Wednesday, October 30, 2013

An Erie Halloween Release Day!

I have always had a thing for shifters and those of similar persuasion. I clearly recall being a child (And I may date myself terribly with this but so what?) sitting in front of the TV eagerly anticipating watching Dr. Shock`s Mad Theater, which aired in the Philadelphia area from 1968 through the 70`s. Dr. Shock showed tons of B horror movies, and I was simultaneously terrified and engrossed in each old black-and-white flick presented to me. It was while watching Dr. Shock that I first saw Lon Chaney Jr. as The Wolf Man.

 Sure, there were scores of other horror movie classic monsters: Dracula, Frankenstein, The Mummy, The Creature from the Black Lagoon, but there was something about The Wolf Man that spoke to me. I`m sure it was Chaney`s wonderful performance as the tortured Larry Talbot that grabbed my young heart and mind so strongly.

Over the years I`ve grown less afraid of were-folk, and have read about shifters of various kinds. There are as many breeds of shapeshifter as there are fans that read the
enormously popular genre. Today we have wolves, bruins, big cats, seals (Selkies), and every animal under the sun, it seems. Nine times out of ten the shifters are sexy men or women who then turn into powerful, attractive, sexual animals. I thought I wanted to do something just a wee bit different with An Erie Halloween.

 Enter Templeton Reed, a man who lives and works in a hidden community of magical folks along the shores of Lake Erie. Templeton isn`t proud of his beastly other side and goes to enormous lengths to never shift. Being one of a few rare musteloidea shifters in the United States, Templeton isn`t a gorgeous lycan, or a sexy, sleek jaguar, or even a big, loveable bruin shifter. Templeton is a mild-mannered office worker that tries his best to avoid trouble, lest his inner polecat comes to the surface.

Yes, my leading man in An Erie Halloween is a skunk shifter. How much fun is that?! I certainly put Templeton through some harrowing adventures in his debut novella! But, as much as I have tormented my favorite striped shifter, I have also given him a hunk of lycan man that wants to get to know this feisty little scrapper much better. Let`s just say that Templeton and Mikel Lupei, the alpha of the Lake Erie pack, get along quite well despite a few odor related shifting problems.

Much like Larry Talbot, Templeton is cursed with changing into something he is ashamed of. Fortunately skunks don`t prowl the moors looking for human prey as many incarnations of werewolves do. But they do have their own offensive defense system that puts them on the outside looking in, even among their own kind.  Thankfully, my courageous- if slightly near-sighted- hero ends up in a better place then poor Lon Chaney Jr. did at the end of The Wolf Man.

Did you have a favorite horror movie monster as a child? I`d love to hear about who scared the black-and-white bejeebers out of you when you were a kid. 


How about an excerpt from An Erie Halloween?

As I walked, I rolled odd change around inside my coat pockets. The streets were busy as last minute shoppers ran to get their candy and costumes for the big night tomorrow. Head down and mind running a mile a minute, I never saw the brick wall disguised as a man I ran into. Face into the wind, I never smelled him either. The amber eyes and brindle hair were all that stopped me from either screaming or shifting. Mikel pulled me into a small bookstore. I went along because I really had no choice, but once inside the quaint bookery, I jerked my arm from his grasp. Several patrons glanced at us. Mikel muscled me into a row holding non-fiction and historical. He grabbed a book and opened it, his sharp gaze flitting between me and a fascinating how-to grow-your-own-beets book.

“Is there a reason you abducted me from the street?” I asked, moving back slightly when his big body pressed closer to allow a woman to pass behind him. His proximity was beyond distressing. It was arousing. Now that he had me cornered, there was no getting away from the heady scent that he exuded: Part sin, part warm fur, part earthy pine, wholly distracting.

“I've been trying to contact you for days. Why didn't you return my calls?” he whispered, keeping his big chest plastered to my left arm. My spine was firmly against a book shelf.

“There are several reasons,” I replied trying to sound snooty but sounding meagerly twitterpated.” One is that our classes don't mix. . .”

“That's a paltry reason, Templeton,” Mikel said gruffly, snapping his beet book closed.

“Well, it may be for you, but when one's boss tells one to keep his distance and – hey!” I grabbed for my glasses when he plucked them off the bridge of my nose. Folding my arms over my pea coat, I glowered at the oaf. There would be no leaping up and down. Those days ended when I left high school. The touch of his fingers on my chin brought out an age-old response. I jerked back hard. The bookcase behind me wobbled dangerously. Mikel dropped his book to steady the shelving unit. My heart was trying to explode through my chest like an alien baby. The lycan inhaled several times then gave me a dark look.

“Calm yourself, Templeton, your odor is growing stronger.”

“Sorry, it's just this is all too – too much,” I gasped, working to calm myself before the tingling at the base of my spine began. The bells over the front door tinkled melodiously. Soft conversation bounced off the spines of books. Mikel tipped my head back and kissed me. Right there in the middle of the non-fiction. His lips were soft. Sinfully soft. It took my lashes a moment after his mouth left mine to flutter upward. Squinting skyward, I tried to read his face but it was a blur. My glasses were placed back onto my face, albeit crookedly, and then I could see the glow of golden eyes. Oh my . . .


If you`re interested in grabbing a copy of An Erie Halloween, you can find it on the Torquere Press site here:

I love to meet new friends and fans! You can find me at-

Monday, October 28, 2013

Tuesday Tales - Sweet

Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales again. We`re back to wrap up my PNR mini-series, Anastasia`s Locket. Last week Maggie and Gerard had their first real taste of an angry spirit and goodness me was it a sour one!

This week our word prompt is ‘Sweet’. Since this hasn`t been edited or beta read by anyone but me, there may be some grammatical errors. I do apologize for any mistakes.

Please check out the other wonderful writers after you`re done reading by clicking on the Tuesday Tales link at the bottom. Thanks for stopping in!

Anastasia`s Locket

Chapter Four

                Gerard pushed me aside and leaped to his feet. The man moved like greased lightning. I could only imagine how fast he must have been on the gridiron field before his injury. He dove into the pond. I scuttled over on my hands and knees to fetch the camera. The light wavered and bounced terribly. My hands were shaking strongly. I got up then staggered to the white lady covering her lovely face with one hand as if weeping silently. The water broke. Someone inhaled deeply. I moved the beam of light to the far side of the pond. Gerard was exiting the water; his hair covered his face as water rushed from his sodden clothes. Mrs. Gundy was limp in his arms.

I hurried around to where Gerard was. He flipped his hair off his face then scowled at the bright light in his eyes. I saw bloody gouges in his cheek and gasped.

                “She fought me tooth and nail,” he said, dropping to his butt roughly to avoid sitting on his bad leg. I didn`t dare ask who had fought him so. The old woman was whimpering softly. So softly, in fact, that had I not been seated beside her, I wouldn’t have heard her. The sound was gut-wrenching. It was like the call of a broken-hearted dove.

                Gerard relieved me of the camera. The surface of the water was smooth as glass I noticed. Mrs. Gundy coughed weakly. I shook off the shock and helped the old woman to sit up. She began mumbling. I peeled off my jacket and placed it over her shoulders. Both she and Gerard were shivering.

                “Mrs. Gundy, we need to get you inside,” I whispered then looked at Gerard. “You as well,” I added as his teeth began to clatter.

                “I`m not going to argue that suggestion,” he said. We all drew back when Anastasia`s head broke through the dark surface of the pond. Mrs. Gundy wept harshly into her gnarled hands. I pulled the old dear closer to my breasts. The spirit gazed at us for several seconds. Then she gracefully sunk back under the water. We watched until the ripples disappeared.

                “She won`t come back anymore,” Mrs. Gundy coughed. Her voice got us moving. We moved into the old farm house, closing and locking the door soundly. I helped Mrs. Gundy to her room, one arm around her slim waist as we scaled the stairs to the second floor slowly.

                “What was so special about that locket?” I asked as we climbed.

                “It had the picture of her son. I didn`t think – didn`t want her to be reminded of him, of giving him up, so I took the locket . . . kept it from her,” the old woman wheezed. I feared she would be dead come morning after that dunk in the pond. “She was only fifteen. It was not acceptable for young ladies to be having bastard children. Plus,” she glanced over her shoulder at Gerard. A look of reluctance moved over her wrinkled face. “The man that got that boy on her was a Negro.” The last part was whispered to me.

                Gerard made a rasping sound in the back of his throat but said nothing. I remained quiet as well for a moment.

                “What made you finally give her the locket back?” I asked as we neared the top riser.

                “She was going to hurt you or your friend. I couldn`t let her do that.”

                “Why didn’t you just give the girl her locket when she started haunting you?” Gerard asked. He was much gruffer than usual. Mrs. Gundy shook her head.

                “That child was half-Negro. I was doing Anastasia a good, but she never recognized it as that." 

                And that, as it turned out, was all the reason Mrs. Gundy felt she needed for taking away the child, turning it over to an adoption agency, and barring her daughter from ever seeing or mentioning her son again. If Anastasia`s drowning was an accident or a suicide, we would never know for sure. Mrs. Gundy refused to speak about it – or anything else - come the first rays of sunlight. I strongly suspected the girl had taken her own life, but that, as well as a pregnancy outside of marriage, was simply something one did not talk about. Or so we were semi-politely told as we had coffee before leaving as quickly as possible. The rapid departure was mutual, rest assured.

The ride back to New York was an uncomfortable one. Gerard had withdrawn into himself and with good reason. As night came and we had a couple more hours to go due to my need to stop at every antique store we passed, I insisted we stop in a lovely inn just this side of the New York/Pennsylvania border.  We tried to replay the tape made beside the pond, but some sort of replay doohickey button had broken off during the chaos. We made a call to Eddie and sent the unseen video to him over the internet. Then we disconnected from the world. I lit a few candles. Gerard filled the Jacuzzi in the richly appointed bath. Champagne was delivered. We stripped in the candlelight and slipped into the bubbles, our eyes never leaving each other.

Gerard pulled me to him the moment I stepped into the water. My skin slid over his as he settled me where he wanted me. I leaned closer. He cupped a bare breast and a buttock. My mouth moved over his in the same mind-altering way that his body was moving inside mine. The water bubbled and frothed. I arched upward. His mouth latched onto a breast. We moved as one, our wet bodies churning the already foaming water faster and faster until we both found release. He held me close to ensure he stayed sheathed as the convulsions rippled through him. I held onto his biceps, my nails leaving half-moons in his gorgeous dark skin.
His lips moving over my cheek brought me down from the clouds.

“You know, years ago what we just did --”

I cut him off before he could go down a road of past hatred.

“What we just did was wonderful, sensual, natural, and sinfully addicting,” I whispered over his lips. He smiled. I kissed him once more. “Times have changed, thank God.”

“Yeah, but still. . . ” he said wistfully, his fingers massaging that right breast he seemed so fond of. I curled into his chest, my legs slipping over his thighs as I moved to get a comfy side-saddle seat. Jets of warm water rushed over my calves and rumbled over my breasts. My damp head dropped to a strong shoulder. His arms held me close as steam scented with honeysuckle tickled my nose.

“But still nothing,” I purred across his thumping jugular. “We have each other so screw the outside world.” I kissed the side of his neck. His low rumble of laughter moved through me and the water. It was arousing to say the least. As was the way his fingertips were trailing lightly over the inside of my thigh. “We`ve got the makings of something special here, Gerard.”

“I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” he said, his Bogart utter perfection.

As was the sweet kiss that followed.

The End

Copyright 2013 ©by V.L. Locey


That was fun. And downright scary in places! Sometimes the secrets and hate that we bury comes back to haunt us. Hopefully we can continue to grow as a country and a world in our acceptance of love, no matter the color or gender.

Next week I`ll be able to start sharing excerpts from my NaNoWriMo novel, Laco Law. This is my first crack at writing a western and I am quite excited about it. I have my soundtrack all picked out and my two leading men are patiently waiting to be given free rein!

Thanks for stopping in to visit! For more free reads by great authors follow the link back to the Tuesday Tales main blog.

See you next week!

Sunday, October 27, 2013

And Then Something Like This Happens . . .

There are times that we authors get into funks. I`m pretty sure it happens to all artists. We sit in our house, alone with our work, and feel blue about one thing or another. These type of thoughts rumble through our heads:

“I`m not selling as many books as Stephen King.”

“I should be writing something about (insert hot book genre here) so I can cash in on the (insert hot book genre here) craze.”

“Why am I doing this?!”

“Is anyone even reading my work?!”

“Does anything I do make a difference?!”

So when we artist-type folks get into these pits of Woe-Is-Me, we tend to look at our work with an even stronger critical eye. That was where I was on Saturday morning as I attended a local book fest. The event had over fifteen local author tables and a huge used book sale.

The attendance was brisk for the used books but slow for the authors. My helper (aka Miss Yodeling) had grown bored after about ninety minutes, so I sent her off to run some errands. I had been reading a hockey romance, watching for anyone who might want to come up and chat when two young ladies approached my table.

They were no older than sixteen. Adorable things they were and so shy! I smiled and beckoned them to come closer. One stepped forward, the other young woman staying at her side but back a half-step. I was prepared to launch into my ‘Hi, I`m Vicki Locey and this is my rural romance series, and these over here are LGBT romance’ pitch. She beat me to the punch by saying this-

“I just wanted to say that you are the only author that I`ve seen in this county that not only writes LGBT books, but is proud to say that they do.”

(I had this printout framed and sitting on my table at the time-)

“I`m bisexual,” she continued, “And it makes me so happy to see that someone local is displaying the gay pride flag. Can I get a hug?”

Once I swallowed down the ball of emotion, she and I embraced each other. She grabbed a copy of a zombie romance anthology and returned to her friends and life.

Thank you, my dear, for showing me that what I write can make a difference. Anytime you need a hug, my arms are open.

Saturday, October 26, 2013

Dear Jon - Chapter # 13

The next chapter in my M/M historical romance Dear Jon is up over at Storytime Trysts.

I hope you enjoy this romantic trip back in time.

Storytime Trysts

Thursday, October 24, 2013

Anna Bayes Drops In To Visit!

Today the lovely and talented Anna Bayes drops by to chat about writing, book cover design, and her newest release. Take it away, Anna!


Thank you so much for having me here today, Vicki!

I’m Anna Bayes. I’ve begun writing erotic short stories in November, 2012 and got my first story published with Torquere Press in January, 2013. After three ebooks, I had decided that I preferred to publish on my own. There is a lot to learn, and much more promotional work to do, but it’s been a fun process, and I love the control I have over everything: the precise minute I get my ebook out, the book cover and the places I like to have it advertised on.

The idea of designing my own book cover was daunting at first, but after going through sites that sell pre-made ebook covers (here is a nice one: I realized that all I needed was to choose a good stock photo, add effects to it, change the background color or texture, add my book’s title and my name, play around with the fonts and sizes, and that’s it. It turned out to be an extra outlet for creativity, which was satisfying on its own.

For those of you who want to try it out on your own, here’s an article that shows you step by step how to manipulate images on a Word document. Yes. Before you buy Photoshop or try out other softwares, why not use Word just to get a feel for it? Here’s the article:

I’m a bit less frightened about being an Indie today. There’s actually quite a nice ring to that word now that I label myself that.

Here’s my first self-published ebook, Snug Fit: a sweet, contemporary M/F erotic romance. Hope you enjoy it!

Title: Snug Fit

Category: contemporary, M/F erotic romance

Format: ebook

Pages: 12

Blurb: Friday night, 7:52pm. Kate's dress feels too tight, the restaurant seems too fancy, and her date is running late. She has decided that tonight is a bad idea after all, until a stranger two seats away begins talking to her.


I feel lighter already peeling myself out of that dress, letting my hair down and skipping into the shower.

The sound of water splashing onto the tiles pleases me so. I lather myself up, smelling of peaches. I giggle as I remember how Mike said I could be dry and strong, but sweet like apples too. I can be more: sugary and juicy like peaches. I intend to let him find out.

I cup my breasts over the rich foam, and then flick my thumbs lightly over my nipples, sending an electric current down my spine directly between my legs.


Just the thought of Mike is giving me the shivers.

I continue working on my nipples with my thumbs, pressing down and rubbing them in a circle, feeling how hard and sensitive they are, enjoying the tension building up in my core.

My legs part and I lean my whole body against the wall, the pink tiles kissing my skin and escalating the heat inside me. I let the water rain on my back as my fingers move down.

I am drenched; my clit is throbbing, begging for attention. I moisten my fingers with my own juice, and then glide up to envelope my protruding knob. It is Mike’s eyes, the changing colors of his pupils, that are branding their fervor in my head. I covet his large, comforting hands; wishing it is his thick, warm fingers concentrating on my clit, driving me into delirium.

Fuck, I want him.

I push two fingers from my left hand in my gaping pussy while envisioning his cock entering me, pounding away and claiming me as his.

My hips buck into my hands, my knees shake as I rock myself to the image of Mike gripping my ass and ramming into me like a starved madman.

I bite my lower lip so hard it bleeds as I hold my breath and ride my lust; the world fades as the lack of oxygen makes me dizzy and dims my sight. I almost black out before I let out a long and guttural scream.

Intense? That was more of a near-death experience.

I am making him mine.

Buy links:

* *

Author Bio

Anna writes contemporary, paranormal, BDSM and LGBT erotic romances. She is herself a bisexual submissive, and finds writing the perfect outlet for her wild ideas.

In real life, Anna is an introverted bookworm, looks sweet and kind of innocent, but don't let her brown eyes fool you.

Find and follow Anna everywhere!

Twitter (@anna_bayes)

Monday, October 21, 2013

Tuesday Tales - Railing

Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales again. We`re back with a new chapter for my paranormal romance written exclusively for Tuesday Tales! Sorry to have missed last week. Two final proofs with identical deadlines for the 18th had me doing a lively dance. But, those are attended to and we can now get back to Maggie and Gerard who, if memory serves, were about to have a close encounter of the ghostly kind.

This week our word prompt is ‘Railing’. Since this hasn`t been edited or beta read by anyone but me, there may be some grammatical errors. I do apologize for any mistakes.

Please check out the other wonderful writers after you`re done reading by clicking on the Tuesday Tales link at the bottom. Thanks for stopping in!

Anastasia`s Locket

Chapter Three

Have you ever had an otherworldly entity pass through your body? It`s not pleasant. It feels as if someone is running an icy finger over your marrow. My knees folded. I dropped to the wet grass, gasping ineffectually.  Hands splayed, I dug my fingernails into the chilly soil as the ghostly horror left my body`s core. My forehead touched the grass. My skin bristled. I wept in fear. Gerard`s camera hit the ground with a heavy thud. Something broke off and bounced off into the dark. The light flickered but stayed lit.

I skittered to the side, falling to my ass. There was no sign of Anastasia. Gerard was out cold, his huge body convulsing as if it were trying to expel something. I whimpered then reached for the man, the camera totally forgotten as it lay on its side in the grass. My fingers latched onto Gerard`s forearm. I drew it back with a hiss. He was cold. Ice cold. Cold as the dead. I whispered his name. His large frame bucked. Water bubbled from between his lips.

My stunned brain had me moving before I realized what was happening. I straddled his hips, placed one hand over the other on his sternum, and pushed with all my might. A gush of brackish pond water erupted out of his mouth and nose.

“Come on, come on, come on, come on!” I chanted with each forceful shove I made. How the hell did his lungs get filled with water?! I was crying and cussing and working to get that horrid cold pond out of him when his fingers closed around my throat without warning. My hands left his chest. I dug and clawed at his hand as it tightened. Sight blurred with tears I saw his eyes fly open. I tried to scream, but my air passage was now cut off. His eyes were completely white.

Tell mother I want her,” Gerard said but it wasn`t Gerard at all. The deep, humorous, loving voice of my soon-to-be paramour was now that of a young woman long dead. He threw me aside as if I weighed nothing, and that is far from the case. I landed painfully on my side. I lay there spellbound with terror as Gerard rose to his feet like a tree being lifted from its top by invisible ropes. His head turned until he found me. I didn`t need to be told twice. Up to my feet I went, wheezing terribly all the while I stumbled back to the house. My foot slid as I neared the back door. My ribs slammed into the railing. I cried out in pain.

“Tell mother I want her!” Anastasia shrieked. “Tell her I want her! Tell her I WANT HER!”

I barreled into the door only to find it locked. My eyes grew round as plates. I rattled the doorknob violently. I began hammering on the old door, screaming to be let in. My voice was nonexistent from being nearly throttled. There was no reply from inside. I beat harder. I kicked. The ghostly cries were growing closer. I shouted for Anastasia`s mother to come outside but my raspy pleas were nothing compared to the keening screeches that Anastasia was producing.

Then the back door flew open. I tumbled inside, my knees taking the brunt of the fall. Mrs. Gundy, sweater hanging over her shoulders like a shroud, stepped over me and into the night, a silver chain dangling from her wrinkled hand. I tried to warn the old dear, but my strangled voice was too weak to be heard. Using the doorframe I pulled myself to my feet to witness Anastasia leaving Gerard, thank God, to slam into her mother.

Gerard fell to the lawn like an unwanted ragdoll.  I threw myself out the back door; my wobbly legs making the short trip to Gerard feel like miles. His skin was clammy. I began patting his face, trying to revive him. His cheeks, neck, and shirt collar were wet. When he came to he coughed violently to evacuate the last of the pond water in his lungs.

“I hate being slimed.” He gasped weakly. I hugged him tightly. Gerard pulled away. I turned to look at what he was seeing over my shoulder.

Mrs. Gundy had walked into the pond until her head was completely submerged.

Copyright 2013 ©by V.L. Locey


Thanks for stopping in to visit! For more free reads by great authors follow the link back to the Tuesday Tales main blog.

See you next week!

Saturday, October 19, 2013

Dear Jon - Chapter # 12

The next chapter in my M/M historical romance Dear Jon is up over at Storytime Trysts.

I hope you enjoy this romantic trip back in time.

Storytime Trysts

Thursday, October 17, 2013

On The Road Again!

This time I`m over at Jamallah Bergman`s lovely blog. Come join us for a chat that covers a little bit of everything as well as an excerpt from my upcoming M/M shifter romance, An Erie Halloween.

Hope to see you there!

Jamallah Bergman`s Stories of Love and Romance

Saturday, October 12, 2013

Dear Jon - Chapter # 11

The next chapter in my M/M historical romance Dear Jon is up over at Storytime Trysts.

I hope you enjoy this romantic trip back in time.

Storytime Trysts

Thursday, October 10, 2013

Chatting with Lynn Townsend

I do love getting to know my favorite authors just a little bit better, don`t you? Today the lovely and talented Lynn Townsend is stopping by to gossip about her new release, favorite books, good days and bad days, and classic movie stars. So grab a fresh cuppa and get to know one great lady! 


1-What`s your routine right after you get an idea for a story?

Funny you should ask, as I'm in the beginning of plotting out my next novel; Howling Bitch, the 2nd book in my Demoniac Codex series.

First thing, my handwriting is terrible, but I do a lot of my planning work by hand. There's something really satisfying about scribbling on paper.

So, first thing I do is start with my character; who are they, what do they look like? What are they particularly good at? Rivals? Goals? Favorite music? (if they have a favorite band or music that particularly fits them, I might spend a while getting very distracted with my extraordinarily large music collection, putting together a playlist.)

Of course, names... some of my best purchases, years ago, were some baby name books. I have one divided by “kinds of names”... chapters include Dynamic/Strong Names (Caleb / Paige), Surnames as First and Middle Names (Thackery / Darcy), Think-Twice Names (Adolf / Imogene) , and Earth, Flora and Fauna Names (Paris / Hazel). The other book divides names up by ethnic origin. Need names for your characters who come from Sweden? No problem! I do online lookups for surnames – the National Census page is great for that; you can even do searches based on part of the country you want your characters to come from.

Once I get the character established, I make note cards for each character. I include descriptions, birthday, family members... especially to make sure whatever physical characteristics and history that I mention IN the body of the story. I read a book once where the lead female character's eyes changed color three times. Not a mistake I wish to make.

And then I write out scenes; consider them 1 or 2 sentence sum ups about what action is going to happen. Obviously these don't always hold up as the characters plow along with whatever story line they're following, but the nice thing about note-cards as opposed to an outline; if a scene doesn't happen, or I change my mind, I can toss the note card and write up a new one. I can also shuffle scenes around as things get inserted or put off. By the time I'm finished with a novel, I usually have between 60 and 100 cards drawn up, color-coded, and held together with a big-ass alligator clip.

2-Fred Astaire or Gene Kelly?

Bogart and Bacall.

3-Are there any genres that you haven`t written yet but would like to?

Of my published works, I've written: zombie romance, contemporary, Lovecraftian horror, steampunk, twisted fairy tales, urban supernatural and new adult. Stuff that's not been published yet; I have fantasy, western, and horror. I'd really like to do a straight up historical at some point, just because I love to read Julia Quinn, Anne Gracie, and Lisa Kleypas. I even have a plot outlined for a historical, I just haven't gotten 'round to it, yet.

4-Describe your perfect day.

She said a good day ain't got no pain / She said  a bad day's when I lie in bed / and think of things that might have been – Paul Simon, Slip Sliding Away

As just about anyone with chronic pain will tell you, there's nothing quite so wonderful as sudden surcease. I have 8 pieces of titanium (yes, I can set off a metal detector...) holding my leg together, a relic from a car accident quite a while ago. And I live in a house with 2 flights of stairs.

So, first off, the perfect day has to have no pain... and coffee. Coffee is good.

Other than that, I'm fairly good. I've been really poor and I'm not now. I've been alone, and I'm not now. I have my writing and I've published quite a lot in the last two years.

Even days when I totally lose my shit over little things, I know how much worse I've had it. I try not to feel too ashamed of getting frustrated about the small stuff because I'm only human.

Honestly, tho, my life is pretty damn good.

(As a further note, I'm also bi-polar and on an upswing. Ask me again in another two weeks and I might say the perfect day is when I get to take a hacksaw to someone who's pissing me off.)

5-The zombie apocalypse has broken out and civilization is crumbling. You`re allowed to take five books to pass along for future generations. What five books do you put in your rucksack?

Childhood's End – Arthur C. Clarke.

This is one of those books that was life-changing for me. It's small, deceptively so. And I'm a quick reader. I finished it in less than two hours. And then I couldn't talk to anyone for the rest of the day anyway, while I was processing it.

Wuthering Heights – Emily Bronte

I know a lot of people don't like this book... yes, it's depressing. Yes, Catherine and Heathcliff are horrible people. I have fond memories of this book. My great-grandmother, MiMi, had cataracts toward the end of her life that formed blank spots in her central vision, which made it very difficult for her to read. So one summer, I read to her, most of the summer. One of the books we read was Wuthering Heights. We were sitting on the back porch at my grandparents' lake house, the sun was setting. I sat on the floor in front of her chair and I read the “I am Heathcliff...” speech to her. I could barely get the words out, I was crying so hard. And she had her hand on my shoulder. I finished reading the chapter, turned around, and she had tears in her eyes, too.

Good Omens – Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman

Seriously, you even have to ask? This book is the most awesomest...

(Assuming that my bag doesn't hold the ENTIRE Liaden series, which is something like 17 novels now... but Steve Miller and Sharon Lee's space opera is one of my favorite things in the world... )

Watership Down – Richard Adams

Wonderful novel. I completely love it. About rabbits.

The Left Hand of Darkness – Ursula K. LeGuin

This is another one of those WOW sci-fi novels... I listened to this one on tape (back when there were book-tapes... ) and I adore it. It's very thought provoking.

The funny thing about this list is a lot of my favorite books aren't on it.... I love Jane Austen... and pretty much anything that was part of a series is off, since it won't fit in the bag.

But I know what will happen in the zombie apocalypse. I will be delicious!


Blurb: Since the death of his sister, Dariel's been haunting her grave. Then he meets Zach. It's love at first sight -- unfortunately Zach is a ghost. An accidental possession results in Zach moving into Dariel's body, but before they can fully figure that out, they learn that there's more to Zach's death that the suicide it had seemed -- much more. With the help of the cemetery cat, Dariel and Zach will have to confront the diabolic Isaac Caine and return Zach's soul to its proper resting place.

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Author Bio: Lynn Townsend is a geek, a dreamer and an inveterate punster. When not reading, writing, or editing, she can usually be found drinking coffee or killing video game villains. Lynn's interests include filk music, romance novels, octopuses, and movies with more FX than plot.

Monday, October 7, 2013

Tuesday Tales - Evergreen

Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales again. 

Last week- Maggie and Gerard were interrupted as they “watched movies” by an elderly women with a supernatural problem.

This week our word prompt is ‘Evergreen’. Since this hasn`t been edited by anyone but me, there may be some grammatical errors. I do apologize for any boo-boo you may find. Please do check out the other wonderful writers after you`re done reading by clicking on the Tuesday Tales link at the bottom. Thanks for stopping in!

Anastasia`s Locket

Chapter Two

She seemed nervous, her round eyes darting from one corner of our suite to the other.  I looked over at Gerard as he returned from the micro-fridge with a cold can of soda for our guest. Smiling weakly, she took the can, popped the top, drank, and then handed the soda back to Gerard.

“You think I`m crazy, don`t you?” she asked. We both rushed to say that we thought no such thing. She wrung her work-stained hands.

“Why don`t you start at the beginning?” I prodded gently. Gerard placed the can on the coffee-table then sat next to me on the edge of the fluffy, perfect-for-two-lovers sized mattress.

“My name is Dolores Gundy. My daughter, Anastasia, died forty-five years ago and now she walks outside my house every night searching for something.”

The people of Maine certainly are direct. I felt Gerard shifting uncomfortably beside me. The poor man was probably in a great deal of distress. If we could hurry this woman along, I`d be happy to alleviate his uncomfortable state.

“Are you sure it`s her ghost?” I asked the weather-worn woman gently.

“Ain`t that your job to find out?” Mrs. Gundy fired back.

“Well,” I coughed, taken aback slightly. “Yes, it is but . . . Yes it is,” I sighed.


It took us two hours to arrive at the Gundy estate. Actually, estate may be a slight exaggeration. The Gundy home was a turn-of-the-century farmhouse with a rickety wraparound porch, a barn with a squealing rooster weathervane, and a stock pond that reflected the brilliant colors of fall like a mirror. The wind was cold and carried the smell of mineral-rich water as it swept around the property.

“What is that down by the pond?” I asked, standing in front of our white KBNY news van with my hand blocking the bright fall sun from my eyes. By a collapsed boat dock I could see what appeared to be a white statue at the water`s edge.

“That`s Anastasia`s guardian angel,” Mrs. Gundy said through the collar of her sweater. She wore no coat, only that handmade sweater. “I had that put up to mark the place she died.”

“She drowned?” I asked after getting a worried look from my cameraman. Mrs. Gundy began explaining the night of the accident, but I was trying to decipher what Gerard was trying to convey via hand signals and outlandish facial expressions. When he feigned a hanging with floppy tongue and a rope around his thick neck being tugged upward, I spun from him to our host.

                “. . . next morning I found her slipper along the shore then her in the water.”

                “I`m very sorry,” I murmured as the elderly woman stared vacantly at the pond.  “When did you begin seeing her ghost?” I asked, keeping my back to Gerard as he unloaded our gear.

                “A week after she died,” Mrs. Gundy`s wide eyes grew watery. “She come up from the pond and circled the house. Every night she does the same thing. I`m going to turn eighty in four weeks,” the woman said, shocking me. She looked no older than late sixties. “My sister`s boy Percy is from Las Vegas and gets this property when I die. I`d like to leave him a nice place, and, well, I`d like to get my daughter sent over. She`s been searching long enough.”

                “Searching for what?” Gerard asked as he rubbed his big hands together briskly. The wind howled through the evergreens circling the wide pond, flinging his dreads across his face.

                “That`s your job to find out,” Mrs. Gundy said then turned to face the house. “You can bring your stuff inside. I`ll put a pot of coffee on.”

                We stood in the cold wind for a moment. Gerard`s hand dropped to my shoulder, jolting me from my study of Mrs. Gundy`s bowed back.

                “You sure about this?” he asked, squeezing my collarbone gently. I nodded with a weak little smile. “Okay,” he exhaled, “Let`s get this shit inside and set up. Oh, just one more thing.” He spun me around, pulled me into his chest, and kissed me. When his soft lips left mine, I was no longer chilly.

                “I will be really pissed if I die before I get to make love to you,” he whispered, tucking a strand of my short brown hair behind my cold ear.

“Yeah, me too,” I whispered, placing my hand to his rough cheek.

“So let`s not get dead. Deal?”

“Deal,” I said, taking just another moment to absorb the heat of the man holding me. “Okay, let`s get this show on the road. I have a feeling this is going to be the episode that makes Eddie yearn for a cigarette and a glass of wine after he sees it.”'

Whatever Gerard said was blown away by the wind. Inside we found a lovely home, grey and showing its age, but friendly with huge rooms that try as they may couldn`t keep the cold of the first fingers of winter away. Night was creeping up on us quickly. We had a light late lunch of grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup with Mrs. Gundy. We then spent a couple hours planning by the coal stove in the kitchen. When the last traces of day disappeared, Mrs. Gundy rose from her seat at the scarred kitchen table, her mouth drawn and her shoulders tight.

“She`ll come out of the pond within the hour,” the old woman said as she padded over to the window. I looked at Gerard over the cups of fresh coffee sitting on the table. His brown eyes searched mine for a long moment then we rose in tandem. In his hand he held the shoulder-mount camera. Mrs. Gundy turned from the window that was already starting to frost around the edges.

“Give us an hour to do our thing. I promise you tonight you`ll sleep deeply and without worry,” I said with a smile as I pulled on a thick, puffy, purple parka. Gerard slid into a comfortably worn black wool coat, pulled his hair free, and then hoisted the ENG camera to his wide shoulder. Outside we went, the squeal of the rusty hinges on the back door setting my teeth on edge.

My feet seemed rather reluctant to leave the small stoop. “You did send Eddie a text with our current location and why we`re here, right?” I asked, glancing up and to the left.

“Yeah, he knows where to find the bodies.”

“Thanks, you are so damned reassuring,” I grumbled. Down the three steps I went. Gerard followed. Light enveloped me. I blew out a breath and smiled into the glaring light of the camera.

“Push your hood back, it`s shadowing your face,” Gerard said, the shaky light slowly calming as he aligned his shot. Reaching up with one hand I flipped the hood backwards.

“Better?” I inquired. He grunted, which I took as a yes. I wet my lips.

“That is too sexy,” the man growled. My toes tingled at the rough needy edge his voice had.

“Can you see the moon behind me?” I asked, waving in the general direction of where the moon should be.

“No, I can`t. I`m kind of fixated on the apparition rising out of the pond.”

I spun around, my clever opening segue forgotten. I watched not only mist rising from water that was warmer than the air, but the silvery form of a woman in a long gown ascending from the pond.

“Maggie, tell me that isn`t fog on my lens,” I heard Gerard ask. Anastasia turned her ghostly head to find the source of those spoken words. Her eyes were empty holes, her hair hung long and lank down her back, and her feet never touched the surface of the water after she levitated from the dark depths. “Shit,” the man muttered. He sounded closer. I did the only thing I could think of to do.

“Anastasia Gundy! Why are you not at peace?!” I yelled. This is television. It had to be dramatic, right?

She replied with a terrifying screech then flew at us, her spectral hands extended and grasping.

Copyright 2013 ©by V.L. Locey


Thanks for stopping in to visit! For more free reads by great authors follow the link back to the Tuesday Tales main blog.

See you next week!


Saturday, October 5, 2013

Dear Jon - Chapter # 10

The next chapter in my M/M historical romance Dear Jon is up over at Storytime Trysts.

I hope you enjoy this romantic trip back in time.

Storytime Trysts

Thursday, October 3, 2013

An Interview With Renzo Cipriano

I`m thrilled- and a little swoonish - to have the very handsome leading man of RENZO -The Ciprianos of Kellington  Book 1- here on my blog today! Take it away Renzo. *Fans face*

Hello…….my name is Renzo Cipriano

I wanted to come and talk a bit about the story that the lovely Jamallah Bergman has written about me.

When Jamallah came to my restaurant Filomena’s to have lunch, I saw that she was scribbling something down on a notepad. Being a bit nosy, I would often walk by her table, just to see what maybe I could see off of the pad. But of course I didn’t see much. When I came by her table for like the fifth time that day, she asked me, “You’ve been coming back and forth here for most of lunch, have you really been trying to see what I’ve been writing?”

I have to admit I was shocked but embarrassed as well that she would say this but I set my own self up for this mess. Eventually I asked her what she was doing and that’s when she told me that she was a writer of romance. I was very intrigued as we both ended up sitting down and talking about what she wrote about and that’s when I told her about how I ended up meeting the love of my life Jaslyn. She was very interested in learning more from Jaslyn’s point of view and all. So I called Jaslyn up to come over and when she came over, we all ended up talking about how we met. The entire time we talked, Jamallah was taking notes.

Well after we talked, Jamallah told us that our story was something that had to be told for everyone to enjoy. That was when she said that she wanted to write about us and asked could she get permission to do it. We were shocked that she would ask us this but Jaslyn was all for it and I was too eventually. We kept in contact with Jamallah for the next couple of months because there were things she needed to ask to make the story flow more as she said.

Well one day she called me up and asked if some photographers she knew could come and take a picture for the cover she wanted. We decided to take a picture in front of Jaslyn’s antique shop ‘Timeless Treasures’. It was funny how the photographer was telling us how to pose for the cover and when we finished, we both had a good laugh because honestly this new found fame was something new for me. And when Jamallah finished her book, which she named after me, Jaslyn and I were the first to read it before it came out.

I have to admit that Jamallah did an amazing job with the book. It really was beautifully written and it even made mia colomba cry a bit. Now Jamallah is talking with my brother Simone about how Delia and he got together as well.

Jamallah tells me that our story is something special and that she has gotten so many messages from people telling her how much they enjoyed reading it. I’ve seen some of the reviews and I am just as impressed by what was said. I do hope that you enjoy reading more about me and my Jaslyn as well as the rest of my brothers since Jamallah has told me that she plans on writing about all of us.

Thanks for letting me talk with you Vicki….Arrivederci


Renzo, Simone, Gianni and Federico Cipriano

Each brother was thriving on their own working in what they were best in doing.

But it’s their mother’s wish for her son’s to find love and happiness like she had with their father, since they have not only been well known for their work ethics but also for their sexual conquest.

Watch as the Cipriano brothers of Kellington try and find love in probably some of the most unlikely of places. Along the way you’ll meet some of the women who take their hearts as well as their minds on a whirlwind ride like no other.

Renzo, the oldest Cipriano brother, lives a life that consists of working at his restaurants, dealing with customers as well as with a persistently aggravating ex-wife. He never had the chance to find the one thing that eluded him the most…

That was until he walked into her store that rainy afternoon…..

Jaslyn Whitman, owner of Timeless Treasure Antiques, lives for a sale as well as making other people happy with the things she has in her shop. Being the ‘new girl in town’, she of course has been on the radar of some men. But she mainly tries to put work over dating men whose only intentions are to get her into bed.
Who thought tall dark and handsome would walk through her door?

Once these two meet, sparks immediately fly…for Renzo. Jaslyn however isn’t ready to deal with what would happen if she got involved with a Cipriano man. It’s up to Renzo however to show Jaslyn that there is more to him than just rumors and lies.


It had been three days since Renzo sent the flowers to Jaslyn. He had yet to hear one word from her. He thought she would have at least called or come by the restaurant or something. But he got nothing at all and it irked him. Despite being Sunday, he didn’t have much to do before the restaurant opened, so he decided to go by her store. When he walked inside, the first thing he noticed were the flowers sitting on the table where she had sat with his mother. He smiled.


Looking to where the voice came from, he saw her walking from the back with a clipboard in her hands and a smile on her pretty face. “Why hello there, Mr. Cipriano, how are you today?”

Even her smile made his heart skip a beat. She was strikingly beautiful even wearing a simple, royal purple dress with a wide belt accenting her hips. Her long legs went on for days tucked inside a pair of brown suede boots that went to her knees. Renzo needed to say something before he ended up looking like a goofball in front of this woman. “Please call me Renzo, Ms. Whitman.”

“And you can call me Jaslyn. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to thank you for the flowers. They were lovely.”

“I’m glad you liked them. As long as my mom is happy then I am happy.”

“I’m the same with mine as well. So what can I do you for today?”

Now what Einstein? What are you going to tell her your reason for being here is? You should have thought of something before you walked in here, stupid. Take a deep breath and just figure out something. “I came to find something for my living room.”

“Oh, well are you looking for some type of furniture or just an accent piece?” Those hazel eyes of hers twinkled at him. God, he could stare at them for days. But he could see by the look in her eyes, she was waiting for his answer.

“I’m looking for an accent piece for my living room. Like a new lamp, vase, or something different or maybe something for my office.”

“Well, come with me and I will show you some pieces that you might like.” As he followed her through rows of pieces of furniture, Renzo released a huge sigh of relief. She showed him several pieces, all of which were beautiful, but he hadn’t a clue on what he wanted to pick. “Your mother told me that you weren’t accustomed to shopping for things,” said Jaslyn.

“Yeah, my ex took most of the stuff in the divorce. I ended up getting a designer friend to redo everything in my place. But I would like to get a vase or another lamp for my office.”

“Now a desk lamp, I have some of those around here. Well, I do have one around here somewhere. I had three of them, actually, if I remember. Oh here they are…over on this desk here. I also have one on that table right there and another on that mahogany desk.” She pointed over toward them as he saw the three in question.

They were all beautiful pieces in their own right, yet he still had a hard time figuring out which one he wanted to get. “Pick one.”


“Pick one out. I told you I wasn’t good at picking out furniture and stuff. Now anything dealing with food I’m all good. But interior stuff like this, I’m totally clueless.”

She laughed. “It’s unusual I get to pick out a piece. I mean sure I give people my input on certain items we have here, but most of the time my customers know what they want.”

If she only knew what I really wanted, Renzo thought as she picked up a desk lamp with a beautiful blue lampshade. “I like this one because it’s stained glass. This is an antique banker’s desk lamp. I like the pretty flowers and the dragonfly…see. The blue is an unusual color.” She walked over to him with lamp in hand. He should have been looking at the lamp, but Renzo was too busy looking at her beautiful hair. He had a sudden urge to touch it, run his fingers through it and take a deep whiff to see just how it smelled.

Steady, old man, easy before you do something stupid.

“Do you think this will look nice on your desk?” she asked.

“Since it’s as lovely as you, Jaslyn, it will make a nice addition to my office,” he said watching a silly smirk spread across her lips turn into a cute giggle.

“I’m sorry for giggling. Let’s go up front and I’ll write you up a ticket.” She walked away leaving him there as he smacked his own head for saying such an asinine comment. Boy, did he feel like the village idiot while walking back toward the front.


Twitter: @silentbutloud1
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