Blog Award Time

I’ve received a few blog awards lately and have been so busy I haven’t acknowledged them yet. I do appreciate everyone thinking of me when they receive these, and hope you'll forgive me for being so late with a response.

I received the Liebster Award from Derek Flynn and Diana Murdock. They are both wonderful bloggers and writers. (Derek’s also a musician . . . a good one, too!)

1. Thank the giver and link back to the blogger who gave it to you.
2. Reveal your top 5 picks [blogs with fewer than 200 followers] and let them know by leaving a comment on their blog.
3. Copy and paste the award on your blog.
4. Have faith that your followers will spread the love to other bloggers.
5. And most of all – have bloggity-blog fun!
6. Don't feel obligated to re-post the awards.

Here are my picks:

1. Sarah Ballance - She's an excellent romantic suspense writer and also a friend. Her publisher loves her right now as she's pushing out lots of titillating (yes, I used that on purpose) novels.

2. 120Socks - This woman is a downright awesome blogger. She writes novels, poetry, blogs, and she's an amazing tweep. Follow her and she'll knock your socks off. (Bad puns all around.)

3. Amberr Meadows - She travels, she writes about travels and she makes us all wish we were there.

4. Johanna K. Pitcairn - There's an element of pain in all her posts, and she uses it to her benefit. Sometimes she scares me, sometimes she makes me laugh, but mostly I enjoy watching her journey to make amends with life.

5. Michelle Moloney - She's a teacher. A good one. Her blogs are thoughtful and insightful, and she's always there to help us grow.


The Irresistibly Sweet Blog Award

Ashley Nixon and I recently met via Twitter, and she wowed me with a conversation between she and one of her characters. I loved it. And I'm pretty sure I'm going to love her book too. She awarded me with the aforementioned umm . . . award and I am honored.

I'm supposed to supply you with seven things you don't know about me. I can think of seven million things you don't know about me, but compacting it all down to seven?? This is difficult . . . .

1. I played the french horn.
I may not be able to hold a note with my voice, but in middle school I learned to make music with the french horn. There are many days I miss this beautiful brass, but there isn't any time in my life to pick it up again.

2. My favorite color is purple.
My husband often jokes the best way to get me to buy something is to paint it purple. If he wants a jetski or motorcylce, he tries to find matching ones in purple . . . for me of course. I've caught on to his game, and it only works on occasion now.

3. I like things in 3's (appropriate for number 3)
I have three children, three dogs, three cats and I live on three acres.

4. My dream car is a '72 Super Beetle
Yes, that's right. If I could have any car in the world, it would an old VW PURPLE Bug. My hubby and I have been on the look-out for my baby, but have yet to find the right buy.

5. If I hit the book writing lottery (that is, if I become famous), I won't be able to stop working
Why? Well for one, my hubby and son's dream cars are expensive and for two, most of my creativity hits me on my fifty-mile commute to work.

6. I can never decide where my "fantasy rich home" would be.
I love the mountains, I love the ocean, I love the forests, I love NATURE. So when people ask me where I'd live if I were rich . . . I usually don't have an answer.

7. I wanted to become a wedding planner
Yeah, that's right. Laugh all you want, but that's what I wanted to be. I love weddings and I love planning things. I discovered my love for this profession when I was nailing down the details for my own wedding to my wonderful husband. Unfortunately, it's not a business you can easily jump into. I put my creativity to use in other ways, and I think I've finally found my niche . . . writing.

Now, enough about me. Here are my blog picks:

1. Kellianne Sweene - Always fun, always positive.

2. Al Boudreau - Cause he's father twitter for writers and one of my besties!

3. Kelly S. Gamble - She's supportive and fun.

Before I go, I'd like to thank Amberr Meadows and David Beem for assigning awards for my blog as well. Without all the wonderful bloggers, tweeps, and fellow supporters, writing wouldn't be as much fun.

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Little Shop of Horrors

Today my family and I went to the grocery store. We like to make an event out of shopping—or shopping makes an event out of us. I’m not sure. Whatever the case, we enjoy going together. My husband and I stick the girls in the race car cart, sip on Starbucks and pick out meals for the week.

But this morning Kid #2 decided she didn’t want to ride in the cart; she wanted to drive the fluorescent-green mini shopping buggy. I shook my head, but daddy couldn’t resist the cheesy smile kid #2 flashed him . . . and so we were off: Kid #3 in the race car cart, Kid #2 pushing the mini-buggy, and Kid #1 bored out of his mind trailing behind.

Everything was fantastic. Kid #2 helped me bag apples and load them in her cart while a few older couples smiled and told me how adorable she was. Who could resist a four-year old in a Hello Kitty snow hat?

I sipped on my caramel macchiato and moved on to the meat section. But Kid #2’s cart was full, and she was getting bored. She jumped in the race car, exciting her one-year old sister so much she bounced up and down. The metal of our cart echoed throughout the store.

“Clarissa! Stop.”

Kid #3 peeked through the “rear window” and showed me every tooth in her mouth.

My heart melted.

A young couple passed by, glaring at my lovely kids. I remember being that young, thinking of the future and what I would not be like as a parent. I probably would have glared at my kids, too. I smiled at the obviously child-free couple and kept moving.

My husband had to detour to the bathroom, leaving me alone with all three monsters . . . er, I mean sweethearts.

Kid #3 finished damaging everyone’s eardrums with her buggy bouncing technique, and Kid #2 was following close behind. Too close. She ran over my ankle.

“Ow!”

Kid #2 put down her hot chocolate. “Sorry, Mommy.”

“It’s okay. Stay behind me, there are lots of people here,” I said, maneuvering around three women shoppers—all giving me the you’re brave look. Yeah, don’t worry, my husband’s here . . . somewhere.

Doubling-back to the meat section, I grabbed another pack of chicken.

Kid #2 ran over my ankle again.

“Abby!”

She looked at me with her hot chocolate mustache. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know, but you need to be more careful. Where’s your father?” I glanced all around, wondering where the heck he’d gotten off to. “Ethan, watch your sister. Make sure she doesn’t run into me again.”

We returned to walking up and down the aisles, browsing for items on our list. Kid #1 took the “watch your sister” comment to the extreme and the two began fighting.

I met eyes with another woman my age, she shook her head.

“Guys, stop it!”

Kid #2 lost her balance; she and the cart tipped over.

“Where is Daddy???” I stamped my foot, acting similar to my three children.

Truthfully he’d only been gone a couple minutes, but hell broke loose in those two minutes. Kid #2 picked up the contents of her buggy, Kid #3 bounced up and down again, and Kid #1 maintained a smug I hate my life kind of look.

If he only knew, this would be his life one day.

When Daddy finally graced the aisle with his presence, I sighed. The remainder of our trip was uneventful aside from an occasional comment about how beautiful our children are by passerby’s.

On our way out of the store I made a decision: I was never going shopping alone with my kids. I love them dearly, but boy do they know how to push my buttons.

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Six Sentence Sunday

By request, I'm picking up close to where we left off last week. Brit pulled a very old--and dirty--bottle of rum from behind her back and looked excited enough to drink it.

~ Appalled, I eye the nasty bottle. “You aren’t honestly going to drink that, are you?”

“Not just me. You, me and Brad!” Brit says, pointing to each of us.

I sigh. “Let’s get to the next camp site before we do anything illegal.”~

Thanks for visiting. If you'd like to see other amazing authors who participate in Six Sunday, click here.

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9 Lives

Cats are supposed to have nine lives, and my cat Doc knew how to use them. When we moved from the city, he was just as lost as the rest of us. My parents insisted on sending the cuddly feline out into the unknown, only allowing him to enter when he was hungry. We couldn’t leave his food out, or the mouths would multiply.

Doc was all white with the tiniest patch of black on top of his head, right between his ears. He earned his name because he reminded us of a doctor in a lab coat. Okay, I’m not sure if that’s true, but it’s the story I’m sticking with.

At night he’d jump on my window, claws sticking through the screen. He’d cry and scratch, and I’d let him in. Over time the two of us formed a bond so strong, I’d call to him as soon as the bus dropped me off after school and Doc would bound down the rock-lined driveway, tail sticking straight up, and rub figure eights around my ankles.

One day, he didn’t greet me and immediately I knew something was wrong.

“Where do you think he could be?” I asked Kris.

“I’m sure he’s just eating a mouse or something.”

Mouse carcasses were common things to find on our back porch. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” I said, frowning.

But when we reached the house Doc still wasn’t anywhere to be found. I looked under beds, under cars, in the barn, under the porch—anywhere I thought he might hide, I searched.

My legs bounced. My heart raced. Somewhere deep inside I knew he was hurt, but I had no proof.

Mom and Dad arrived home, and I was sick with worry. Dinner wouldn’t go down. Tv wasn’t interesting. I went out back and called for him over and over but received no response.

No little meows. No soft affections. No nothing.

The sun lowered, disappearing below the Texas horizon. Dad grabbed a flashlight and together we went outside.

“Kitty, Kitty, Kitty, Kitty,” I called.

The crickets responded with constant chirping, but Doc remained wherever he was.

Me—chirp, chirp—ow.

“Did you hear that?” Dad asked.

I ran toward the trailer then stuck my ear to the plywood dad nailed along the bottom, listening for signs of life. Faint meows met my ears.

Dad ran up the stairs and into the house then returned with a hammer.

We pried the plywood back and found Doc lying on the ground. He was swollen and from the way he slowly moved his head toward us, we could tell he was stiff.

Dad slid on his stomach, reaching for the cat, and after what seemed like an eternity, he pulled my little friend out.

Puss and blood oozed from a wound at the base of his tail.

Tears streamed down my face. “W-What’s wrong with him?” I fell to the ground and rubbed my hand over his soft head.

“Looks like a snake bite . . . .”

We brought Doc in the house and made him comfortable for the night. It was too late to take him to the vet, but my dad promised we’d go in the morning. When the morning came, Doc was still with us. We put him in a box with some blankets and drove to the nearest vet clinic. They confirmed he’d been bitten by a non-venomous snake, and they needed to clean him up.

“She should wait outside,” the actual doc said, glancing at me.

Mom and Dad took me into the waiting room. I couldn’t understand why everyone wanted me away. Doc was my kitty, he needed me, I’d like to think he wanted me. But as the vets worked on him, Doc cried ear-piercing, mind-numbing cries of agony. My head pounded. My heart ached. Listening to him howl was awful, and it was the reason I decided to change my mind about becoming a veterinarian.

A couple hours later, the doctors brought a sedated and bandaged little kitty out to me and sent us home—my parents with a hefty bill and me with my best friend. After that experience he never had to scratch my window screen to get in; I refused to let him out of my sight.

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Six Sentence Sunday

Is it Sunday already? Wow! Where does the time go? I've picked six (sounds like the lottery, doesn't it?) fresh lines for your reading pleasure. I've frightened you, I've given you sweet . . . now it's time for FUN.

~“You remember that time we brought Uncle John and his girlfriend Cindy out here with us?” Brit asks.

I nod.

She pulls a dirt-encrusted bottle out from behind her back. “Well, I stole this bottle of rum from them and buried it . . . with a little help from a stick.” She’s proud of herself—I haven’t seen her look this giddy in months.

“You didn’t?!” ~

Thanks for visiting. If you'd like to see other amazing authors who participate in Six Sunday, click here.

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Climbing Trees

A huge Oak tree grew along our farm’s property line. Lush, green grasses sprouted under expansive shade the tree provided. The area was like a secret meadow intended for only my brother and I.

On windy days I’d venture away from the house and spin in circles in the meadow, allowing the tall grasses to tickle at my legs. My hair whipped my face, but I’d smile—this was heaven.

One afternoon Dad nailed boards into the trunk of the Oak, so Kris and I could climb up and imagine worlds far beyond the one we lived in. We discussed imaginary wars and how we wanted to design our military base high up in the branches.

We could see for miles. Rows and rows of cotton made up the landscape to our right, and grazing cattle filled the fields to our left. Every white bud on the plants was an enemy; each cow was something we had to protect.

Mom called for dinner.

“We’ll discuss storming the alien ship tomorrow,” Kris said, climbing down the tree. He waited for me at the bottom. “You coming?”

Suddenly the ground appeared far away. My hands sweat and I imagined falling on my back with the wind knocked out of me. Shaking my head, I said, “How do I get down?”

Kris arched his eyebrow. “The same way you got up.”

“It’s not the same way.” I leaned forward, everything inside me screaming to cling to a branch for dear life. The first board was further away than I’d remembered. How was I supposed to get my scrawny legs to it? My face flashed hot; my stomach turned. “Can you get Dad?”

“Just come down,” he said. “You got up, you can get down.”

“Please . . . .”

Kris propped his hands on his hips and shook his head.

Mom called for us again.

“We’re going to get in trouble if you don’t hurry.”

His voice teased at my fears. What was worse, falling and dying or having Mom and Dad mad at me?

“Please go get Dad?”

Kris narrowed his eyes. “You’re acting like a baby. Just lie on your stomach, hold onto a branch and slide your feet over the side.”

“What if my feet miss?”

“I’ll tell you which way to go.”

Getting on my stomach, I followed Kris’ instructions to the letter, but my feet found nothing but stairless bark. I lost my resolve and scrambled back to the top. “I can’t do it.”

I turned around, but Kris was gone. I was alone, standing in a tall tree in what used to be my favorite meadow. How could he leave me? Where did he go? How was I going to get down?

So not to lose my balance and fall, I sat down and folded my legs over each other. Twenty minutes later, I started screaming for my brother or dad or mom—whoever would come, but no one did.

Five or six more times I attempted to climb down, but couldn’t find the stairs. I wound up paralyzed by fear, dangling on the trunk.

Then I heard my dad whistling. The normally agitating sound was sweet relief to my nerves.

“Dad,” I screamed.

He carried a ladder and headed straight for me.

Struggling to maintain my grip, I sighed when the I felt the metals steps beneath my feet. I climbed down and hugged my dad. “Why did Kris leave me?”

“He thought you’d find your way down eventually. Guess I’ll have to add another step for you.”

My hands stung; my heart raced, but I was down and alive. On solid ground. I swore never to go up that tree again, and to punch my brother as soon as I got in the house.

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Guest Blog: Jason McIntyre

Today I'd like to welcome a good Twitter-bud and amazing writer, Jason McIntyre. I've had the pleasure of reading some of his work and let me just say, I wasn't disappointed. I have BLED and can't wait to devour it. Okay, I'll be quiet and let Jason do the rest of the talking . . . make sure to leave him a comment!

Hot Blood: My new book ‘Bled’ turns up the heat

What is it about scary stories in the summer?

I’ve written my share of books and shorts that take place in the icy vastness
of a desolate winter but if we think back on our childhoods of watching movies and reading books, so many of the suspenseful and horrific ones take place on a hot summer’s night. Or out at the lake, in the woods, even in an inner city neighborhood during a heat wave.

I wonder if it goes back to the idea that we often step out of our routine -- and thus our comfort zone -- during summer holidays from school and work. We try new things, go new places. It’s a time for escape, but also for being confronted with some unusual things -- strangers or ideas or locations that might be totally new for us.

Bled takes place across the span of a hot summer in a beach town called Dovetail Cove. It starts on the May long weekend and rattles its way to conclusion in the blazing heat of an un-air-conditioned downtown cafe. A young woman named Teeny McLeod is a working class gal trying to make ends meet for her family. For Teeny, there won’t be many days in the hot sun improving her tan. She won’t be drinking at the pubs with friends. She’ll be fending of the advances of lazy office workers who come in to stare at her legs and make cracks about how they take their coffee.

Does the heat add to the tension? Or to the confusion? Does the lazy lolling waves of cigarette smoke hanging in the air make the tale a tighter squeeze on the reader?

I hope so. Really I do. And I hope you’ll consider giving the story a read to discover whether it does or not, too. Remember, I love feedback from my readers. I hope you’ll get in on Bled!


Bled: About the Novella

She only wanted to leave. But he took that option from her. Now she wants it back.

Set on the same island as the reader favorite Shed, the latest literary suspense novella from bestselling author Jason McIntyre picks up the Dovetail Cove saga with this story of one lonely woman...trapped.

Tina McLeod is on the cusp of a new life. Extraordinary change is rare in her world but this newsflash means she can finally leave her small island town for good. No more pouring coffee for townsfolk in Main Street’s greasy spoon, no more living under the weight of her born-again mother. That is, until Frank Moort comes in for his usual lunch and dessert on an ordinary Friday in May.

Bled sees things turn backwards and upside down for each of them. Their encounter is prolonged and grotesque, the sort of thing splashing the covers of big city newspapers. Both are changed. And neither will come out clean on the other side.

A story about taking what’s not yours, Bled explores pushing back when you’ve been pushed too far. It paints in red the horrors from our most commonplace of surroundings: right out in the open where nothing can hide behind closed doors and shut mouths.

Bled: Teaser Trailer

Click HERE to view the trailer.

About the Author

Jason McIntyre has lived and worked in varied places across the globe. His writing also meanders from the pastoral to the garish, from the fantastical to the morbid. Vibrant characters and vivid surroundings stay with him and coalesce into novels and stories. Before his time as an editor, writer and communications professional, he spent several years as a graphic designer and commercial artist.

McIntyre's writing has been called darkly noir and sophisticated, styled after the likes of Chuck Palahniuk but with the pacing and mass appeal of Stephen King. The books tackle the family life subject matter of Jonathan Franzen but also eerie discoveries one might find in a Ray Bradbury story or those of Rod Serling.

Jason McIntyre’s books include the #1 Kindle Suspense, The Night Walk Men, Bestsellers On The Gathering Storm and Shed, plus the multi-layered coming-of-age literary suspense Thalo Blue.

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