Let’s be honest — I’m 54 and I work at a job where I spend a lot of time on my butt. Add in ShitKnee and fun new problems with other leg joints, and I’ve been having a hard time with the old gams lately. I’m still doing the PT exercises, but barring an actual replacement I think I’ve gone about as far as I can go in terms of functionality.
This is when FB decided to start throwing compression sock ads at me every half hour. Now, I know that they’re damn useful pieces of clothing, and I have no worries about “ew — grannywear” reactions because I have been in my house since 3/13/20 and nobody sees me anyway. So after the fifteen millionth compression sock ad danced across FB I decided, what the hell, let’s take some measurements, find a company that handles heroically sized people, and see what happens.
Squeeze Gear turned out to be the lucky company, and I gambled $40 on three pairs of rather snazzy blue and white compression socks (I feel a little like a superhero). They arrived today, and as expected they were a challenge to get on, but I did it.
First impression: I didn’t see what all the fuss was about. The cuffs felt kinda tight around my left knee, but not painfully so. The other leg is the one that lost muscle mass 37 years ago when it was in an immobilizer, so that sock went on a bit more easily. Walked around in them, and immediately decided to put on my slippers with the traction soles so that I didn’t go ass over teakettle. I also felt a bit lightheaded, so I went upstairs and checked my BP, thinking maybe the socks were driving it up. Nope — 128 over 72.
I sat back down and did some paperwork. About an hour later I got up … and my legs felt okay. Knees and hip still hurt, but my calves felt pretty damn good. Decided to go grab the duvets and bring them down to wash them, then went back upstairs to record a podcast which meant sitting for a solid hour in a chair that usually causes me a certain amount of pain when I get up … and it wasn’t bad at all.
In fact, I gotta say that these things are kinda amazing. I’ve been up and down the stairs multiple times this evening, way more than I usually do, and I’ve been humping stuff up and down as well. Once again, the knees and hip still hurt, but there’s no pain whatsoever from my calves. It’s much easier to get to my feet without pain, and I’ve found that I have more energy to get chores and housecleaning done.
I’m going to wear these for a full week during the day and see how I feel by the 24, but based on today’s results I would have to recommend compression socks to anyone who has a job that keeps them sitting for long periods of time. These aren’t just for Granny or long plane rides anymore.
As part of “Let’s Make 2021 More Profitable,” I’ve been taking a good look at the books that don’t fit my usual subgenres of SF, fantasy, and paranormal romance. I’ve already split off the contemporary romance and romcoms to the Natasha M. Stark name, but that still leaves my *takes in a deep breath* poor redheaded stepchild of a historical BDSM menage romance Behind the Iron Cross out there twisting in the wind.
Unfortunately, Amazon listed it as erotica and I haven’t been able to convince them that yes, it really IS a romance with an HEA and everything. And despite being released during the centenary celebrations of the end of WWI it’s gone absolutely nowhere. A copy hasn’t been purchased on Smashwords or their assorted partners in over a year, and I’ve sold a grand total of 13 copies on Amazon in 2020.
The irony is, that book took me six years to write. I had to go to the British Library and study pre-WWII maps of Berlin. I bought books on the Weimar Republic and the economic and cultural effects it had on Germany. It’s still my longest book to date at 105,409 words (SHADOW OF THE SWAN is literally six words shorter at 105,403). And next to no one has read it, which gives me a sad because it’s a really, really cool story.
So I’ve decided to be proactive about it. I’ve pulled it from wide distribution and added it to Kindle Unlimited, in the hopes that fans of menage, BDSM, and historical romances will see the word count and say GIMME.
There’s a new contest in Romancelandia! The Swoon Awards are chosen by popular vote and are open to all romance readers. Much to my shock and delight, I found out that King of Blades made it into the semi-final round for the Fantasy Romance category.
Voting for the semi-final round ends tomorrow, so if you’d like to vote for King of Blades in the Fantasy Romance category you can do it here — go to the middle of the page and click the pink Next button to start voting. And thank you for your support!
Being an indie author isn’t all snacking on bon-bons and writing your heart out on your preferred choice of writing tech. You also have to do things like track your income, monitor your Amazon ads (I was doing absolutely splendidly up until yesterday, and then today––bubkes. I don’t know if it was because of the impeachment proceedings or not), write up and send out newsletters, study courses on how to promote your work more effectively, and a bunch of other paperwork things. Many years ago, Terry Pratchett once told me that only half of his day was actually taken up with writing––the other half was paperwork. Now I understand what he meant.
But at least the long-delayed newsletter with the links for Cross Current went out, plus I added info about King of Blades being up for a Swoon Award––
*sigh* I didn’t mention that here, did I? Yeah, KoB made it to the semi-finals in the Fantasy Romance category in the Swoonies, and if you’d like to vote for it you can do that here: bit.ly/3n6cYeh
I need a PA. Or the ability to go somewhere where five cats aren’t bugging me for attention.
Anyhoo, I also added a link to a survey in the newsletter so that people could tell me if they’re interested in my MM titles, my MF titles, or are willing to read it all. I’m trying to be more professional this year and target my newsletters more accurately so that people only get the info on titles that they want to read.
As for TCatB I haven’t hit word count yet for the day, but I’m hoping to get that done after dinner. I must say, it’s always nice when your Muse graces you with an infodump about your hero’s back story as she did this morning at 4:00 AM. So now it appears that I’m writing a book about a cheerfully pan Victorian vampiress who finds out she’s the mate of a big, hunky, virginal dragon shifter with amnesia.
I mean, yeah, there’s OTHER stuff in there, as well––the whole bit about finding a group of missing selkie girls who are being married against their will to wealthy merchants, for one. But Fee just can’t get over her craving for big, grumpy Callum Brown, professor of literature and dragon shifter who can’t remember anything from before the year 900 (when he was hit by lightning during a North Sea storm and a pod of selkies nursed him back to health. He’s been their protector ever since). Callum has waited almost a thousand years to find his mate, and now she’s finally walked into his life––except that Fyodora doesn’t DO lifelong commitments and refuses to be tied down.
I do like to complicate things. Now I just have to figure out how this is all going to work for them.
As of today, I should have had 27,000 words done on The Crimson and the Black, well past the 1/4 mark and close to the 1/3 mark of the book. Instead, I currently have *checks Scrivener* 10,209 words.
But I have Reasons.
January 4th: made my word count early in the day, then turned off Scrivener and started cleaning up after my cat JJ who had been leaving little piles of foamy pink mucus all over the living room floor. As he is 19, this was understandably concerning. He refused to eat for the rest of the day, leaving one last pile near the kitchen before curling up in a spot next to the fireplace and behind a table where it’s quiet and peaceful. It’s where he goes when he’s sick, which wasn’t a good sign. I decided to take him to the emergency vet in the morning.
January 5th: Loaded a complaining JJ into the crate and hauled him into the emergency vet. They’d seen him way back in 2006 when he’d had a bladder blockage so they had records on him, and I waited in the parking lot for about two hours while they ran bloods and checked him over.
Their diagnosis: “He has an upset stomach. Everything looks normal except for his BUN, which is slightly elevated due to the vomiting. We’ve given him anti-nausea meds and B-12 to stimulate his appetite––bring him back in if he gets worse.” What really surprised me was the news that his kidneys were fine––his own vet had diagnosed him as a kidney deficient kitty about four years ago. Since he’s outlived the life expectancy for those cats by a year, clearly his kidneys did not agree with this. They also told me that he was a very, very good cat––the vet tech who brought him back out to the car adored him, which is his just due.
After taking him home, I headed back out to the store to get various delicacies with the hopes of tempting him to eat something, anything. Nothing worked––he wouldn’t even lick at anything, but he was drinking water and peeing so at least he was getting some fluids. By this point it was evening, I still had to come up with something for dinner, I was tired and worried about JJ, and I figured I would just write off the day and make up the word count the next day. Ho ho ho.
January 6th: As everyone who hasn’t been living under a rock knows by now, the U.S. Capitol was attacked and overrun on this day by a bunch of cosplaying MAGA idiots and a smaller group of far more competent seditionists after Pobrecheeto, along with some help from Rep. Mo Brooks and Junior, whipped them into a frenzy down at the Ellipse, then sent them off to the Capitol to stop the vote count. JJ was still not eating, and my attention for the day was torn between the news and my ailing cat. Writing? Surely you jest.
I finally got JJ to lick at a little bit of Gerber chicken baby food (his favorite snack) in the evening, but that was all he would eat. He curled up in his Sick Spot and went to sleep, while I stayed up to watch Congress confirm the electors’ votes in the middle of the night and give Joe Biden the win.
January 7th: Needless to say, I woke up late. Still torn between the news and JJ, I now had to run out to the pet food store to get some adult cat formula and see if I could get JJ to eat some of that. He wasn’t thrilled with it but I got him to lick some off his muzzle when I smeared it there. No other food would pass his lips, however, and I was really starting to get scared. I decided to get up at 8 AM, call his vet, and beg them to let me bring him in.
By now, I was frazzled, scared that I was about to lose my black velvet purrmonster to an upset stomach, of all things, and increasingly infuriated with what was happening in D.C. No, I didn’t write.
January 8th: After an absolutely horrible night of sleep, I got up and called the vet, leaving a message detailing the situation with JJ. I then waited up until they called back at 10 AM and said, “Bring him in––we’ll work him up between appointments.” (It helps that they love him, too.) So back into the crate JJ went and off we drove to the vet’s office. I dropped him off, came home, and crawled back into bed for a four hour nap.
After I woke up, I poked at the WIP for a bit in between checking the news. At 3:30 PM the vet called––they couldn’t find anything wrong with him, either, but they’d given him different anti-nausea meds, as well as an appetite stimulant and some Pepcid to reduce stomach acidity, and offered to send a banana bag (lactated Ringer’s solution that can be injected into a cat via subcutaneous IV) home with him as well. I knew how to give a cat sub-Q fluids so I took them up on it, and fetched JJ home. He walked into the house, went straight to the food bowl and began nomming down. He continued to eat periodically for the rest of the night, in between snoozes on his usual spot on the couch, and I got 1,676 words done on CatB.
January 9 – 10th: I’d really hoped to play catch-up over the weekend, but I also badly needed sleep after the events of the week, plus I still had to do the food shopping, laundry, and other household tasks, and JJ really wanted to spend a lot of time resting on my chest while I petted him. As a result I only got 733 words on Saturday and 773 words on Sunday, but at least I got something down.
January 11th: First day properly back at work, and I managed to tear myself away from the increasingly horrendous news coming out of D.C. long enough to get 3,055 words done, which gave me word count for the day but didn’t do bubkes about my deficit. This wasn’t helped by the fact that all of the other cats had noticed me giving JJ extra cuddles and deserved equal time. I still don’t know if they have a quota worked out among themselves or what, but I had a cat on my lap desk or in my arms for a total of three hours today. I timed it.
January 12th: I should make word count tonight, and I’m hoping to get to bed early and get a decent night’s sleep (not that easy with our utterly crappy mattress) so that I can get up early tomorrow and knock out 6K, which will start whittling down my deficit. The story is starting to pick up steam (I can hear the characters talking in my head when I’m writing dialogue, which is always a good sign), and I’m learning a lot more about Fyodora’s dragon shifter beau Callum Brown (I had no idea he was a professor of literature at the University of Edinburgh, for example), as well as Victorian casinos, the relationship between dragons and selkies, and what happens when a footloose and fancy free vampire finds herself unexpectedly mated to a gruff dragon shifter who prefers to be alone.
So anyway, that’s me. How are you all doing so far?
So, JJ the 19-year-old cat started throwing up pink foamy mucus on Monday. We researched it and it’s a symptom of a lot of things, including gastritis (stomach ache). I took him into the ER vet Tuesday morning, they did a full blood workup and exam, and said everything is normal, he just has an upset stomach. They gave him something for nausea and an appetite stimulant and sent him home.
Except he wouldn’t eat. Drank water just fine, would get up and walk around, but would not eat. We tried all his favorite foods: tuna water, Gerber’s baby food in chicken flavor, the works. He licked at a little baby food Wednesday night, and yesterday I got a half ounce of adult cat formula down him via kitten bottle, but we were getting worried.
Luckily we have the best damn cat vet in Texas (Dr. Dana Crigger, Collin County Cat Hospital, cannot recommend her enough), so when I called this morning and explained what was going on she said bring him in, we’ll work him up between appointments. She ran some other tests to check his heart (which is fine), then called me and said that he’s not concentrating urine but his kidneys are good. She then posited that he might be hyperthyroid. “But cats who are hyperthyroid usually eat ferociously,” she added.
I laughed hollowly and explained that before Monday JJ ate like a teenage linebacker, begging for food every time we went into the kitchen. “Ah, okay. I’ll send his bloodwork off to be tested for that,” she said. “How well does he take pills?”
“Like a trouper.”
She then administered another anti-nausea med, an appetite stimulant, and some Pepcid to reduce his stomach acid, and I took him home. The moment he got out of the carrier he went straight to the food bowls and nommed down. He’s been back to eat twice more, and is now curled up in one of his favorite spots digesting and snoozing. I feel like I’ve unclenched for the first time since Monday morning.
Also, older cats slowly lose weight and turn into skin and bones. JJ? Weighed 11 pounds at his checkup in December and 10 pounds today. I swear to God, the world could end and the only survivors will be Keith Richards, Betty White, and JJ wandering across the blasted landscape.
Hello, all you lovely people, and welcome to the blog! I probably should explain the discrepancy between the name in the blog title and the name on the website itself — I write speculative romance (SF/fantasy/paranormal) as Nicola Cameron, but in 2020 I started writing contemporary romance as Natasha M. Stark. My very first contemporary holiday romance, One Sweet Christmas, is the story of an unemployed personal assistant traveling to LA who gets stranded in a Colorado ski town when her car breaks down. She gets talking into helping the local hot baker make an emergency wedding cake for an influencer Bridezilla––and hijinks ensue!
One Sweet Christmas was an absolute ball to write as it combined three of my favorite things––romance, banter, and baking. I can neither confirm nor deny that this story was influenced by The Great British Bakeoff, but I do enjoy baking assorted treats like mince pies and fruitcake, which leads me to my family holiday tradition. When I was a kid, my mother used to make a Polish fried cookie called Chrusciki (angel wings) every Christmas, and watching her making them was almost as good as eating them.
This was before the advent of silicone baking sheets, so she would spread a clean sheet over the kitchen counter to get a smooth surface, scatter it with flour, then roll out paper-thin sections of dough before slicing them into rectangles and cutting a slit down the center of the long side.
One end would get pulled through the slit to form a kind of dough bow tie, before going into hot oil and puffing up into a delicious, crispy cookie. The final touch was sprinkling them with powdered sugar (this had to be done while they were still hot and slightly oily so that the sugar would stick). You couldn’t wear anything nice when you ate Chrusciki because you’d get powdered sugar over everything, but we didn’t care because they were so yummy.
If you also love baking and want to take a crack at making these delicious cookies, Jenny Can Cook has a really good recipe that produces authentic Chrusciki. Just don’t wear anything that has to be dry cleaned when you nom them.
Thanks so much for stopping by the blog, and I hope you had a good (and safe) holiday this year! Before you go, I’d like to remind you of the Rafflecopter giveaway being held by N.N. Light’s Book Heaven. Everyone who enters has a chance at winning one of the following:
- $50 Amazon (US) or Barnes and Noble Gift Card
- $50 Amazon (US) or Barnes and Noble Gift Card
- $25 Amazon (US) or Barnes and Noble Gift Card
- $15 Amazon (US) or Barnes and Noble Gift Card
- $10 Amazon (US) or Barnes and Noble Gift Card
Direct Link: https://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/92db775087
The giveaway is open internationally and runs December 1 – 31, and a drawing will be held on January 4, 2021. Click the link above to enter, and good luck!
As you know, Bob, I had one more book to finish and release in 2020. This was the very much anticipated Cross Current, which is the fourth book in my Olympic Cove menage fantasy romance series (or as I like to think of it, “Gods and mermen and selkies, oh my!”). People have been waiting patiently for this book for about five years, but I couldn’t continue the series until I’d gotten the rights back for the first three book. That happened this year, which meant that Cross Current was a go.
After I finished King of Blades and released it at the end of November, I got to work on Cross Current. Now, I had about 20K of the book done so I figured, meh, maybe two weeks to finish, two weeks to edit, polish, and format, and I could get it out at the end of December. Being an eternal optimist, I decided to put it out for pre-order on December 1st because I would have more than enough time to get everything done, right?
Put a pin in this because we will be returning to this point later.
So, I started working on Cross Current, and promptly ran into two rather large problems. One, I was hurting. For reasons I didn’t understand every joint in my body was screaming at me, and sitting for any length of time (which you kinda have to do if you’re a writer) was problematic. And no, it wasn’t COVID for reasons I will explain later on. But writing when your joints are on fire is not fun.
Secondly, I was having one hell of a time getting the story out. I knew how it started, knew how it finished, but the the middle part was like pulling teeth. I was lucky if I could get 300 words out a day, in between trying to get my brain to get creative and trying to get my joints to stop screaming at me.
On December 7th, I’m starting to get mildly worried because I haven’t made sufficient progress on the book and the upload deadline would be 6:00 PM CST Christmas Day. And then my muse, drunken ho that she is, strolled in with a margarita in one hand and said, “You’re having problems with this because your story is angsty. Nobody wants to read angsty in 2020. Liven it up, make it fun.”
She had a point. I was kinda putting my main character Matt through hell, and I wasn’t really paying much attention to all of the members in his menage, all five of them. Remember this graphic?
So I scrap my original story and decide to go with a fun Ocean’s 8 style caper story, where Matt has to steal some nanotech with the help of a mer and three selkies, and hijinks ensue.
And I’ll be damned, but that worked. Suddenly the floodgates opened and I could see the story in my head, which is what tells me I’m on the right track.
One eensy problem–those 20,000 words I’d already written didn’t fit this new story. I was able to salvage the opening chapter, but 15K had to go in the cut file, which really put me behind the eight ball.
But that’s when my second Festivus miracle occurred. I ran out of a supplement that I take to keep my nasal mucus thinned out (remember, I live with five cats to whom I am mildly allergic), and a day later I realized I felt fucking great. My pain levels were way down, and I was only having the usual issues with ShitKnee. I looked up the side effects for the supplement and saw, “can cause joint and muscle pain” (unsurprising because it breaks up biofilm and scavenges fibrin in the blood system).
By this time it’s December 9, and I have to put pedal to the metal because I now have to completely rewrite my first four chapters and actually finish the rest of the book. I keep plugging away, but it’s December, which means the J Crew have to be taken into the vet for their shots, I have a dental cleaning, and a myriad of other holiday-related things all eat up my time until December 17th rolls around and I only have 25,000 words out of a projected 80,000. if you do the math, you’ll discover that this left me with 55,000 words still to be written, and I also had to get the book edited, proofed, polished, formatted, and uploaded to Amazon in eight days.
Sometimes, you have to realize that you can’t do everything yourself and ask for help. First, I took a deep breath and talked to Ramón, explaining that I couldn’t do the usual Christmas prep that I do every year and get the book done. Would he mind helping out, or if certain things get pushed back a bit?
I am blessed to be married to the world’s best writer’s spouse. He blinked and said, “Petal, 2020 blows chunks anyway. We can live with a meh Christmas. Don’t worry about anything, just focus on the book.”
Okay, that was out of the way. I then talked to my editor, throwing myself on her mercy. She agreed to edit the book in chunks — I would finish a handful of chapters, clean them up, and shove them at her for editing (she is a goddess, by the way).
Finally, I sat down with my brain and had a come-to-Jesus chat. In order to finish this book, I was about to have a very unpleasant week where I would have to write faster on a daily basis than I ever had just to finish the first draft, and then I would have to turn around immediately and edit/polish/format. If I could do this, at 6:01 PM CST Christmas Day I would get completely loaded in celebration, spend the rest of the night watching Wonder Woman 84 and Bridgerton, and the period from Boxing Day to January 4th would be devoted to rest and relaxation.
My brain reluctantly agreed. And so I sat down, wrote out a detailed outline, broke it down into chapters so that I knew exactly what I had to do in each chapter, and set out to write 10,000 words a day for the next five and a half days.
Yes, you read that correctly. And that wasn’t all; I would also be constantly shuttling completed chapters back and forth to the editor and incorporating her edits after I hit word quota for the day. But it was necessary because there was no way in hell I was missing this deadline and getting banned from Amazon pre-orders for a year.
So I did it. It was one of the hardest things I have ever done in my life. I fell into bed exhausted ever night, my dreams were pretty much related to the books, I gained five pounds despite my determination to get at least fifteen minutes on the treadmill every day, the only cleaning I did was sweeping and laundry, and the meals were pretty much reduced to, “What can I throw together in ten minutes?”
But I did it. And somehow, I produced a pretty damned good book. Part of my mind kept noticing how things just fell into place, the three act structure chugging along like it was on rails. Each member of my fivesome now had an identity and screen time, and I cheered for them all the way through the book. And I wrote the most physically challenging love scene of my writing career to date. I’m still damn proud of it.
The last edits went in at 5:30 AM this morning, and I spent two hours fixing a formatting problem before uploading the file to Amazon (I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep until it was done, and I had this irrational fear that I’d die in my sleep and nobody would ever see the book that had killed me) and crawling into bed at 7:30 AM. After one of the best sleeps of my life, I got up, got dressed, played with the kitties, and just … breathed.
It was nice. Then I decided to give the file one last read-through, polish, and spell/grammar/punctuation check because I am an anal-retentive masochist, formatted THAT, and uploaded it to Amazon at 4:15 PM CST, an hour and forty-five minutes before the cutoff time. It’s now churning through the ‘Zon, and the seven lovely people who pre-ordered it will get it at 12:01 AM on Tuesday, December 29th.
And then I decided to wash the bedding so that we’d have crisp clean sheets for Christmas night and clean the library so that I could put up the tree. Get loaded and watch movies? Ho ho ho. Remember, anal-retentive masochist here. But I’m singing Christmas songs as I’m working, and I’m so very proud of myself for finishing Cross Current and getting it out into the world.
Anyway, Merry Christmas to all who celebrate, and may 2021 be a huge frigging improvement on this dumpster fire of a year.
Welcome to another edition of Marvelous Monday Reads, darlings! Today I’m featuring E.D. Parr and her wonderful new holiday romance Night Song, now available from Evernight Publishing and other retailers of fine romance. Take it away, E.D.!
Twenty-five year old Oliver Honeycutt has no idea how handsome he is. He’s creative, brilliant at his job, and underused in the designer fashion store where he works. Behind the scenes, Oliver takes special care with orders for customer, rock star, Zane Highwood. When Zane is to be the main attraction in the store’s Christmas party, fashion show, Oliver hopes Zane will notice him.
Multi-millionaire, twenty-five year old Noah Somersby, made his first million before he was twenty-one and now owns a number of casual-chic menswear stores. He’s a designer, gorgeous, and desperate to find a man who will love him for himself and not see dollar signs as they kiss.
Noah doesn’t often take the train into the city, but one rainy day he does, as he settles into a seat opposite Oliver, the two men exchange interested glances.
In fact, Noah is super attracted to Oliver and Oliver thinks Noah is gorgeous.
As the store holiday season party approaches, can serendipity bring them together?
Noah felt Oliver shift in his arms as if to pull away, but then he winced, bent his head, and leaned on Noah.
Concerned, Noah tightened his hold on Oliver. “I’m worried about you.” A tingle of surprise raced along Noah’s body as Oliver raised his face to gaze at him with open desire in his eyes.
“I think I need another kiss … to make it all better.”
Noah smiled before he kissed Oliver, not even feeling a sliver of guilt at kissing a possibly dazed man.
This time Oliver returned the kisses.
Noah drifted in sensation. He lingered on Oliver’s lips, kissing him, then breathing, then kissing him again. His eyes closed and his mouth only a sigh away from Oliver’s, he rested his forehead on Oliver’s and murmured, “I wanted to kiss you the other morning on the train. I’m sorry I hurt you, but not sorry I jumped on you, because I want you … want to know you … get to know you.”
Oliver stirred in his arms again and Noah opened his eyes.
Oliver placed a soft kiss on Noah’s mouth. “I … feel the same about you. I wanted the kiss—craved it, in fact. Noah, I should probably go home and check my bruises, get cleaned up—if the ride is still on offer.”
Noah forced himself from the languor of Oliver’s kiss. “What if you stay here and I’ll race off and bring my car back? I’ll only be a few minutes.”
“I’m really okay, just sort of achy.”
Noah shook his head. “I’d feel better if you rested here.” He left Oliver leaning against the wall and dashed along the street to his store’s delivery space. Happiness shielded him from the cold, foggy night. Lingering delight from Oliver’s kisses protected him from the fine rain that drenched everything. Elated, Noah sped back for Oliver. He turned up the heat in his car, parked in the no-parking zone, and helped Oliver into the passenger seat.
Oliver smiled at him in the dim glow of the streetlights. “Thank you.”
The seasonal fairy lights in the adjacent store window penetrated the fog with hazy dots of color. The drizzle put a ring of sparkles around Christmas lanterns hanging from the decorative rope lights strung across the streets. Noah leaned to Oliver and kissed him gently.
“Where do you live?”
Where to Buy
About the Author
I write stories that pop into my head and hope that they will resonate with someone. I’d love to think that the love stories I write are what readers want. I don’t think there’s enough love in the world, but even so, my stories are character driven. I always have a happy ending. We all deserve one.
I like to think there’s originality in my work. When I look at the body of my work I see originality within the story plots, but the theme of finding love is always there.