she answered in an exasperated tone.
“When was the last
mugging in Glenville?”
Rose’s neck and
face flushed red. “It’s also possible she could get lost; her memory is
failing.”
“If that’s our
next move, I’ll go to her attorney tomorrow and work out the details,” Owen
said. “My guardianship of Mother should make the transition run smoothly. If Mother
needs to go to a retirement home, I want to add a decent severance package for Betty
in addition to her retirement.” It was apparent to him that Rose had no concern
for their childhood nanny. They wandered out to the main living room. “I
suppose you’ll be returning to Charleston.”
“I’m not sure I’m
going back,” Rose said. “I’ve met someone here. He caught me entirely by
surprise.” Owen wasn’t going to comment. Rose’s track record with men was
spotty at best. At least she had managed to come away with a good settlement
when she divorced her most recent husband.
“What about your
house and your social responsibilities you kept telling me about? And I told
you time and again to go back to Charleston. Are you saying that now you don’t
want to? Betty had everything under control and I’d already planned to bring in
a nurse.” Owen stopped and thought about what he just said. “In fact, I’m going
to contact Mother’s doctor tomorrow and suggest that very thing.”
“No, Owen,” Rose
abruptly cut him off. “It’s not safe for her here.”
“And a nursing
home is better?” He would be speaking to everyone involved in the next couple
days no matter what Rose said. “Father wouldn’t have wanted that.”
“Father isn’t
here!”
“Precisely. And he
left Mother’s care in my hands,” Owen reminded Rose. Lately he had to do this
quite often. “I need to look at Mother’s current situation from all angles. If
I conclude that it’s in Mother’s best interest to put her in a nursing home,
then per father’s instruction, we’ll be putting the house on the market.”
“I’m staying here,
Owen.”
“Yes, you already
informed me.”
“In this house.
I’m living here,” Rose put her hands on her hips.
“That’s not what is
specified in the will.” Owen began to think there was more to all this than Rose
was saying.
“My plans have
changed. I have found someone and I’m staying in Glenville and living here.”
Rose crossed her arms and glared at him.
“Fine. It doesn’t
matter to me who buys this house.”
“I’m not buying my
family home!”
Wishing you and all those you love a very Merry Christmas!
For Laurel, Christmas so sucks. She’s out of a job, money, and luck until her neighbor Scott plays Santa. This tall, dark, and sexy hunk delivers sweet decadence and holiday magic that makes being bad oh-so good.
Excerpt:
God, god, god. Laurel indulged in Scott’s clean, wondrous flavor, his intense heat, and male need.
He groaned savagely.
The unrestrained sound and his impassioned embrace said more than words could. He wanted her as no other man had.
With one hand firmly on her ass, he pulled her into him.
Trapped in the best possible way, she surrendered to his desire and her own.
They kissed as lovers would after a lengthy separation, his stubble scraping her cheeks and chin. Few things could have better defined or intensified his masculinity.
She couldn’t touch him enough and stroked his firm pecs, broad back, silky hair, and the precious package between his legs.
A fierce sound spilled from him. He pushed her tongue aside to fill her mouth and fondled her boob.
Her nipple came alive within his lusty caress, the tip and halo painfully tight.
Getting close enough proved beyond necessary and seemingly impossible to achieve. They were practically welded together and it wasn’t enough. She clawed his top, wanting the damn thing off.
On a rough moan, he cupped her ass and lifted her into his arms, her weight inconsequential against his brute strength. Lost in intolerable need, she pressed her thighs to his narrow hips, her pussy snug to his cock.
He tottered backward and dropped onto the sofa, her straddling him.
Clothes flew. Her tank top and bra tangled with his Henley.
He cupped her naked breasts, his grin stretching from ear to ear.
Warmth swirled in her stomach and pussy, his pleased reaction doing wonders for her battered heart. Especially given his physical gifts: smooth olive skin, taut pecs, and beautifully defined abs. Even Photoshopped male models didn’t look this good. “Where’s your phone? I have to take your picture.”
“Later. Yours first though.” He tongued her nipple into his mouth.
Riotous pleasure shot through her. Never had she experienced such intense heat. Her head fell back.
He suckled hard, soft, and somewhere in between. His tongue flicked her tip relentlessly.
Nerve endings fired. She trembled.
He held her tightly, preventing escape.
As if she were crazy enough to be anywhere but up close and personal.
Finished with one boob, he sucked air and leaned toward the other.
“No, no, no.” She gripped his head. “Stop!”
Alarm flooded his handsome features, dread beneath it. “Why?”
“I want—I have—I can’t wait any longer. Sorry.” She scrambled off his lap, knelt between his legs, and tugged his fly.
“Whoa.” He gripped her wrists. “Let me help before you draw blood.”
“Hurry.”
“Believe me, I’m trying.” He yanked his button free and rammed down his zipper. Together, they shoved his jeans and stretchy boxer briefs to his thighs.
His cock sprang out, wavered, and landed on his belly, the thick shaft so hard it pointed north.
“Wow.” She cupped his lightly furred balls, their weight and warmth pure wonder. “You’re gorgeous.”
He sagged against the sofa but also pressed his family jewels into her palm. “Yeah?”
“I have to take a picture.”
“Not fucking now.” Breathing hard, he cupped her hand over his dick and balls. “Don’t you dare stop.”
“No sir. I’ll be good.” She took his rod into her mouth, tonsil deep.
We
usually kick off the Christmas season by putting up at least a few decorations
after Thanksgiving but I’m a little behind this year. Which is kind of odd
since this is the first time in a couple of years that I’m not rushing toward a
deadline or anything else.
Last
November, after realizing I’d spent the last ten years trying to stay relevant
in a business that changes daily, I decided to take the holidays off. No
writing, nada, zip. I shopped; I cleaned and cooked like I was inviting a platoon
to dinner and ended up sending most of it home with the kids. If something
didn’t work out as planned, I didn’t stress, I adapted and wonder of wonders; the
world didn’t end.
Two
months stretched well into 2019 and during that time closets were cleaned, some
healthier recipes were tried and I started taking nature walks with hubby. No,
the pounds didn’t melt off and I didn’t have any profound revelations but I did
find myself laughing a whole lot more. We added a twice weekly yoga class this
past September and I have to say my energy levels have improved and so has my
attitude.
I
have to admit that as a former workaholic, I had let the well run dry and in
order to fill it up again, I had to change my ways, which meant along with the
new routines, taking some much needed time for a little introspection.
The
process has taken a little longer than I’d anticipated but I’m writing again,
and reading some old favorites and finding new ones. In short, I’ve
rediscovered my passion for the pure joy of storytelling. These days I’m
juggling a few old projects and a couple of new ones, and definitely looking
forward to the upcoming year.
Wishing
you all the best; I hope you enjoy peace, love and a joyous holiday season.
