Spirit Ridge is on Sale for 99 Cents

Spirit Ridge

On Sale for 99 Cents Friday, May 28 to Friday, June 11

A dark shadow rises.

San Francisco in 1885 was a dangerous place for those who crossed Colin Doyle. To Nob Hill elite he was a successful businessman. To the underbelly of San Francisco he was The Mick, a criminal mastermind ruling from the shadows. If a buyer’s tastes ran to opium, a whore, or a politician, The Mick could name a price. No one who betrayed him ever escaped the city alive.

Until now.

Nell Bishop is a fearless investigative reporter for the San Francisco Dispatch. She’s on the run to the Arizona Territory with the one witness who can expose Doyle’s corrupt empire and stop the plan to extend his evil dominion to the West.

Marshal Sam Tanner of Spirit Ridge in the Arizona Territory fought the visions sent by his Apache blood. They always foretold a death he couldn’t prevent. Then Sam dreamed of the coyote with golden brown eyes who warned of a black shadow spreading evil across the land. Did the message call him to help the beautiful woman who stepped off the stagecoach? Can Sam and Nell elude the mysterious dark riders who dog their trail or will the next vision mean death for both of them?

Adventure, romance, humor, and the call of Apache spirits weave together a Wild West adventure where either murder or justice can come at the twitch of a trigger finger.

  

Excerpt

Surprise shot through Bart’s expression. “Never reckoned you smart enough to figure the truth. The Mick’s reward ain’t for fetching you alive.” His tongue flicked in and out again. “Please me, and I’ll make it quick.”

Tears sprung to Daisy’s eyes. “Sweet Jesus, help me.”

Bart’s heartless chuckle encased Nell’s heart in ice. “Ain’t no God nor man gonna help a whore.”

“Get away from her this instant!” Nell stepped into the alley, right hand hidden in the tunic, finger on the trigger.

Bart raised the gun to meet the new arrival. “Where’d you come from? Best be on your way. This ain’t no concern of yours.”

Nell strode toward them through the fog. The gaslight shone on her white wimple and the scapular under the veil.

Daisy gasped. “She’s a nun, Bart. You can’t shoot a nun.”

“Shut up,” he barked, backhanding her across the mouth. “For five thousand, I’ll shoot anyone.”

  “Get out of here, Sister,” Daisy moaned. “Please, don’t get hurt on my account. I ain’t worth it.”

“Release her.” Nell’s tone betrayed not a single tremor. “If you beg trouble, sir, let fly. I guarantee you won’t live long enough for regrets.”

Bart’s thumb pulled back to cock the trigger. “Your words don’t cut nothing. The devil claimed me as his own long ago.”

“Then perhaps,” she responded coolly, “the time has come to meet your maker and beg forgiveness in person.”

A shot rang out. Daisy shut her eyes and screamed. 

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Hi-Yah! Great-grandma knew how to kick booty

It’s not uncommon nowadays to find a woman in a book or on the movie screen trained in martial arts. With a few high-flying kicks and a karate chop or two, she stands triumphant over the bodies of the bad guys. You might think women’s interest in martial arts is something fairly recent.

Well, you’d be wrong.

In the later part of the nineteenth century, the streets were dangerous, far more than today.  Freedom to walk in public alone was considered the sole right of men. Middle- and upper-class women had limited ability and severely restricted movement. Using an escort meant ceding privacy and even more control over their lives. But by the end of the 1800s, industrialization and urbanization created new opportunities. Women moved into education, work areas, and leisure pursuits, and although respectable women began to ride street cars and walk city streets alone, their actions were not without consequences. The term ‘mashers’ was coined, a slang term for men who harassed or made unwanted sexual advances. Women discovered police were not always willing or able to protect them.

As the right to vote movement spread, so did the idea of woman standing up to physical attacks. Reformers and suffragists were largely responsible for encouraging women to learn self-defense tactics. Many suffragists already used their bodies to resist oppression by picketing and forcing their way into public buildings. What was wrong with a little more shoving and a poke in the eye to make a point?

Needless to say, it wasn’t met with universal approval. Many men denounced women aggressively fending off attackers as indecent and unnatural, a horrified male minister accused them of “breaking down barriers of distinction between the sexes.”

Despite criticism, in the early 1900s, courses sprung up in self-defense. American women in the Gilded Age and Progressive Era turned to boxing and wrestling as an expression of empowerment through physical training. The “manly art” of boxing was touted as a way to develop character and physical strength in men, but rapidly became a popular fad among progressive-thinking women and college girls. Many in the public feared boxing would masculinize women while others emphasized boxing’s ability to enhance feminine beauty. One newspaper editorial praised boxing’s ability to “cure bad temper, feminine hysterics, or a catty disposition.” While female boxers were seen as oddities, exhibitions weren’t uncommon. In 1900, a circus strong woman from England, named Polly Burns, was named the Women’s World Boxing Champion.

Think kung fu is a new thing? Think again. Asian martial arts courses in the early 1900s were popular. Harrie Irving Hancock, taught classes in jiu-jitsu for women and children. In his manual, Physical Training for Women by Japanese Methods (1905) he wrote that the phrase “weaker sex” needed to be “stricken from the language.”

Women using self-defense tactics often made headlines. In 1909, twenty-year-old nursing student Wilma Berger defended herself against an attacker and became a local sensation in Chicago. She had studied under Tomita Tsunejiro, who helped introduce judo to the United States. Under the disbelieving eyes of the local police, she demonstrated her technique on an officer, by tossing him like a sack of laundry.

Interestingly enough, many self-defense courses were taught via pamphlet. Few middle and lower-class women had access to actual classes, so free pamphlets and illustrated articles in newspapers presented the techniques. The Yabe School of Jiu-Jitsu in Rochester, New York, offered free lessons through the mail. Lest you scoff at them, in 1906 Mary Steckler pinned down a would-be mugger until police arrived. She learned her smooth moves from a pamphlet.

One of the interesting parts of early self-defense classes was the “use what you have.” Today, a woman might have pepper spray. In 1900, a woman’s chief weapon was the hat pin. A well-dressed woman always had her hair up in public and she used to secure the hat pin to secure the hat to her hairdo. The pins were long, up to 6 inches, and sturdy. They were also an important piece of jewelry as no well-dressed woman would be seen in public without a hat. A woman might have more than one needle-sharp hatpin on her outfit, a handy, unexpected weapon. In 1912, Elizabeth Foley, an 18-year-old bank employee, was walking home with a male colleague who carried the entire payroll for the bank staff. They were attacked by a robber who knocked the male colleague down. But Elizabeth, undaunted, reached for her hatpin and jabbed the robber’s face. The attacker ran away without the money. No rescue need.

Take that, Wonder Woman. Who needs a magic lasso when a hatpin is at hand?

The Vernal Equinox: It's Not Too Late to Burn your Socks

It’s been a long winter and though the vernal equinox has passed, it’s not too late to burn your socks. What’s that, you say? You’ve never celebrated the vernal equinox? Well, you’re certainly behind the times. It traditionally occurs on March 21 each year and signals the start of spring in the Northern Hemisphere (and fall in the Southern Hemisphere.) It’s all keyed to the Earth’s rotation which tilts at an angle of 23.5 degrees on its axis relative to the plane of orbit around the sun. This means that during the year, different places get sunlight for different amounts of time.

While “equinox” comes from the Latin for equal, sunlight didn’t get the memo. Because of atmospheric refraction, people at mid-temperate latitudes actually get  a few extra minutes of daylight on the equinox. The fall and spring equinoxes, however, are the only two days during the year when the sun rises exactly due east and sets exactly due west.

Earth thinks it’s oh-so-special but it isn’t the only planet with an equinox. Saturn’s occurs about every 15 Earth years. The next one is on May 6, 2025, so you have plenty of time to plan a party. When Saturn’s equinox is viewed from Earth, the rings are seen edge-on and appear as a thin line, sometimes giving the illusion they disappeared. Weird.

What’s also weird is the belief that since day and night are nearly equal, equinoxes affect gravity and are the only days of the year you can balance raw eggs on end. Wrong. You can do that any day of the year, although why you’d want to is beyond me.

Myths

The vernal equinox is responsible for many beliefs of ancient people. Stonehenge’s design also includes a celestial observatory function, which allowed prediction of eclipses, solstices, equinoxes and other celestial events.  On the vernal equinox, the druids and pagans celebrated the ancient Saxon goddess Eostre, who symbolized fertility and new beginnings.

Angkor Wat, Cambodia, was first a Hindu, and then a Buddhist temple complex. It was built by the Khmer King Suryavarman II in the early 12th century AD. The carved asuras (demons) and devas (deities) are intended to indicate the precession of the equinoxes and the slow transition from one astrological age to another.  On the morning of the spring equinox, the sun rises up the side of the central tower of the temple to crown the pinnacle.

A Chinese legend involves the vernal equinox in a divine right to rule. In the year 1600 B.C., a woman named Chien-Ti received a special egg from a heavenly swallow. Although a virgin, she became pregnant, and her son Hsieh went on to found the Shang dynasty.

In the Middle Ages, reproduction of many plants and animals was often a mystery. Philosophers latched onto the idea of spontaneous generation where life sprung out of rotting or decaying flesh or matter. Mice, for instance, were supposed to come from sweaty underwear placed near husks of wheat in a dark place. (Note to self: Do laundry more often.) The vernal equinox was the most potent time for getting something from nothing. Petrus Alfonsi, a 12th century philosopher wrote:

“From this spring equinox (which is the beginning of spring), cold weather turns warm... Blood increases in the bodies of animals, and the diseases which come from blood return; natural lust bursts forth from its latent state, and all insects which are born from spontaneous generation now procreate.”

Now as to the sock burning…The old sweaty garment thing is still showing up, however not with mice. Every year, boaters in Annapolis, Md., burn their socks on the vernal equinox. The tradition began because sailors are forced to wear these “woolly prisons” on their feet all winter and enough was enough. Now the town website proudly proclaims since no self-respecting boater would wear them in the summertime, the dreaded socks “must be reduced to ash in a community bonfire.”

Not a bad tradition and even though the vernal equinox has passed, I think I’ll make a tidy bonfire on the front porch. It’s better than having mice spring from my underwear.

Beta Readers

 Beta Readers

A beta reader is person who reads a manuscript for the good, bad, and the ugly, confusing or clever plot points, terrific or terrible scenes, or poorly or exceptionally written characters. It’s the way everyone reads a book, only now you’re asking someone to keep notes. A beta reader isn’t paid, but a token thanks such as a copy of the book is common. If you have cash for advice, don’t use a beta reader. Hire a professional.

 Beta readers are often family or friends, but can be fans, too. However, using someone close can be iffy. They’re afraid to hurt your feelings and may not be totally honest. If you have no one in mind, writing groups are good places to start, either online or face-to-face. They’re generally quid pro quo; someone reads your manuscript and you read theirs. This may not be something you’re comfortable with or have time for.

 If you decide on a beta reader here are a few tips for a positive working relationship.

 Agree on a time frame up front. You don’t want someone who takes six months to return comments. Once agreement is reached, give the beta reader a prompt sheet with a few questions. Are the characters actions realistic? Was there any part you didn’t understand? Any scenes drag or hold too much information? What were your favorite parts or characters and why? Your least favorite and why? Don’t give them twenty pages asking for detailed insight and a complete psychological profile of each character. Do that and they’ll head for the hills.

 Do you need a beta reader subject matter expert? You might if you’re writing a police or medical procedural or a book where the lead character is a different ethnicity. Try to find someone with specialized knowledge. The last thing you want to be accused of is stereotyping.

Accept all comments with a polite thank you, but don’t jump on the re-edit bandwagon too soon. Just because a beta reader didn’t click with a character or a scene, doesn’t mean it should be deleted or rewritten. Think carefully about the comments. Can you see their point of view? Is it valid? Any notes from the beta reader should be taken as suggestions, not gospel. The most important thing to remember is don’t take a critique personally. Comments can be ignored. After all, this is your manuscript and changes are always at your discretion.

Shadow of the Eclipse: On Sale for 99 Cents Until February 5

 

Shadow of the Eclipse

Ancient evil prowls the shadow of the eclipse, but the key to saving the present can only be found in the past.

On Sale for 99 Cents until February 5

Excitement brews in Crossroads for everyone but lawyer, Callum MacGregor. This year, the town harvest festival coincides with a total eclipse. With a recent breakup, Cal has no desire to attend until a visit from his old law partner, Isaac Bingham, drops a bombshell. Twenty years before Cal’s birth, his grandfather, Phillip Bingham, extracted a promise. Isaac must get Cal to the harvest festival or the world would face unparalleled disaster.

            Cal is stunned. How could Phillip know Cal would be born and live in Crossroads? Why this nonsensical warning? The mystery deepens when Isaac tells him he’s not the only one to receive a mysterious summons.

Accountant Meg Adler’s day stated badly when her boss fired her for refusing to cook the books, but then a letter arrives from a man named Bingham. It contains a lucrative job offer—details to follow. All she has to do is attend the Crossroads Harvest Festival on opening day and meet his representative to discuss details. Meg is leery, but it’s not the end of the world if this doesn’t pan out. Right?

Ancient evil prowls the shadow of the eclipse, but the key to saving the present can only be found in the past. In a time-traveling adventure, Cal and Meg enter a mystic maze and journey to Babylon, the Dark Ages, and 1906 San Francisco hot on the trail of two magic artifacts lost in the recesses of time. Can they dodge demonic forces, fulfill a dead man’s mission, and discover a new future with each other?

EXCERPT

 Meg cocked her head toward the entrance of the corn maze. “Do you hear that? Someone called for help.”

“Probably lost in the maze. George made it extra challenging this year.”

“No, it’s different.” She sucked in a breath. “M-my name—I swear I heard my name.”

A gust of wind rippled the stalks. They bent toward the entrance, fluttery hands beckoning them inside. Cal strained to hear past the whispery rustle of the leaves.

Almost as if they were voices…

“I’ll check it out,” he said. “Maybe someone fell and got hurt. Wait here—”

“Not a chance.” Meg bolted into the maze, and Cal ran after her. They came to the first intersection, and she skidded to a halt. “Which way?”

“Left,” Cal said without hesitation.

They dashed deeper into the field, now left, now right, now straight ahead. With each step, Cal’s path became surer as if something pulled him with an invisible cord.

Meg puffed beside him. “How do you know which way to go?”

“I-I can’t explain it.” With every breath, the air around Cal became hotter and more oppressive, pressing on his shoulders like a stifling blanket. Humidity dropped to nothing. Beads of sweat on his brow evaporated. Cal licked his dry, cracked lips and grimaced at the gritty feel of sand on his tongue.

Sand in a corn maze?

They turned a corner and stumbled into a clearing. In the center was an arbor that arched over a circle of flagstones on the ground. A glowing flame hovered above the stones, suspended in midair. Meg and Cal exchanged dumbfounded looks and stepped forward. The clarion note of a distant horn sounded a soldier’s call to action. A surge of adrenaline flooded Cal’s veins. He hadn’t felt like this since his days on patrol with the Army. Unconsciously, Cal’s hand went to his hip, reaching for the sword. He stared at his empty hand. Sword?

The flame grew larger and brighter, shooting through the arbor into the heavens.

“Cal!” Meg’s voice sounded very far away.

“I’m here!” Cal reached for her, but the flame blinded him, blotting out the maze, blotting out the sun, blotting out the world.

Nothing remained but the roar of the cheering crowd.

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Good Riddance to 2020. Holiday Traditions to Ring in the New Year.

 Well, it’s been a helluva year. I don’t know about you, but between COVID-19, elections, hurricanes, wildfires, shootings, and everything else, I’m done with 2020. I won’t miss it or get nostalgic. I don’t want the like ever to appear again. To make sure of that, I’m going to follow a raft of New Year’s traditions to guarantee a healthy, happy, and not horrible 2021.

In Burma, splashing water on someone is considered good luck, so I’ll start the day by waking my husband by throwing a pail of water on him. He'll probably complain he’s not Burmese, but tough. He needs to suck it up. The other option is to smack him on the head with an onion which is considered good luck in Greece. I haven’t decided yet. I think I’ll keep it a surprise. Perhaps, I’ll do both.

Residents of Johannesburg, South Africa throw appliances out the window. No mention is made whether they call out a warning to neighbors walking by first. In Denmark the tradition is to smash dishes on your neighbor’s doorstep. I have the kind of neighbors that might take issue (especially if it’s a dish I borrowed.) However, I’ll simply remind them smashed china is better than having a smart TV heaved at your head. Danes apparently also jump off chairs. What do they put in the water in Denmark?

In Italy, wearing red underwear is lucky. I don’t have any red underwear, but I do have a bunch of red Christmas napkins and I’m pretty good at origami. In Argentina, the tradition is pink underwear, so I could give my napkins a good dose of bleach first. Thanks to COVID-19, bleach is plentiful. Bolivians wear yellow underwear. I happen to have a pair, so I believe I’ll wear all three for triple the good fortune. Perhaps, on my head in Walmart as a morale booster to others. Nothing says Happy New Year better than looking like a lunatic on a shopping spree.

Peruvians celebrate with the Takanakuy festival which is nothing more than one big fist fight and is supposed to wipe the slate clean for the next year. Although I suppose if I go around the neighborhood belting people, they’re likely to complain and I’ve already broken their china.

New Year’s often involves visitors. In Scotland the first person over the threshold is supposed to bring luck and the luckiest visitor is a dark man with coal. I’ve emailed Idris Elba several times with an invitation and even offered to supply the coal. I finally received a reply from his attorney threatening legal action if I didn’t back off, but I’m sure if I explain one more time, he’ll be here.

To top off the day, I’ll serve a sumptuous feast of traditional lucky foods; black eyes peas (American South) served on top of pickled herring (Poland) served on top of marzipan (Austria) served on top of tamales (Mexico) and all covered with soba noodles (Japan). Anyone who can survive that dinner should be able to meet 2021 head on, if they don’t end up in the hospital with gastritis.

Happy New Year.

The Naughty List is Now a Series. Book 1 Free on Amazon. Book 2 on Sale.

 The Naughty List is now a series.

Free November 12, 13, 14, 15, 16

Judgment Day (Book 2) is on sale for $2.50

Murder, mystical artifacts, an invisible demon with anger management issues, and an overbearing cupid—not what Rosalie Thatcher wished for on her Christmas list.

The holidays had always been a magical time for Rosalie, but not this year. Her new manager at Penrose’s Department Store is determined to make this season the most profitable in the store’s history, even if it sucks the life out of every employee. Introducing arbitrary rules and stealing the affections of the cute temp Santa were bad enough, but forcing Rosalie into the stupid elf hat was the worst. The worst, that is, until she meets a real E.L.F. (Elemental Life Form) named David and gets lassoed into a desperate hunt for the stolen Naughty and Nice List. Now all Rosalie and David must do is dodge a murderous invisible demon and recover the missing artifact before hellhounds track them down.  The couple race against time for without the magical guidance of the Naughty and Nice List, the world will tumble toward eternal chaos. 

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You can run. You can hide. But you can’t escape Judgment Day.

Changes are in store for Rosalie, David, and the gang at Penrose’s. Remodeling has begun and lives are in upheaval as well as floorplans. Rosalie’s duties as the new human warden on the Integral council draws her deeper into their politics. A clan leader dies, another is elected, and a plot against a third turns deadly. Who will emerge unscathed and who will be banished? Meanwhile, Judgment Day approaches when rights are set wrong and anyone who crosses a cupid risks the Kiss of Death. 

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