This is the prequel to “Double Dare.”
It’s the prequel to “Double Dare.” Gray leaves Amy at the altar to avenge his dead friend, who he believes Amy wronged. He realizes his mistake and begs her for another chance, which she won’t give him. But he’s a fighter and gives it, and them, all he’s got in a cabin on the banks of Lake Superior. Will it be enough?
“Cabin Fever” will be released by Black Opal Books in May. Stay tuned.
Thanks to the fabulous Jack at Black Opal Books for the cover.
As I listen to my interview with Tony Kay on the Authors-First show on the Artist First Radio Network, um, I realize, I, like, say um and like too often.
But I had a lot of fun talking about writing and reading romance. Give a listen: http://www.artistfirst2.com/Authors-First_2018-01-09_Tara_Eldana.mp3
My friend, she’s the oldest of seven kids, was talking about doing dishes as a kid and I flashed back to the dish wars at our house.
I am the oldest and was the fastest dish washer. I just wanted to get it over with. My younger sister (by 11 months) was an epic staller and usually the dryer. And if she found one miniscule particle on a dish, she gleefully dumped it back in the dish water.
I got to be an epic stacker of dishes in the drainer. One time since my sister was epically stalling, I built an epic 3-foot tall tower of dishes. Mom was not happy.
My mother-in-law told me she stretched the family budget and splurged on a dishwasher because she couldn’t stand to listen to her kids fighting over washing the dishes. And they were all four years apart and she worked afternoons so she only heard the fights on weekends.
Dish wars were either valuable life lessons I can use in my writing – goal, motivation, conflict, Deb Dixon talks about in her fabulous book, “Goal, Motivation, Conflict, The Building Blocks of Good Fiction” or it was just pointless bickering – which I guess I can also use in my writing.
Goal: get dishes done. Motivation: So I could watch TV, go to a friend’s house, read a book, or do homework. Conflict: working with younger sister who stalled and put clean dishes back in the water for me to rewash, or washed them herself, super slow, so I had to wait for the next one.
The only dish wars at our house these days (as empty nesters) is the best way to stack dishes in the dishwasher. (I am still a epic stacker). My husband, an engineer, believes he knows best. I, as the person who usually empties out the clean dishes, believe I know the best way to cram as many dishes as possible into the machine so the dishes come out clean. Again, this may be pointless bickering or a good life lesson.
At this point, I’m betting on a good life lesson. All those dishes have to count for something.
This past March, I lost a bit of Paris, the pashmina I bought from a vendor on the Champs-Elysees, on my first and only trip to Paris nine years ago.
I’m wearing it in this head shot. I muscled my way into this trip when a good friend and colleague, Linda, told me she and her best friend were going to take a girl’s trip to Paris. I asked to tag along, and said I’d sleep on a pull out. Linda’s friend decided not to go, so it was just the two of us.
I got Rosetta language tapes from my local library to learn some Francais, and learned how to ask where the women’s bathroom was, although I had to ask how to flush the toilet, and purchased three tickets for the first level of La Tour Eiffel, rather than one ticket for the third level. (They were very nice about refunding my money and getting me the ticket I wanted).
We saw the Mona Lisa at the Louvre, toured the Musee d’Orsay and got stranded on a Metro train near Notre Dame that stopped its runs for that day.
I’ll never forget the man who saw me and Linda sitting there, in an empty train, waiting for it to start up again.
He said, in English, “Train is done.”
We got off, went shopping, and drank the best brandy I’ve sipped in my life.
This week Harlequin discontinued a number of their lines, leaving many wonderful authors and editors stranded.
Those lines are done.
I hope they went shopping and sipped brandy.
I can buy another pashmina (although it will never be quite the same).
The Harlequin editors and authors will hopefully find new homes and places for their work to shine.
But Harlequin will never be quite the same, either. Pieces of it are gone.
But I have the images on film (digitally, and hard copies) of both Paris and me wearing my pashmina and we have the stories these Harlequin authors and editors worked on to make them the best they could be, in print and digitally.
I’m not sure I will get back to the Champs-Elysees (although I would return tomorrow if I could) or if Harlequin will bring new lines in to replace the ones they’ve cut, or bring those authors and editors back onto the train.
Sometimes we lose things.
And it just plain sucks.
In my day job, I had the privilege of coming across one of the best love stories I’ve ever heard or read.
And as a romance reader and writer, I’ve heard and read a lot.
But it would never sell.
It’s a December/December romance with no back story, which makes it so amazing.
Think of “The Notebook” without the back story, but the couple are in good health – such good health they roller skate nearly every day.
At ages 74 and 89, Carole and Russell skated at the same roller rink. Carole was reeling from the sudden death of her husband and although her balance was bad, she always wanted to take up roller skating, so she did.
And she got good at it.
Her locker at the roller rink was next to Russell’s. She found him easy to talk to, but she had no interest in dating anyone.
They worked together to serve coffee and donuts to the “skating family,” and went out after skating sessions with the group for lunch.
Carole enjoyed spending time with Russell so much, she asked him out.
Russell hesitated. He liked her – a lot – but he knew she suffered a terrific loss with her husband, was aware of their age difference, meaning he would likely die before she did, and wanted to spare her another round of grief.
But he took her out for a hamburger, and let her know that he had no intentions of getting married again. He’d lost his first wife in the early ’80s after 30 years of marriage and his second marriage failed.
Carole told him she didn’t have any plans to marry again either.
So they dated and skated.
And on the wheels of love, they grew inseparable.
Russell wanted Carole to go with him to a reunion of the World War II veterans who served aboard his ship. He joined up when he was only 17 in 1945.
Carole told him she would go with him, but not as his mistress.
“She made me an offer I couldn’t refuse,” he said.
So they got hitched, moved in together and skate together four times a week.
And they are in love. She calls him “honey” with a twinkle in her eye, touches him often, and really laughs at his jokes.
It’s the real deal.
And it would never sell.
And that’s just a damn shame.