Sunday, June 30, 2013

Celebrating 22 years in Goatherder style!



Morning all! If you`ve followed this blog for awhile, or know me, you know my family and I are living the rural dream. Raising dairy goats, chasing chickens, getting pinched by the occasional irate goose. Yesterday, Mister and I celebrated our twenty -second wedding anniversary. We decided to do this in true rural fashion  by staying home and doing the things that we enjoyed when we were first sparking. We didn`t have cash to burn then and we still don`t, but we still enjoy the same things - more or less - that we did so many years ago.

So, here`s how a goofy goatherder and her fuzzy-faced hubby spent their special day this year.

First thing bright and early we hit the bass pond!



Pretty up here in the Laurel Highlands, isn`t it? No fishing trip is complete without an oarsman. This is mine, just as handsome as he was twenty-two years ago, but with considerably more gray hair in his beard.



And who catches the first bass of the day? Me. Eat your heart out Jimmy Houston.



We - or I should say I - had a wee fright during our fishing trip. I was casting along merrily when my husband says -

"Now don`t freak out but . . ."

Of course, when someone says that to me, I assume a swarm of killer bees have landed on my back. I have a terror of bees and stinging things that goes beyond any rational explanation. I reply to his statement with my own.

"Get it off me!"

"No, it`s not a bee, it`s a snake under the boat seat," he informs me. Letting loose a huge sigh of relief I peek down to see the snout of a grass snake peering out from under the seat. His little red tongue was flickering as he tried to figure out why his cozy home was now floating instead of resting upside on the bank.

"Okay, cool, I like snakes," I smiled and resumed casting for bass.

"Just wanted you to know in case he went up your pant leg," my spouse said.

Yes, I would imagine a snake up my pant leg might very well result in the boat being capsized. Fortunately, the snake stayed under the seat, and Mister and I stayed dry. After a lovely few hours we returned home, got to say goodbye to Miss leaving for a graduation party and a night at her boyfriend`s house, and did a few chores.

Dinner was a delicious pot of Chicken Chow Mein, something we usually never have because Miss dislikes Chinese.



And to wrap up this lovely day, a really funny movie on pay-per-view.



So that`s how we elder goatherder`s celebrated our anniversary. Well, that`s not all the celebrating we did, but I`m not sharing everything with you! *winks naughtily*


Saturday, June 29, 2013

Wind in White Birch - Issue # 26







It`s time once again for another issue in my free contemporary romance Wind in White Birch. 

I hope you`re enjoying reading this romance as much as I`m enjoying writing it for you.


Storytime Trysts

Thursday, June 27, 2013

Two-Fer Book Review!

I`ve been slacking in my book reviews. Blame it on a certain series of hockey romance books that my muse is obsessed with writing. I do apologize for not getting these out quicker. So, without further ado or muse blaming, let`s get rolling with a couple short reviews of the last two books I read.

First we`ll start with Retribution Falls by Chris Wooding-



Holy cow and wowzers! This was an amazingly entertaining read! My first steampunk novel that was not also a paranormal romance literally blew me away. The story centers on the airship the Ketty Jay and its crew. The captain, Darian Frey, hasn`t had an easy life, nor has he made good choices along the way. Seems like everyone onboard his ship is running from something. Crake is a deamonist hiding from some terrible dark past that travels with an armored golem. Jez, the new navigator will do anything to keep her secret safe from the crew. Malvery is a surgeon living in disgrace at the bottom of a hip flask.

So when Frey is offered the chance to steal a chest filled with gems from a vulnerable airship, he leaps on the chance. Finally! Here is the chance to be the rich man he has always dreamed of. And besides, it`s an easy job. What could possibly go wrong?

Plenty. The heist goes terribly and suddenly Frey finds himself the most wanted man in Varnia. He and his motley crew are being hounded by bounty hunters, Century Knights, and the dreaded queen of the sky, Trinica Dracken, who Frey has a past with. Frey now knows he has been set up, but by who and why? The answer might just be found in the hidden pirate stronghold known as Retribution Falls. Now all he has to do is get there without being blasted out of the air.

This was a five star read from beginning to end. Fast paced action, swashbuckling adventure, well-written characters with painful pasts, superb world-building, and romance. It has it all and delivers the tale in a fast, exhilarating pace. Grab a copy. I promise you won`t be disappointed.

Now onto the second book-

A few weeks ago on my blog I wrote a post about the first romance I ever read. I vowed to find a copy and reread. Well, here is my copy and I just wrapped up reading Nakoa`s Woman for the second time.



Oh yes, this book has been read and read and then read again. The lovely lady that runs my local Indie bookstore found me a copy, with the same cover as I remembered! Opening the yellowed pages instantly took me back to that first time I read this historical romance back in the early seventies.

We start the book with Nakoa having his vision quest, where he sees a white woman and accepts her as his Nitosan, a vision from Napi that will protect and guide him. Years pass. A brutal attack on her wagon train finds the lovely Maria Frame as the only survivor. Running for her life she is taken captive by the Blackfoot warrior, Nakoa. From the initial moment of her capture, Maria fights not only her growing feelings for her captor, but the scorn from the Blackfoot tribe. The two lovers soon find themselves challenging not only their people, but the Blackfoot and White customs as well. This is a powerful, bittersweet, violent, depressing, uplifting romance.

I will admit that I had slightly different thoughts about the protagonist Maria this second time around. She worked on my nerves in places with her stubborn, ditzy, immature ways. Of course, this change in thinking is based on gathering over forty some years of life experience. Reading a book at thirteen and then reading it again at fifty-two is likely to bring about some changes in how you relate to the characters involved.  Maria reminded me a good deal of Bella Swan, who set my teeth on edge throughout her own series, because of her immaturity. Yes, I know, these are young women both in their late teens, and so this type of behavior is to be expected.

There was a very funny tidbit I read on the internet written by Andy Rooney, where he praised women over forty. One particularly hilarious line that I have passed along to my dear hubby went something like this –

“A woman over the age of forty will never wake you up in the middle of the night to ask what you`re thinking. She doesn`t care what you think.”

Bazinga! I`m at that stage in my life, and admittedly I find it grueling to read young women throwing themselves around, whining and plotting and whimpering when the man they love doesn`t devote himself to them twenty-four seven and three sixty five. But, this is my problem to deal with. The author did a wonderful job of bringing the angst of a young woman`s first love to life. The romance moved me as it did all those years ago. The secondary characters made me laugh and weep. I really enjoyed taking this walk through such a moving physical and spiritual love. Yes, the writing style is dated. That didn`t detract from the experience one bit for me.

As a historical Native American romance, I happily give Nakoa`s Woman four stars. And I plan to gently retire this book to my shelves of never to be traded novels.

Oh, you`d like to see those shelves? Okay, in two weeks I`ll share my keeper books with y`all. Maybe we have a few shared tastes! At the very least you`ll get to know why certain books never leave my hands.




Monday, June 24, 2013

Tuesday Tales - Hand

Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales again. This week I`ll be sharing an excerpt from my WIP (Work In Progress) Pink Pucks and Power Plays, an M/F sports romance, starring my sassy curvaceous society page reporter, Viviana Land, and defense-man for the Philadelphia Wildcats professional hockey team, Alain Lessard.

In today`s excerpt, Viviana confronts Bert having lunch with the owner of the country club. There is some adult language in this excerpt, so don`t be shocked. You`ve been warned.

This week our word prompt is ‘Hand’. Since this is a rough draft there may be some mistakes. 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!






I can`t imagine what a sight the three of us must have been stalking through the country club with our sights locked and loaded on Bert. Hell, I hadn`t even put on makeup or did my hair. That`s how many fucks I did not give.  Bobby, the owner of the country club, is a dashing man, in his late sixties with a wife of over forty-five years, three kids and more grandkids than he has fingers and toes. He also is a terrible ass-grabber and titty-pincher. Trust me, I`ve covered enough faux aristocratic shit happenings at this country club to know. Bobby`s eyes widened in appreciation. Bert turned in his captain`s chair and his face dropped like a lead dirigible. I shoved a waiter aside.

I was at the table before Bert could extricate himself from the tablecloth he had tucked into the waistband of his green polyester pants.

“Viviana, how delightful to see you!” Bobby exclaimed and shoved his seat back as he stood up, no doubt to try to paw my backside. I threw a glare at the lecherous swine that made his knees fold. His ass hit his seat soundly. I placed my hands to the table; fingers splayed over glittering silverware and precisely folded cloth napkins of royal blue to match the carpeting and drapes.

“You pathetic, insecure, little fucker,” I whispered. Bert opened his mouth then snapped it closed as he jerked the corner of the tablecloth free.

“You can`t talk to me like that.”

“You want to bet? I`ll say what I have to say and then Bobby can call security and throw me out.”

“Now Viviana, I wouldn`t throw out a woman who possesses such a great pair of . . .”

“I`d watch what I say, Bob, there are witnesses this time and they both work at the paper,” I sneered at the grinning jerk. Liz and Oscar stepped up to flank me. He stopped grinning instantly. Then I turned my attention back to Bert. Grabbing a butter knife from the table I waved it at him. His skin paled noticeably. “As for you, what you did with Alain was below contempt. It was unprofessional, disgusting, hurtful, and showed just what a tiny dick you really have!”

“Fuck you, Land!” he snapped and slapped the butter knife aside. “You`re just pissed off that someone with some moral fucking fiber put an end to that slap-and-screw assignment you were milking in more ways than one. You`re a fat, loud-mouthed whore who got caught with her slut panties down around her ankles. The next time you think to step out of the fucking society page you`ll remember just how it feels to get fucked by a real man and not some kid from Moose Balls, Saskatchewan!”

I slapped the smug look off his face so hard his comb-over flew back to its original side.  Then I leaned in real close, so he could look into my eyes and I could smell the garlic in the ranch dressing he had ingested not five minutes ago.

“FYI, Bert, you pathetic jerk-off, I have been fucked by a real man and even at his tender age he is more man than you will ever be. You better enjoy this lunch,” I waved the silver butter knife at the table, Bobby, and the two waiters who were standing behind the owner of the golf course with their mouths open, “Because when the I get done with you and your microscopic prick, you`re going to be writing about the quilt guild in . . . where was it? Oh yes, Moose Balls, Saskatchewan.”

“Fuck off, Land, you got nothing on me,” Bert snickered as I flung the knife over my shoulder.

“Keep laughing asshat.” I grabbed the pitcher of martinis and dumped it over his head before making my exit. It must have been a grand exit despite my casual attire of jeans, white peasant top, and sneakers. Several members of the serving staff were waiting by the doors, clapping discreetly while Bert roared like a gin-soaked lion. I nodded regally as my entourage and I sailed out into the oppressive humidity that only August and rain can make.

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, June 22, 2013

Wind in White Birch - Issue # 25



It`s time once again for another issue in my free contemporary romance Wind in White Birch. 

I hope you`re enjoying reading this romance as much as I`m enjoying writing it for you.



Storytime Trysts

Thursday, June 20, 2013

Silly Goose

Yes, I have one. Well, actually I have five, but for this short story we`ll stick to just the one.

It all started about five weeks ago when my two geese decided it was time to sit. I was all sorts of cool with that. After all, I do love my web-footed friends! Their nests had a nice amount of eggage ( adding the –age there was for all my friends from Minnesota) and so we let them do their thang. Well, as it worked out somehow, a week ago Diane, my eldest goose, hatched out one gosling, who we named Smitty.



Only one gosling out of about seven eggs? Hmm, that`s rather odd, and very unlike my ganders. I saw them doing their gander duties quite often, so the fertility rate should have been higher. Upon further investigation in the goose coop (at risk of flogging and pinching since Zoey was still on her nest and in a fowl mood) we discovered that Zoey had snaggled a few eggs from Diane somehow. What happened to the rest we don`t know. We`re assuming a few got broken but it`s a mystery.

Well, as you can see Smitty is darn cute. Heck, I`d hang with him if I could, but I can`t since his bodyguards are known to throw hissy-fits all the times if I get near him. It seems that Smitty is SO cute that he can even draw sitting geese off their nests. Uh-huh. Zoey abandoned her nest to chill out with Smitty and his posse. Being the kind of people we are, Mister and I gathered the nine eggs and put them into the magic box. A few days ago the eggs hatched. Out of the nine original we had seven after candling. Out of those seven only four hatched, but oh-my-gosh what an adorable gaggle of fluffy butts they are!












Cute as buttons, aren`t they?



Monday, June 17, 2013

Tuesday Tales - Picture Prompt

Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales again. This week I`ll be sharing an excerpt from my WIP (Work In Progress) Pink Pucks and Power Plays, an M/F romantic-comedy, starring my sassy, curvaceous society page reporter, Viviana Land, and defenseman for the Philadelphia Wildcats professional hockey team, Alain Lessard.

In today`s excerpt, we see just a bit of the aftermath of the break-up as Viviana gets by with a little help from her friends.

This week we`re writing to a picture prompt and the excerpt must not be longer than 300 words.

Since this is a rough draft there may be some mistakes. 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!



“No, I don`t think so.” Liz crawled onto the stool beside me. “He is furious. Bert is pushing him pretty hard to . . .”
She paused at the hate-filled growl that rolled from me at the mention of Bert Anderson.

“Anderson called Alain, that shit-faced douche radish,” I snarled, staring at my coffee and turnover with unfettered abhorrence. “He told him who I was and what I was doing. I was going to go tell Alain the truth, you know? I had it all worked out as I drove down that lovely lane to his farm house. ” I looked at the sad young woman patting my arm. “I was going to run to Alain and confess how much I love him, and then tell Frank I was pulling out of the assignment. But Alain had already been told. He found the entire article and read it. I couldn`t begin to make him see anything besides my lies and – and betrayals.” I gasped as a sloppy sob bubbled out.

“Oh, poor Viv,” Liz drew me into her arms. “Poor, poor, Viviana,” she kept crooning. Normally I would have shied away, but I was so miserable even this gothic waif`s meaningless platitudes made me feel better. For a moment. Then I would recall Alain and me preparing something to eat or that we nearly made love right here on the counter.

“Personally, I think that bitch Bert Anderson needs his nuts kneaded with a pointy-toed boot,” Oscar interjected, “And I have just the boots, too.”

“Thanks,” I sniffled, pulling away from Liz. “Go tell Frank that I`ll be in before the end of the day.” I lifted my coffee mug carefully. “Either of you have any ideas where I can find Bert today?”


Copyright ©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 for from Viviana and Alain!



Saturday, June 15, 2013

Wind in White Birch - Issue # 24






It`s time once again for another issue in my free contemporary romance Wind in White Birch. 

I hope you`re enjoying reading this romance as much as I`m enjoying writing it for you.


Storytime Trysts

Thursday, June 13, 2013

Misty Harvey Pays a Visit!

Howdy gang! Today I`m thrilled to have a lovely author stopping in to visit. It`s all yours, Misty!

*~*~*


Left open to my own devices for this blog I took time to come up with a creative, yet entertaining way to promote my new release, Soul Reaper. After careful consideration I thought why not interview the Hubby Man.

Did he write the book? Well no, but he has stuck by my side through all my crazy writer stages. Besides it’ll be fun to see what those around us go through when we decide to write a novel. So let’s begin.

Okay, Hubby Man, how did you know I was getting ready to start Soul Reaper?

That is an easy enough place to begin. I came home from work one day and the couch sat in the middle of the floor. All the picture frames had been removed off the exposed wall, there were note cards everywhere, and your cat was tangled up in the yarn.

Does it annoy you when I use the wall to map out books?

Nah, I love rearranging the house, said no man ever. The note cards on the wall are comparable to the ex-cop in the movies that gets obsessed with that 1 case that got away...hehehe.

You know you do. Now next question. What did you think of the plot when I told you about it?

The plot or you?

Both.

The story intrigued me, but it had major holes, and gaps. There would be plenty of places to improve it. To which I did the nice thing and pointed them out to you. You know always helping you improve, Baby. *Just a side note for all you significant others, unless you like sleeping on the couch, Do Not do that unless specifically asked*. As for you? You are one twisted and crazy person.

Haha, I’m not that bad.

Right.

What was it like living with me while I wrote Soul Reaper?

Seriously? Do I have to answer this?

Yup.

Ever tried to take a game system from your kid? Yeah, it was like that, but with the added bonus of camping. A lot. On the couch.

How about the editing stages? Anything in particular you remember?

A lot of tears.

Yes, I got seriously frustrated and cried tons.

No, mine. The couch isn’t so comfortable and especially not when your cat has a mind to fluff my kidneys all night. One day I’ll learn not to open my mouth.

Aw, he loves you.

Sure, that is what it means. I just love you so much, let me give you acupuncture all night.

What did you think of the final version of Soul Reaper?

Best book I ever read *gives a cheesy grin*. No really, you’ll have to read it for yourself. It is creepy, and the twists keep you on edge.

Anything else you’d like to include?

Please don’t make me sleep on the couch. I didn’t include your random acts of charades when you can’t think of a word and want me to help you, or the fact you pull weird faces when you are really invested in a piece you are writing.

Yeah. Thanks for not including those *rolls eyes*.

I know, I’m sleeping on the couch. Before I gather my bedding out of the room, one last thing, it really is a good book. Check it out.

Here is one of our favorite excerpts.

Eva found the medical section and went over their files. They all talked about the same things. The same problems led them to where they were. They would hear voices – see things that nobody else saw – and eventually it would drive them mad. Eva shivered at the thought. She experienced every one of those things. Her thoughts turned back to her father. Like each of these victims, nobody believed Eva either. Would her father eventually have her exorcised or committed?

The thought terrified her. At least now, she could try to get away, if she were committed there would be no hope. Her blood ran cold. It would be lights out Eva. She heard a tapping on wood behind her. Eva spun around leaving the microfilm machine on. She followed the tapping noise.

Her body froze on one end of bookshelves. There on the other was the ghost boy. Eva couldn’t believe she was seeing him. This wasn’t her house. Now he’d taken to following her around? The fear he’d instilled in her at home wasn’t enough?

“Did you find what you were looking for?” the voice came out of nowhere and everywhere. The odd thing being the boy’s lips never moved. He just kept tapping on the end of the bookshelf.

“Go away,” Eva screamed, “you won’t get me too.” Her hands fisted at her sides.

“You’re already weakening,” the voice came again. Richard’s arms stretched in front of him. The microfilms began unraveling onto the ground. Entire rolls flew off the shelves.

Eva ducked as a large film roll that nearly hit her head. She snatched up her book bag. Her feet slid on the film. It tangled around her feet, threatening to pull her back to the boy.

“Help,” Eva screamed. She prayed this time to be caught. Her hands clawed at the wood stairs. She peered back seeing the boy standing behind her. It fueled Eva to fight harder. For each step she made it up, she was drug back down two of them. Her adrenaline pumped.

“Join us, Eva. We have been waiting so long for someone like you.” A voice came from her right ear. There peering between the steps were red eyes. The ears were mere scars on the sides of his head. Twisted lumps of flesh among all that gray skin. He reached from between the stairs to grab her.
Eva released the stair just as his ice-cold hand brushed hers. She fell onto the stone floor with a thump. It caused the air to rush out of her lungs.

“You’re already halfway there, Eva. It would be so easy to just let go.” A girl was slithering over the stone toward her. Scars lined her face. Her legs were nothing more than dead weight. The white of her nightgown caught on rough edge of the stone.

“Come with us,” they all chanted.

The boy stepped forward this time. She felt their hands grabbing a hold of her arms.
Richard pinned her legs. “It is time.” His eyes slid into black abyss. Fire burned within the depths of them. Eva felt her own body growing colder. The closer the boy drew to her, the colder it got. She sucked in a deep breath. The air smelled of decayed corpses, sulfur, and death.



Come take a wild ride with Eva and her friends. One where up is down, down is up. Left is right, and right is left. A ride where nightmares, and reality collide.

The only way to survive…remain sane in a world driven to see you fail.

Links for author Misty Harvey:


Twitter: https://twitter.com/Elaurana


You can purchase your copy today for $.99



Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/soul-reaper-misty-harvey/1115226234?ean=2940016494500



I've always felt a certain draw to the night, and the creatures that live there. So writing about these beings has always been easy for me. That isn't to say there isn't always a certain level of mysticism in each experience. I've lived with the characters of my books, heard their tales, experienced their up and downs with them.

Now I share it all with you, my readers. Come join me in a walk in the moonlight. Let us experience a new way of life that occurs after sunset.

Monday, June 10, 2013

Tuesday Tales - Shoe

Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales again. This week I`ll be sharing an excerpt from my WIP (Work In Progress) Pink Pucks and Power Plays, an M/F sports romance, starring my sassy curvaceous society page reporter, Viviana Land, and defenseman for the Philadelphia Wildcats professional hockey team, Alain Lessard.

In today`s excerpt, Viviana discovers her secret has come out.

This week our word prompt is ‘Shoe’. Since this is a rough draft there may be some mistakes. 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!



The farm house rose up to greet me like an old friend. Exiting my Honda I could feel the coolness the old oaks and pines afforded. My heart was thumping twice its normal rate as I took a moment to straighten my hair and smooth down my sun dress. Once I was presentable, I flounced up onto the front step, my eyes locking onto Alain`s as he sat on the swing with three dogs stretched out on well-used floorboards. I glanced down at Daisy slumbering at his side on the swing. Her eyes were open, and her tail was wiggling. None of the dogs had greeted me with their usual enthusiasm. Something was off.

I faltered for a second at the cold gaze he settled upon me. I worked up a smile, still resolute in my plans to tell him just how much he had come to mean to-

“I had a very interesting phone call from one of your fellow employees,” Alain said, his words so icy the fine hairs on my neck stood up. I wet my freshly lipsticked lips. He sat there, arms stretched across the back of the swing, staring at me. I reached up to scratch my cheek. A fat carpenter bee bumped along the porch. “Are you planning to ask which one?” he finally inquired. I shook my head dully. I had a damned good idea who had stabbed me in the back. He rolled a lip then threw my iPad at me. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his face. I worked at making words but they wouldn`t form. The tablet bounced off my thigh, hit my shoe, and then landed beside a resting dog.

“I know this looks bad, but I can explain,” finally rolled out and even I grimaced at how terribly lame that was. Alain, he exploded upward from the swing. I stepped back instinctively although I knew Alain was not the sort of man that would hit a woman. Perhaps I just needed to step away from the cloud of rolling anger and agony that was moving with him. He lifted a finger and pointed it at my face.

“I don`t want to hear one word of denial come from such lying lips.”

That warm loverly feeling I had carried with me as I drove out here? It withered and died.

“It was Bert that called, wasn`t it?” I asked weakly. Alain threw up his hands then slammed into the house. None of the dogs moved. I stepped over them, my fingers balled tightly into fists at my side. I jumped when a duffel bag hit the wall beside the front door where I filled the jambs.

“What does it matter?!” he snarled. He was right, it didn`t matter, not really. But I wanted to know who to run over with my car when I got the chance.

“It matters to me.”

“Why, what does you care?! At least this Bert person was good enough to tell me what you are, what you do for a living! Each word from you - it was a lie. You are no paralegal, you are a reporter come to my bed to lure me into telling you things. Pute a cinq cennes!” he snarled. I drew back as if slapped even though I hadn`t a clue what he had called me. It didn`t need the translation; I could tell by the vehemence it was something terrible. “Get out. Take your things and leave. Do not come back.”

“I love you,” I said as I plotted to kill Bert Anderson.  It was so weak and so meaningless in the onslaught of his pain and ire but I had to say it. He gaped at me.

“Get away from my house,” Alain said his voice so thick and deep it was as if another person had taken over his soul. “Go away and do not ever come near me again. You do not know love if it would spit in your eye! Go!” he rushed at where I seemed to be frozen. I began to cry. The duffel bag being thrust into my chest pushed me back a step. I clutched the stupid Wildcats bag as if it were a flotation device, which was apropos since I was drowning in a mire of my own doing. “You are free now to print your story. Go home and write about what a stupid ass I am. Tell them all how I said I loved you while you laughed!”

“I never laughed!” I shouted, the duffel a lumpy chest plate that emboldened me, I guess. “I never laughed! I would never do that to you.”

It was his sneer that did me in. My heart broke into so many tiny bits it would never be whole.

“You would do that and worse, Viviana. You did worse!” his accent becoming heavier with each word. “You sleep with me for months and writed down every word I ever told you for pillow talking!” the man spun from me and cleared a lamp from an end table. I began to tremble wildly.

“I did not. There is not one thing in that article about what you and I did in bed!”

Alain had stopped trashing his house. Now he stood staring at the broken glass and lop-sided lampshade at his feet. His head was down, his shoulders collapsed.

“I do love you, Alain.”

“Go away Viviana, please. You have gotten enough juicy tidbits for the paper. Go and leave me alone. I do not wish to hear your voice again,” he said with a motion of his hand in my general direction. I wanted to stay and argue, to make him see that, yes, I had started this under false pretenses, but that things had changed as we had fallen in love. I took a step. The floorboard screamed. His body tightened up.

I turned and left, tripping over dogs in my haste.


Copyright ©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, June 8, 2013

Wind in White Birch - Issue # 23







It`s time once again for another issue in my free contemporary romance Wind in White Birch. 

I hope you`re enjoying reading this romance as much as I`m enjoying writing it for you.


Storytime Trysts

Thursday, June 6, 2013

My First Romance




Sometimes I get asked what was it that made me want to write romance novels. I don`t think I have any one reply to that query, as there are lots of things about romance books that spur me to write and read them. The character development, the humor, the angst, the climaxes (Take that one as you will *wink-nudge*) and the knowledge that despite what I saw on the news today, an HEA (Happily Ever After)awaits me at the end of the book.

Recently I was having a discussion with my fellow writers over at Storytime Trysts, and the topic of our first romance novels came up. It took me zero seconds to remember mine, and what an impact it had on me. The book is titled Nakoa`s Woman and is written by Gayle Rogers. It was first released in 1972 and has been rereleased a few times. I haven`t read it for over thirty years but I plan to reread it soon. This is the cover I remember-



And this is the newer cover-



It`s the story of a beautiful white girl who is captured by the Black Foot warrior, Nakoa. The book then goes on to show us their stormy relationship as she struggles to understand her growing love for her captor, while he fights against the customs of his people.  It`s a powerful, realistic Native American historical romance that will have you in tears more than once.

Now if I do the math, I was around twelve when I first read this book. I`m not sure how I got my hands on it, but I suspect I stole it from my mother`s room. However it came into my hands it has remained in my mind and heart for all those years. This was the book that really opened up my eyes to many aspects of romance novels. Probably some I shouldn`t have been eyeballing at that age, I suspect. It sucked me into the power of a love between a man and woman, it showed me that love fortifies you when life seems unbearable, and it instilled a passion in my heart for the genre that has yet to be extinguished.

If I`m writing about zombie hunters, gods and goatherders, hockey stars, or single mothers falling for Seneca guides, the trials of our lovers as they fight to hold onto that love is what keeps me coming back again and again. The heartache and ecstasy of love never grows old, at least for me.

So tell me, what was your first book in your favorite genre? What about it created that lifelong spark for you to read or write about it?





Monday, June 3, 2013

Tuesday Tales - Train

Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales again. This week I`ll be sharing an excerpt from my WIP (Work In Progress) Pink Pucks and Power Plays, an M/F sports romance, starring my sassy curvaceous society page reporter, Viviana Land, and defenseman for the Philadelphia Wildcats professional hockey team, Alain Lessard.

In today`s excerpt, Viviana spends some time with her two eccentric aunts after the old gals put their motorcycle in a ditch.

This week our word prompt is ‘Train’. Since this is a rough draft there may be some mistakes. 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!



I stalked back to my car, dug out my cell and called my mechanic, Greg.  I was guaranteed the tow truck would arrive within thirty minutes. So, now I just had to sit with the two disgruntled oldsters until their ride was back on the road.

“Let`s go sit in the shade under that oak tree,” I offered, bringing a slightly warm bottle of raspberry flavored spring water with me. I got the old gals situated and rehydrated and then sat myself down between them. Both the women had rosy cheeks and sweat-beaded brows. “So, aside from Goldfinger, what`s up with you two?”

“The newspaper boy threw the paper into the rain gutter yesterday,” Aunt Patty told me, her back stiff yet. I nodded. That was a recurring problem. I`d have to call Brad in circulation and complain again. I took the bottle of water, gulped a few mouthfuls and then handed it to Patty, who was now up on her knees with her back to her sister and me. I read the back of her t-shirt and nearly died.

“Aunt Patty! What the hell kind of shirt is that for you to wear?!” I looked up and down the road in mortification. Patty sat down roughly after getting Jasper the one-eyed beaver situated in a clump of tall weeds.

“I fixed it,” she harrumphed and snapped the bottle from my hand.”I wrote ‘don`t’!”

“Yes, but simply writing ‘Don`t’ in pen over the ‘Eat a beaver to save a tree’ message isn`t really making things any better!” No wonder those teenagers had gotten such a hoot as they drove past. Dear God above. “Do you even know what that means?”

“Of course I do, Viviana! I`m not a nincompoop! It means some terrible people out there want folks to eat beaver! Imagine such a thing,” she mumbled and drank greedily.  A knot appeared between my eyebrows that would be there for days I feared. “So how goes things with you and that good-looking coach?”

The sudden shift in conversation shouldn`t have stunned me. They do it all the time. Yet this time I had to inhale deeply and ponder before replying. Somewhere in the distance a train whistle blew.


“Things are actually going very well,” I said, finding a grasshopper leaping into the middle of Plantation Road quite fascinating. I tucked my dress over my knees as they rested against my breasts. “I think I may be . . . well, there are complications,” I added as the impending deadline for my article hovered in front of me. “I really like him, Alain that is,” I explained and looked at both of my aunts. They bobbed their heads in understanding. “I mean I really like him. I think I might have fallen for him. But there`s this damned article I`m supposed to write. A real in-depth expose sort of thing that will make me a common name when the story breaks,” I paused to inhale and watch the grasshopper make another leap down the white line.

“The story is about Alain though, and at first it seemed easy. Just flirt and have fun and maybe get a good roll then when I had enough dirt, turn it over to Frank. But now . . . now it`s not simple at all,” I hugged my thighs closer to my chest.

“What happens if you tell this Frank to shove the article up his poop-chute?” Aunt Penny asked in a horrible British accent.

“I lose my job, my condo, my car, and probably my fish. I am just meeting my monthly bills.” I stared at the grasshopper so blithely hopping along in life with nary a care in the world. “If I don`t do this I will lose all credibility and will never be able to find another job at any other paper. Frank will make sure of that. He can be a vindictive prick when he wants to be.”

“If you love Alain, why don`t you just marry him?” Aunt Patty asked, dribbling water into Jasper`s closed mouth. I turned from that spectacle to find my green grasshopper cleaning his antenna mid-road.

“Because I`m an independent woman. I`m not marrying a man just to keep a roof over my head,” I stated firmly.

“But Viviana, honey, that job won` t keep you warm at night.” Aunt Penny told me then began humming ‘God Save the Queen.’

“She`s right. I think you know what you need to do,” Aunt Patty`s gnarled hand came to rest on my shoulder. I smiled at the grasshopper as she rubbed in tiny circles just as she had done when I was a kid and came home with a conundrum. “Honesty is always the best policy. Just go tell your boss you can`t turn traitor to the man you love.”

Amazing how the “batty” ones could sometimes see with so much clarity. The arrival of a bright green tow truck sent the gals into a suspicion fest that wouldn`t end for at least a week. Violet and I would be getting calls about GM and Ford trying to infiltrate the engine of the Indian with all their advanced computer shit. The phone calls from old women with conspiracy theories would be okay though. Once I got back to Alain`s farm house things would be super.

I`d confess that I had tumbled hopelessly in love with him, we`d make love all afternoon and night, and then tomorrow morning I`d walk into Frank`s office and tell him that I could not in good conscious submit my article to him or the paper. I`d get fired, yes, but I`d be taking a moral stand. And besides, I would have Alain at my side, proudly holding my hand.

As I waved goodbye to the tow truck and my aunts forty-five minutes later, I was on top of the world. It had become a skippity-doo-da sort of day! I glanced down at the white line for that grasshopper. Hell, maybe he`d sing me a song about taking the right road or wishing on a star like his famous cricket family member had. I found the poor bastard flattened right on the white line. Guess they`ll be no song from him today.


Copyright ©by V.L. Locey

*~*~*

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See you next week for more from Viviana and Alain!




Saturday, June 1, 2013

Wind in White Birch - Issue # 22






It`s time once again for another issue in my free contemporary romance Wind in White Birch. 

I hope you`re enjoying reading this romance as much as I`m enjoying writing it for you.


Storytime Trysts