Margery Scott

Please help me welcome my guest, Gina Conkle, to my blog today as she kicks off her Rafflecopter tour (see below). Take it away, Gina.

Why Do We Love Stories?

Everyone craves a good story now and then. Whether the tale comes by way of movie, book, or shared anecdote with a friend, we all push life’s pause button for a story.

Make it a great story and that’s time well spent. But what’s the draw?

What lures you away from a mile long “to-do” list? Some might say escape or entertainment. But I have a different, deeper idea.

We seek meaning. We seek connection.

Think about it. From the first cave paintings to Egyptian hieroglyphs, man worked to express what he saw in the world around him, to understand. We progressed from stone and brick to papyrus and paper. Yet, even oral traditions lasted for centuries and for good reason. Ancient storytellers from hot Mesopotamia to skalds in icy Norse lands fed legends and sagas to rapt audiences.

Often the tales touched on gods and goddesses as men and women tried to make sense of life events, the big things going on around them. Of course, many a yarn was told that included the internal things…like love.

Why else is romance the number book genre sold in America?

Love is as old as Adam and Eve. We seek the deepest connection in love, yet frankly that powerful emotion can baffle us. Books, stories give us some meaning, some understanding and insight into life’s complexities.

Even if we don’t get all the answers, we still shared an experience with the writer and lots of other readers. Don’t you love to gab with a friend about that great book you both read?

Long ago, I briefly volunteered at an adult literacy organization and later became an elementary school teacher. One of the key points I learned while training for both endeavors was this: reading is social.

Stories help us connect and find meaning to the world around us and ultimately to each other.

Thanks for sharing your time with me!

As I close, thank you, Margery Scott, for your kind invitation to be part of this blog. And I invite you, blog reader, to share a comment below on why you love to read.

What makes you hide out with a book?

BIO:
Gina Conkle, a history nerd to the core, loves castles and museums. Her motto: “the older and moldier, the better.” When not enjoying relics, she lives in the present, dabbling in organic gardening. Gina married her favorite alpha male, Brian. The two live with their boys in southern Califronia.

Learn more about Gina and her books here:
Website
Twitter
Facebook
Amazon

NORSE JEWEL excerpt:
He saw wetness on her lashes. She turned her face to the fields, and another piece of the riddle that made Helena fell into place.

Hakan cupped her chin. His thumb stroked her scarred jaw. “Your pouch, the stone is the reason for this. Magnuson said as much.”

She nodded, sniffling and swiping at tears that rolled down her cheeks.

His thumb brushed a tender stroke over her cheek’s curving pink scar. “The stone almost cost you your life. Why?”

Hakan, with great tenderness, stroked her face. The salve had done its work: smooth, touchable skin remained. But the salve only healed skin deep wounds. Some wounds lurked deeper than the Dane’s cut. What ached beneath the surface? More fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

“I am a peasant maid.” Her voice quivered. “When Guerin wanted me, I felt…” Helena sniffed and chewed her lower lip. “I was suddenly important. A woman of value. Without it…”

Her vulnerable admission was a tender spot for her. Couldn’t she see her worth was higher than any stone?

His thumbs wiped away her tears. “Keep the pendant. It came at a great price. Wear it for all to see.”

Hakan took her hand in his and set the necklace in her palm. He curled her fingers over jewel and chain. “Aye, Helena, the stone could buy more thralls. But ‘tis metal and stone. They do nothing for me.”

Her lashes, spiked with wetness, fluttered at him. Bewilderment writ on her face, he soothed his voice as if calming a babe.

He shook his head. “I’ll not trade you for that.”

“I don’t understand.” Her eyebrows knit together.

How could he explain what he didn’t fully understand? He was on shaky ground. From the corner of his eye, part of a red sail caught a strong breeze and fluttered. Selig replaced the rocks that tamped down the sail before the whole cloth blew free. The vibrant red waved at him, a banner by which he could escape explaining why he would not let her go. Hakan waved his arm at the sails drying in the meadow.

“Look what you’ve accomplished in so short a time. You promised me great talent weaving fine linens…to expand my wealth.” Hakan’s arms folded across his chest. “Strong sails for my ships. This I understand.” Tilting his hand toward the jewelry in her hand, the corners of his turned down. “Stones do nothing for me.”

A thousand glittering stones couldn’t equal her worth. He stared into the depths of her blue eyes and called himself a coward for not admitting this to her.

Helena sniffed again and clutched the pendant, returning it to the leather pouch. “Is there no custom? No means to gain my freedom?” she asked, her voice hoarse with emotion.

Hakan sighed. “There are ways.”

“Mardred told me a thrall can earn her freedom after some years of service. Is this true?”

“Aye.” His arms stayed crossed, unmoving. He’d give no more.

“Then, may I strike such an agreement with you?”

“Such as?”

“I want to earn my freedom.” Her eyes pleaded with him.

Hakan shifted his stance, cagey about giving an inch. His neck and shoulders knotted.

True, many a valuable thrall gained freedom after years of service. Most stayed.

“Serve me well for seven years, Helena, and you’ll be a freewoman.”

“The time cannot be shortened?” She clasped her hands together. “Seven years,” she groaned. “So long.”

“I will not be swayed on this.”

She canted her head at him, doubt clouding her features. “But, will you keep your word, my lord?”

“What makes you doubt me? The way I’ve mistreated you?”

Helena flinched at his sarcasm. She was not satisfied. Seven years must feel like one hundred to her. Her fingers plucked at her apron, and she kept silent. A stab, like a hot brand, hit him. This was rejection. An arm’s length from her, Hakan shut himself away as if in a distant fortress. “I require your respect. For seven years.”

Pain flashed from her eyes. She dabbed at their corners and nodded.

Hakan needed to move. He needed something to ease the itch that plagued him. He needed to keep a good distance from her. His ax leaned against the barn. He grabbed it and swung the heavy tool over his shoulder.

“I have to clear some trees,” he announced. The field did need widening, and he needed wood.

The tree line would keep him a safe distance from her, yet he could keep an eye on the longhouse. And the loom where she would sit. Hakan walked to the edge of the yard and something pushed him to needle her.

“I expect fresh bread at my table tonight. See to it.”

Her eyebrows shot up at his harsh command. He hadn’t spoken to her that way since the journey to Svea. Her body visibly bristled at his tone. He waited, and Helena bowed her head in exaggerated servitude. Hakan whistled on his way to chop wood, pleased at gaining the upper hand.

Much could happen in seven years.

NORSE JEWEL is available on Amazon

Here are the details of the Rafflecopter Blog Tour:

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Grand Prize
Grand Prize: 3 wooden spoons, $25 B&N gift card, &The rules:
1 tweet with @ginaconkle about Norse Jewel = 1 entry
1 blog tour comment (1 comment per blog only) = 1 entry
Join my newsletter (see the website “contact page” – can only enter once) = 3 entries

The Rafflecopter lasts as long as Norse Jewel’s Entangled Blog Tour from June 4 – July 4, 2013.

As I promised the other day, I’m back with the details for The Birthday Fantasy. The official release day is tomorrow, but you can order it now from Amazon.

Blurb:

He’s her kidnapper. Can he be her fantasy?

Tate always knew Jamie’s fiancé wasn’t the man for her, so when her father approaches him with a plan to kidnap her in order to the stop the marriage, Tate believes this might be his last chance to convince Jamie he’s the man for her. He whisks Jamie away to Fantasy Lake, Colorado, for her twenty-fifth birthday, hoping to rekindle the passion they’d once shared. Jamie can’t believe her father and childhood best friend and former lover could do such a thing to her two weeks before her wedding to a rich Dallas land developer. But with hot days and scorching nights, her sexy cowboy kidnapper could be just what she needs to fulfill her every fantasy.

Excerpt:
Tate leaned against the frame of the living room door in a much too relaxed pose with his arms folded over a dark green western shirt nearly matching his eyes. He looked her up and down with a smugness irritating her further.

“What are you doing here?”

Removing his hat, he grinned and pushed away from the doorframe. “It’s nice to see you too, princess. I’ve been fine. Thanks for asking.”

“I’m in no mood for your sarcasm.” Glaring at him, she entered the living room and headed for the cabinet in the corner where her father kept a bottle of good Kentucky bourbon. After pouring two shot glasses, she handed one to him.

He raised a dark brow. “It’s a little early, isn’t it?”

She lifted the glass and smiled. “I’m celebrating. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

He shrugged and tapped the edge his glass to hers. “Sure.” He glanced around and sat on the rawhide couch. “I’m here to lighten your mood.”

Jamie tossed back her drink and set the glass on the end table. Crossing her arms in front of her, she leaned against the liquor cabinet. “I haven’t seen or heard from you in nearly four months and now you show up and act like we talk every day. And you’re avoiding my question. What do you really want?”

“Well, you haven’t actually been around much.”

Which was true. Lately she’d been spending a lot of time in Dallas. She tapped her foot and narrowed her eyes on him. God, why was he so damned handsome? His black hair curled around the collar of his shirt. Green eyes danced with mischievousness reminding her of Rhett Butler when he saw Scarlett after she tossed the vase over his head in the drawing room of Tara.
He’d set his hat next to him on the seat, and her breath caught. It was the tan Bailey she’d bought him for his birthday the wonderful summer they’d been together.

Tate looked into his glass of whiskey before drinking it in a single swallow. He winced and set the glass next to hers on the table. “I have a gift for you.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything. I got you a gift for your birthday, but it’s upstairs.”

Why did her heart always race like a horse out of the gate when he smiled at her like he was now?

“Really? You thought of me on my birthday?”

“I’ve always gotten you something for you birthday.” Shrugging, she glanced down at her crossed arms and shifted her feet. “I just never got a chance to get this year’s present to you.”

“Tell you what. You can give it to me later, but you’ll have to come with me to get yours.”

She thought that was odd, but smiled anyway. “Okay.”

“After you.” Standing, he set his hat on his head and gestured through the door.

The last thing she remembered was him putting something over her face and the devil’s voice in her ear.
“Sorry, princess. I’m hoping someday you’ll thank me for this.”

Bio:
Sara Walter Ellwood is an award winning author whose novel Gambling On A Secret was named by bestselling author Carolyn Brown in the Happy Ever After Blog on USA Today as one of her favorite romances of 2012. Although Sara has long ago left the farm for the glamour of the big town, she draws on her experiences growing up on a small hobby farm in West Central Pennsylvania to write her stories. She’s been married to her college sweetheart for nearly 20 years, and they have two teenagers and one very spoiled rescue cat named Penny. She longs to visit the places she writes about and jokes she’s a cowgirl at heart stuck in Pennsylvania suburbia.

She also writes paranormal romantic suspense under the pen name of Cera duBois.
Author links:
Website: http://www.sarawalterellwood.com
Blog: http://www.sarawalterellwood.com/blog/
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/sarawalterellwood.ceradubois/
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/sara_w_ellwood
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6869635.Sara_Walter_Ellwood
To Sign Up for Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/mVxXf

Today, I’m thrilled to welcome my friend, Lala Corriere, to my blog today. Here’s a short bio:

Since early childhood, Lala Corriere has been passionate about all the arts. She is a painter and a former stage performer. Early work careers blended as a Realtor of high-end real estate and President of an interior design firm.

Her fifth grade teacher, Miss Macy, was the first mentor to suggest she consider a career in writing. That extension of the arts, the written word, turned into a fulltime passion in 2001.

Career Highlights:
· Endorsement and long-term mentorship by the late Sidney Sheldon
· Published in regional magazines, newspapers, writer’s guides and journals
· Award winning poetry
· Endorsements from Andrew Neiderman [author of the Devil’s Advocate], Paris Afton Bonds, and many others remarkable authors
· Her first novel, Widow’s Row, was released in November, 2010. Now available as an e-Book, trade paperback, and audio book
· Her second book, Coverboys & Curses, released January, 2012 as an e-Book, will soon be out in trade paperback.
· Evil Cries, coming Summer, 2013.

Readers and reviewers applaud her hallmark original plots, her in-depth character portrayals, rich scene settings, and authentic dialogue, all delivered with a fresh new voice. Oh, and her TWISTS!

Lala is a desert rat. She nestles there with her husband of over 25 years, a Ragdoll, an American Curl, and Finnigan, a 5-pound Teacup Yorkie.

Sounds like a full house, Lala. The blog is yours. Take it away.

LIAR! LIAR! By Lala Corriere

As much as we good humans are reluctant to admit it, we’ve all lied. As children we scream, “I didn’t do it!” As teenagers we may tell our parents, “Mom, the party is being chaperoned.” Adults like to call it a necessary and kind white lie. “No! Those jeans do not make you look fat.”

Remembering lies can be a bit tricky, if not burdensome. Think of the detective that, over and over again, questions the subject. The detective keeps copious notes, if not video. The suspect forgets what he told the detective. Over time his story morphs. The so-called facts change.

Now imagine what it might be like to write about 70-90,000 words, and they’re a compilation of total lies. That’s what the fiction writer does, after all. Everything is made up. We have to remember every scene, every conversation, and every color of the day. All lies.

Last night I changed one little course of action in my new manuscript, Evil Cries. Crap! Not only did I have to go back and change certain elements in certain scenes, I also had to remember where in the manuscript these scenes might be. And did I forget any?

Here are some of my most infamous lies my fabulous beta readers and editors have pointed out to me:

“Lala, she threw her engagement ring on the table in the wedding planner’s studio in Chicago. Now you have her in Colorado shipping the ring back to him. ”

“You started with a fourteen story building. Now it’s only twelve. Did it shrink?”

“Oh, Lala. She was twenty-five, and now she’s twenty-nine. Only three years have passed.”

You have the idea. Her white satin dress WAS torn and now it’s new. It was fall and the cherry blossoms were in their full glory. She hasn’t even met him yet. She met him six chapters ago. UGH! This lying business is exasperating!

I’ve found infamous lies in the best of the best of writers. I won’t name names, but one queen wrote of a blinding snowstorm one night, in winter and in a notoriously cold city, and early the next morning her protagonist was hailing a cab in the rain. No snow boots needed. Just an umbrella.

Be kind, if you will, when you read and find these boo-boos. Let the author or publisher know, if you can, but be gentle! It’s a very tough thing, this lying business!

Evil Cries, Lala’s latest book, will be released this summer. Here’s a short excerpt:

The sociopath notices the panties lying on the floor next to his motionless victim. He picks them up, wads them in his hands, delighted at the prospect. He shudders with delight and maybe apprehension. Should he keep them? Yes, he should. Trophies. But what will he do with them? Where should he hide them where they will live on forever?

The psychopath snatches the panties from the dead. Once in his hands he gently folds them, starting from the left, then center to the right, then up from the bottom to meet the top. He tucks them inside the silk case he has in his left breast pocket. He’s been adding to his collection for years. And like all new trophies, he knows exactly where this newest pair of intimates will go.

And all should cry.

Chapter One
Not the Welcome Wagon

SHE SMELLED LIKE Hell’s testicles. Rotten teeth. Bleeding gums and grimy hair in a rat’s nest of wiry mesh. And urine?
We hadn’t even officially opened our new second store and Bag Lady decides she can stagger right through the front door.
I should have kept the door locked but all of our jewelry pieces were sealed in the vault until I had the security alarm fully functioning and we were open for business.

Bag Lady stumbled toward the center of the store. I slid behind the counter but in full stance, which is a pretty tall drink. She didn’t scare me. She reeked.

“Can I help you?” I asked. I tried to be patient. This was not the first customer in Tucson I had imagined for Falls & Falls. Jeweler to the stars in Beverly Hills and all that.

She turned around. Her grubby hands braced against my beautifully polished glass display cases awaiting their shiny treasure chest of gold, platinum, and gems.

“I don’t think I have anything here you want,” I said.

She remained silent. Her eyes searched mine.

“I don’t even have any food. Look, I can give you bottled water and maybe twenty bucks, but then you need to promise you won’t come back. Do you understand?”

Bag Lady nodded. A speechless beggar. I expected to encounter some language barriers living so close to the border but this woman was lily white. Except for the grunge.

She followed me to the back of the store. When I entered the office I asked her to wait in the small alcove.

Turning my back to retrieve the water and my purse, I heard the tumultuous blast of sound along with the shattering of glass.

Bag Lady reeled around and pulled something from her purse with her right hand. A blow to my shoulder with her left hand pushed me further into the office.

The sound of bullets blasted out from the front of the store. Someone was shooting Bag Lady.

Bag Lady fired a single shot and hollered at me to dial 911.

Lala’s book, Cover Boys and Curses will be FREE from June 1-5 on Amazon

Thanks so much for visiting with me today, Lala. Best of luck with your books.

You can learn more about Lala and her books on her website or contact her by email at Lala@Lalacorriere.com or by mail at PO Box 69194 Tucson, AZ 85737