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Friday, June 14, 2019

HUG Someone Today


 In this "politically correct"environment we see today, can you ever get tired of true, normal hugs?

Some people never hug...don't like that "close" contact. Others, like me, grew up in a family environment where we hugged all the time...relatives and friends alike.

Types of hugs:
1. The hello, friendly hug.
 A greeting besides just saying "Hello".

2. The "good job" hug.
Watch sports. Don't teammates sometimes hug each other after a particular good play or win?

3. The "everyone else hugged you so I better" hug.
The quick call hug. You're at a party/event/whatever. Someone you know enters and you watch as everyone greets this person with a hug. What do you do? You join in and follow the crowd so you don't appear to be "different".

4. The family hug.
Yeah, I got used to this very quickly as a child. If someone was family, you hugged. No brainer there. Big Italian families are "touchy/feely" people.

5. The comforting hug.
These are for times of sadness and a show of commiserating (I'm here, I understand" support.

6. The love hug.
Totally different that the others mentioned above. This one involves romance, love, passion, name it.         

Hug someone today...and be hugged in return!

HOT FUN IN THE SUMMER TIME -New anthology: Release Date 25 June


Photos: Flickr: kevindooley, lululemon athletica, Corie Howell, ashengrove, Cowboy Ben Alman, snre, and Sabrina Campagna's photostreams.

Thursday, June 13, 2019

Rainy Day Books

Southern Michigan weather has always been erratic and each year, thanks to climate change, it keeps getting worse. Eighty degrees one day, then later in the week it's 50 and raining. Fortunately for me, I have a cure for the rainy day blues. BOOKS.

There is something inately comforting about curling up with a book and a cup of tea in a cushy chair, listening to the wind and the patter of rain on the windows. The cloudy skies change the colors of the trees and grass, adding a blue tint and brightness to the blades and leaves. With few people venturing outside for walks or runs, it's easy to believe you and your book are alone in the world, unless you have a dog or cat for cuddles and company, which, in my opinion, makes the rainy day reading experience all the better.

So what's best to read on a lazy, rainy day? Everyone has a different opinion, of course. For me, there are two categories. Old favorites, the kind you've read often enough that you're speaking along with the author in your mind, or new books from favorite authors or series.

Here's a few of mine.

  • Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes (I have a complete collection, so any story is fine.)
  • Jane Austen: Persuasion is my favorite.
  • Anything, new or old,by Jayne Anne Krentz/Amanda Quick/Jayne Castle
  • Any of Nora Roberts's paranormal trilogies or her JD Robb futuristic mysteries
  • Terry Pratchett's Discworld series, particularly the one's featuring the city guard or Death and his granddaughter Susan.
  • Anything new or old from Stephanie Laurens
  • Rebecca York's Decorah Security or Marshall family werewolf stories.
  • Dirk Gently's HolisticDetective Agency and Long, Dark Teatime of the Soul by Douglas Adams
  • Christine Feehan's Sea Haven books. I like her Carpathian series as well.
  • Roberta Gellis's Roselynde Chronicles
So those are some of mine? What books do you like on a rainy day?

Monday, June 10, 2019


Posted By R. Ann Siracusa


According to the National Human Genome Research Institute, any change in whole or part of the DNA sequence away from the norm causes a genetic disorder. Such a disorder can be inherited from a parent or caused by mutation in one or more genes resulting from a number of events such as environmental factors.
In my case, I’m convinced that I have a multifactorial inheritance disorder, from both parents, resulting in my lack of a “Pithy” gene.
In non-medical terms, my body produces too much of a word enzyme which accumulates in my finger tips and saliva glands, making me extremely sensitive to silence. Silence without words can cause extreme pain.
My only relief comes when the enzyme oozes out of my finger tip when I touch a computer keyboard or out of my saliva glands when I open my mouth to speak. Typewriters used to provide some level of respite, but no one makes those anymore.
I love words. Lots of words. Long words. I am vociferous and a sesquipedalian (long winded), and have never written or spoken a short, concise, to-the-point sentence in my life. It’s too painful.
Besides, the English language is rich and filled with vivid, clever, and delightful ways to express one’s thoughts. Writers should learn to take advantage of that. I squirm when I hear authors, editors, and agents say we should write to fourth grade vocabulary.

God forbid. Let them all contract

Of course, I come by it honestly. After all, I did inherit the genetic defect. Both my parents had substantial vocabularies and used them in their normal conversation. We used to discuss my father’s law cases and legal and political issues at the dinner table. A little of that rubbed off on me.

In particular, my father used to quote poetry … just of the fun of it. Not the high-brow stuff, but more contemporary, and often humorous. I learned the following poem at a young age, only because I heard it often enough. In the eighth grade, at thirteen, I had to recite a poem in class, and the one that follows was my choice.

I knew it was written during WWII but my father didn’t know the author, and neither did anyone else at the time. I only learned recently, in a blog post by Ron Clark and Merritt Clark, that it was written by W. Sterling Atwater and first published on April 13, 1943, in The Boston News Bureau, credited to W.S.A. It was widely published (without crediting the author) in newspapers from 1943-45. In 1991, the poem appeared in a book, edited by Carmine A. Prioli, entitled “The Poems of General George S. Patton, Jr.: Lines of Fire”. Eventually, the true authorship was established.
W. Sterling Atwater – 1934, Photo source:

Back to my story. Always a buzz-kill, my father told me I couldn’t recite it in class unless I looked up and knew the meaning of every word. I did that, and I never forgot the poem. I can still recite it by heart after 65 years. Note that after the war, my father wrote the last three verses and tagged them onto the original.


The head of the Division of Provision for Revision
Was a man of prompt decision, Merton Quirk.
PHD in calisthenics,
PDQ in pathogenics,
He had just the proper background for the work.

From the pastoral aroma of Aloma, Oklahoma,
With a pittance of salary in hand,
His acceptance had been whetted,
Even aided and abetted,
By emoluments that netted some five grand.

So with energy ecstatic this fanatic left his attic
And hastened down to Washington D.C.
Where, with verve and vim and vigor,
He went hunting for the tiger
In the woodpile of the W.P.B.

After months of patient process, Merton’s spicular proboscis
Had unearthed a reprehensible hiatus
In the reply of Blair and Blair
To his thirteenth questionnaire
In connection with their inventory status.

They had written, “Your directive when effective was defective
In its ultimate objective, and what’s more,
Neolithic hieroglyphic
Is to us much more specific
Than this drivel you keep dumping at our door.”

The sacrilege discovered, Merton fainted, but recovered
Sufficiently to write, “We are convinced that
Sabotage is camouflaged
Behind perverted persiflage.
Expect me on the twenty-second inst!”

But first he sent a checker,
And then a checker’s checker,
Still nothing was disclosed as being wrong.
So a checker’s checker’s checker
Went to check the checker’s checker
And the process was laborious and long.

Then followed a procession of the follow-up profession
Through the files of the firm of Blair and Blair,
And from breakfast time to supper
Some new super-follow-upper
Tore his hair because of Merton’s questionnaire.

Now that file is closed, completed, but our hero, undefeated
Carries on in some department as before,
And victory hove in sight,
Not because of, but in spite,
Of Merton’s mighty efforts in the war.
            ``                                              W. Sterling Atwater (1943)

Now with the start of reconversion the diversion for dispersion
Made diversion for a man of Merton’s mettle.
And he plunged with wild elation
Into contract termination
With a firm determination not to settle.

But sagacious legislation clarified the obfuscation
Of the contract termination situation,
Leaving Merton empty handed,
Slightly desperate, nearly stranded,
Till someone organized United Nations.

Now under the compulsion of atomic jet propulsion,
With a modicum of tax exempted wages,
Our Merton, with sagacity
And unexcelled tenacity,
Is settling the problems of the ages.
                                                            William E. Coombs (1950s)

P.S. I guess I made up for the lack of the “Pithy” gene by having
a good memory. I also memorized, and can still recite, both the
Rime of the Ancient Mariner and Kubla Khan, by Samuel Taylor
Coleridge, and Wynken, Blynken, and Nod by Eugene Field 
AUTHOR R. ANN SIRACUSA Converting oxygen to carbon dioxide for more than three quarters of a century  
Travel to Foreign Lands for Romance and Intrigue Facebook Twitter  Website  AmazonLink

Note: The longest word in any of the major English language dictionaries is pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis, a word that refers to a lung disease contracted from the inhalation of very fine silica particles, specifically from a volcano; medically, it is the same as silicosis.

Now in contention for the title of longest word is aequeosalinocalcalinoceraceoaluminosocupreovitriolic (52 letters), created by Dr. Edward Strother to describe the unique ancient Romans baths located in Bath, England. The word is a mashup of other words that describe the properties found in the Roman Baths, like cooper, salty and rich.

Sunday, June 9, 2019

Something For The Younger Readers #children's_book #melissa_keir #RB4U

Something For The Younger Readers

Do you have a child or grandchild who loves to read? My favorite part of being a guest teacher is sharing my love of books with students. This past year, I read George's Marvelous Medicine with a first grade class. They asked about it even when I wasn't in their room. 

After eight years as a romance writer and twenty years as a teacher, I combined my love of children with my love of books and wrote two children's books. 

Huzzah-A Pool Mouse came about last year when my husband and I visited historic Williamsburg, Virginia. We stayed at a hotel and while I was swimming in the pool, the idea for the story came to me. I shared it with my husband and then asked my daughter to illustrate the story for me. 

My other book, Maple's Colors, came from a talk my husband and I had one night about a tree who didn't want to go to sleep for the winter. We talked through the idea many times until I finally decided to throw caution to the wind and write the book. With Maple, I reached out to a wonderful design company and set about selecting an illustrator to bring the story to fruition. Amazon

Both stories are filled with meaningful messages of "being yourself" and "accepting differences". The illustrations are colorful and evoke the emotions of the stories. The books are penned under my childhood nickname and maiden name- Missy Watling and feature a childhood photo of myself on the author page. 

During this past year, I have been able to share with Country Elementary School, the path I took, the illustrator's journey and the final products, which now sit on display in their library. I hope I provided motivation to those young writers to reach for their dreams. 

Enjoy your summer and Keep Reading,

Melissa Keir

Saturday, June 8, 2019

Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, or Editing? By Joanne Jaytanie

You can usually tell when an author is writing, or better yet…editing. How? You ask. If you follow an author on social media, you will start to see a pattern. When the author is writing or editing, they’re on very little. Maybe a couple of posts at a particular time of day or sometimes nothing at all for a day or two. And how can you tell when an author is procrastinating? Not writing at all – you guessed it…she/he is on all their social media sites posting all day long. Of course, this entire interpretation goes completely out the window if they have a PA.

Over the last month, I’ve been concentrating on my writing and word count. I’ve tried to drop into most of my social media. However, the real problem is getting out. It’s like being hypnotized by a bright shiny object…oooowa, look at that cute doggie cartoon…awe, those are pretty kittens…did that really?! Yep. One can get sucked right into the vortex never to immerge. Well, at least not until the kids get home, or dinner time, or Saturday night.

I’ve gotten better. I put myself on a time limit when I can surf around and see what the rest of the world is doing.

Yes, I’ve been deep in editing. My upcoming release is in final edits. I’d like to share an excerpt with you.

Twice as Bad ~ Miss Demeanor, P.I., Book 2

River Nightingale threw open the door to the Miss Demeanor P.I. office. Cory looked up and burst out in laughter, snorting as she struggled to breathe. Water streamed off River and pooled at her feet.
“Is this your new look?” Cory was laughing so hard, she started to hiccup. “Gotta say, your definition of a new hairstyle and mine are worlds apart.”
River threw her administrative assistant a seething, I’m-pissed-as-hell look. Cory covered her mouth and tried to stifle her laughter as she stood up to get a better view of the waterlogged River.
“Really, River. You look like you’re trying to live up to your name. You do know there’s an outfit for this,” Cory said as she drew an invisible line up and down River. “It’s called a swimsuit. I can take you out after work and introduce the two of you.” Cory’s eyes widened and she squeezed her nose between her fingers. “What in blazes is that stench?” She gagged, still hiccuping and clamped her mouth shut, trying to stifle both the hiccups and the giggling.

“Are you done cackling?” River planted her hands on her hips and snarled. “This was not the way I planned my morning. Knock it off and grab me a towel.” River tilted her head in the direction of the bathroom.
“What happened?” Cory asked as she dutifully headed toward the bathroom to grab a towel.
“Shay and Maile didn’t tell you?” River asked as Cory vanished.
“Tell me what?” Cory yelled from the bathroom. “I haven’t seen or heard from either of them.” She stepped back into the lobby and handed River the towel.
“They’re not here?” Shivering, River took the towel and gave her short blonde hair a quick rub, then blotted her clothes the best she could.
“Nope. You’re the first to arrive.” Cory rubbed her hands together in hopeful anticipation. “You mean my day could get even better?”
“We were all supposed to meet here.”
“I’m guessing if they’re in the same condition you’re in, they went straight home to change. Maile was the only one that took me seriously. You and Shay should have listened when I suggested you all bring a change of clothes to keep on hand.” Cory smirked at her boss. “I laid some of my things out on the bench. Get out of that outfit and into something clean and dry. I’ve placed that stench: you smell like dead fish. Why do you smell like day-old sushi?”
“The asshat I was chasing through Pike Place Market got lucky. He double backed on me and pushed me into a couple barrels full of icy water and salmon. It was like being on a white-water river ride with no raft.” River left a trail of water behind her as she headed for the bathroom. “You’ve got to be kidding.” River’s high-pitched voice resonated throughout the office.
“What’s the saying about beggars and choosy?” Cory leaned against the doorjamb of the bathroom. Rays of sunlight streamed through the oversized windows of the agency and accentuated the bright blue streaks of color throughout Cory’s glistening short black hair.
River held up a black miniskirt with hot pink polka dots in one hand, and a black-and-pink-striped top in the other. “I can’t wear this. Swimming with the salmon was bad enough. Now you want me to wear this nearly nothing miniskirt. My day is turning out to be twice as bad, and it’s barely begun.” She rolled her eyes and squinted at Cory with a searing glare. “I won’t even be able to bend over for fear of—”
“That’s why you wear these black tights,” Cory’s eyes sparkled, as she picked up the tights and dangled them in front of River. “You could go without—but I wouldn’t advise it.” She held the skirt up to River’s waist, to guesstimate where the hem would hit on River’s legs.
“You’re enjoying all of this just a bit too much.” River slid Cory a sideways glance. She supposed she should be thankful she didn’t have to walk another seven blocks up to her apartment in her current attire and odor. She’d managed to make it all the way to the agency with only a few homeless people noticing, due to the early hour. Now, both cars and people were rapidly filling the streets. She vowed she would pack up a spare outfit and leave it at the agency from here on. But she would keep that to herself for now. No sense giving Cory even more reason to gloat. “I’m going to jump in the shower and wash off the mornings humiliation.”

P.I. – I Love You, Miss Demeanor, P.I., Book 1 is available on:
 Amazon       Barnes & Noble       Kobo        

Until next month…

Friday, June 7, 2019

Did you hear? The Soldiers of Fortune are here! #RB4U #SoldiersofFortune #SOF #RomanticSuspense @RomanceBooks4Us


Soldiers of Fortune 

(A Romance Books 4 Us World)

Volume 1

These are the Soldiers of Fortune, and these are their stories...

Rhett Fortune settled on the small parcel of land he purchased in 1858 with his wife Clara and founded the beautiful landscape that surrounded his newly built home and what is now known as Fortune, TX. A veteran of the United States Army and as a Colonel who served with honor in the Mexican-American War, Rhett and Clara raised a large family. Sons and daughters, and grandchildren to follow, their clan grew throughout the decades. 

Now in the 21st Century, two of their descendants remain at the helm. Chance Fortune, a former member of the Army's Delta Force and co-founder of Soldiers of Fortune, has an innate duty to serve and protect. Working with his brother, RJ Fortune, a former Navy SEAL and wounded warrior, they take the cases that their government won't. And vow to protect the civilians that no one else can. 

They have quietly put out the word and now, after three years, other former brothers-in-arms have contacted them bringing situations that span not only the country but the globe. On Fortune family land they have built a facility out of the public eye for their office, a helicopter, a gun range, and whatever else they might need. 

They are the Soldiers of Fortune... and these are their stories.

Rogue's Return by USA Today & Award Winning Author, Desiree Holt
Sacrifice by USA Today & International Bestselling Author, Nicole Morgan
Operation Unknown by International Bestselling Author, Krista Ames
Rage Against the Machine by International Bestselling Author, Deelylah Mullin

Do you want to meet these elite warriors? If so, just follow the link below and one-click your way into hot, rugged, heroes! 

Thursday, June 6, 2019

Three dominant men will rock her world - DOMINATION - reverse harem - rockers - and a giveaway #Domination #ReverseHarem #Rockers #Alphas #BDSM #LifestyleClub #Giveaway

Domination, book 2 in my Surrender series (reverse harem) is out - woot!

I'm celebrating by hosting a giveaway - win 3 of my hottest romances.

Domination is Jacquie, Max, Andy, and Devlin's story. These bad boys form the rock group Dominant Men and damn are they ever alpha, especially at Surrender, a Malibu lifestyle club.

However, they're more than hot and commanding. They're also cherishing. The best of both worlds - for Jacquie. Lucky, lucky lady.


Three dominant men will rock her world…

Surrender might be a wanton Malibu club, but it’s hardly fun and games for Jacquie. As the owner’s assistant, she’s all work and no play. That changes when three bad boy rockers scout the lifestyle club as a provocative idea for their new album.

As the frontman for Dominant Men, Max is lusciously male and unqualified alpha, eagerly playing Dom to a willing sub. Backup singer and lyricist Andy is more laid back. However, his wild, reddish locks hint at the fire within, which he proves in bed. Entertainment reporters have dubbed composer Devlin ‘the blond devil’. To him, vanilla sex is for when you’re too old to make the effort. The more daring the play, including BDSM, the faster he’s onboard.
Ready to live, Jacquie offers to be their carnal guide through Surrender, willingly delivering herself to these sexy beasts for an adventure like no other.

This is book two in the Surrender series but can be enjoyed as a standalone

Publisher’s Note: This steamy, contemporary, reverse harem romance is intended for adults only. It contains elements of sensual scenes, power exchange, and adult language. If any of these offend you, please do not purchase.


More, dammit, more.

The plea reverberated through Jackie’s mind, the words too difficult to vocalize. Three virile males sapped her energy, intent on ravishing her more thoroughly than romance heroes.

Having fought for and won her pussy, Andy separated her folds and slipped two fingers into her slick cunt, his thumb on her erect clit.


Dazzling pleasure shot from her nub to her stomach, chest, and scalp, warmth bursting within each, pleasure swirling and gathering. Threatening to conquer her.

She couldn’t let it. Coming after one stroke would end the moment faster than she wanted. Determined to resist and drag this out for days, she gritted her teeth and squeezed her fists.

Andy shifted from her side to her front, his hold on her sheath intact, his fingers burrowing deeper.

Devlin muttered something beneath his breath that didn’t sound happy.

Paying no heed, Andy sank to the mattress and pressed his mouth to her clit.

She gasped, her head sagging to one side, too heavy to keep up.

His tongue worked miracles on her needy flesh, the tip flicking at an easy pace against her most sensitive spot, teasing it relentlessly.

Heat and feelings too delicious to resist surged in increasing waves. She shuddered.

He rubbed harder, quicker.

A shout stalled in her throat. She fought him, demanding conclusion on her terms not his, needing a distraction to withstand what he did. Through slitted eyes she concentrated on her audience, the women’s gowns shimmering, the guys’ pants tented from their erections. Or so she imagined, their presence too far away for her to catch details.

Despite using opera glasses, none could detect her features or the guys’, the lenses equipped with soft focus filters to provide an otherworldly quality, enhanced by the dimmed lighting. A dream world that exposed yet protected her.

An erotic romance like no other.

Max captured her mouth and plunged his tongue deep inside, his hair grazing her cheek, an herbal fragrance scenting his locks. Growling as a man would when experiencing stark need, he cupped her boobs, testing their weight, and flicked her nipples.

Their rigidity hurt in the best possible way.

Devlin left the bed.

No. Come back.

He padded to the sink, rattled something, and shook the mattress on his return.

Andy’s mouth remained latched onto her cunt, his tongue lapping then pausing on her clit. He next worked his fingers in her pussy, mimicking what his and the others’ cocks would do.

She battled against the climax he was determined to deliver. Each time he stroked her nub, her cunt dampened further.

Max plucked her nipples and squeezed her breasts, his tongue playing with hers.

Devlin ran his hand between her butt cheeks, his fingers slick—from lube, a condom, or both, the items available near the towels.

He circled her tight ring, not yet touching it. Though he would, she had no doubt.

Around and around he stroked then stopped.

Andy and Max didn’t, pulling her attention back to them.

She swayed as much as she could and literally rattled her chains, unable to stand much— 

Devlin eased one finger inside her passage.

She flinched at his ultimate invasion, a carnal move so decadent and needed. Her breath stalled.

If the guys noticed, they didn’t say, each working her as he willed, giving her no voice or control in the act, Doms to the extreme.

She raced from one shocking moment to another, sweat dampening her skin, breathing harsh, head swimming.

Applause and low whistles broke out, the voyeurs’ responses and comments transmitted in here for the ultimate experience. However, the spectators couldn’t hear the lovers in return, the gazebo one of the few places in the club holding that distinction.

Observed, shackled, and used relentlessly, she hadn’t a chance to escape.


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