‘Banning the Bullshit’ Sunday: ‘Food of love’ by Anne. R. Allen

No, it isn’t Valentine’s day and no, you haven’t forgotten that all-important anniversary (at least, I don’t think you have. And if you have, no amount of BS will get you out of it! )…

It’s Sunday. ‘Banning the Bullshit’ Sunday to be precise.

So, what literary lusciousness do I have for you today then? Ah, well, you may have heard of this lady before. Quite a few times actually. THAT is because she writes lots of books and we, publish them! She is even collaborating with the uber-awesome, Catherine Ryan Hyde (of ‘Paying it forward’ fame) on a ‘How to…’ book, but more of that in a mo….

There’s just no stopping Anne R. Allen – and we love it! In fact, talking of love: Get a load of this – ‘Food of love‘ is the latest addition to the MWiDP fold and to Anne’s ever-growing collection of brilliant books (see the end of the blog for links to other bullshit-free posts). BUT, ‘Food of love‘ is actually Anne’s first-ever published novel (OK, we came to the game a little late on this one) and is still her best-selling. There’s a reason for that.

It’s brilliant.

Yup. No messing. Comedy thriller. Porn, screwball romantic comedy. It has the lot. Here’s the blurb (oh and guess who provides the intro?):

Food of Love was Anne R. Allen’s first published novel, and continues to be her most popular of her five (and counting) books.

First published in the UK in 2003 by the now-defunct Babash-Ryan, it’s a romp through the world of the booming late 1990’s. Part thriller and part screwball romantic comedy, Food of Love appeals to readers on both sides of the pond. Beneath its roller-coaster plot and comic exterior, the story addresses some complex issues about body image, religion and a woman’s right to choose.

Food of Love tells the story of Regina, a former supermodel, now princess of a tiny European principality (yes, these places do still exist, although the one in this novel is of course fictional), who has lost her skeletal figure and finds herself threatened by an unknown assassin. Fearing her royal husband wants to kill her now that she’s not model-thin, she seeks protection from her estranged African-American foster sister, conservative Christian television pundit, Rev. Cady Stanton.

Reverend Cady has some serious weight and romantic issues of her own, compounded when an “accident” intended for Regina leaves her temporarily blind. But when Regina is declared dead and Cady’s seventy-year old secretary is wrongly arrested for smuggling a small nuclear bomb to the funeral, Cady takes control.

With the help of a porn mogul, a Russian spy, a rap diva and her fierce hairdresser-girlfriend, Cady is able to save Regina, restore the bomb to its proper owners, and unearth the long-buried family secrets that hold the key to her own happiness.

Food of Love has all the classic elements of comedy thriller and believable farce that have become the hallmark of an Anne R. Allen novel.

Introduced by UK best-selling author Saffina Desforges.

Oh and here’s the link stuff:

Amazon UK

Amazon.com

Amazon.fr

Amazon.de

Sooooo, you know what I’m gonna say, right? WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?

So, where was I? Oh yeah, when all those around you lose their heads… here’s how to keep yours and survive in the E-age.

Anne and Catherine have been around the block where sanity and writing is concerned. Believe me. So, when two experienced and successful writers decide to come together and produce a ‘How to’ book, you have no choice as a writer (and even less as a publisher, I mean, HELLO, I watched ‘Pay it forward’ three times) but to read it. And read it you can. Soon.

‘How to be a writer in the E-Age and keep your E-Sanity‘ will be released mid-June, so look out of it. In the meantime, cast your peepers over the amazing cover, designed by our very own design God extraordinaire, Athanasios.

Oof! Cool, huh?

*sigh* I just don’t know how I do it.

Until next time fellow BsF’ers…

Saffi

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‘Banning the Bullshit’ Sunday: ‘Birdy’ by Karen Osborne

Phew! That’s one hell of a week out of the way! (and what a crap-filled week it was! I mean, seriously? The amount of virtual dung flying around in the shape of so-called informed blog-posts this week was enough to make farmers jealous!)

And so to today, my now-favourite day of the week! (and evenmoreso today as it is Bank Holiday tomorrow here in England)

Anyho’. Today, you guys are in for a treat.

At MWiDP, we are always on the look out for something different (and, crap-free, I might add). We have some awesome titles on our books now and we are very proud to be associated with them. I mean, let’s face it, we’re not just gonna publish any old tat now are we?

Every so often, as publishers, writers and more importantly, readers, we come across something that stops us in our tracks. It might be a poem, a line of dialogue, hell, it might even be a whole book; you know the one that you instantly miss when you’ve finished it?  We’ve all been there right?

Well, today’s offering is one of those such gems.

‘Birdy‘ is a strange animal. It is neither one thing nor the other. I couldn’t even tell you exactly what it is.

And that’s the beauty of it.

It is a story. A reflection of mankind; a poem; a collection of beautifully haunting drawings; your worst nightmare and in the authors’ own words:

a strange little story of one dog’s unconditional love for a young woman and how female energy fights back against the unnatural corruption of male energy gone mad!

Whatever it is and whatever you think it is, one thing’s for sure, you need to read it, to live it. It will stay with you always.

Beautifully supported by the original charcoal drawings and text, ‘Birdy’ will leave you breathless and your coffee cold.

Birdy

More Birdy

Here’s the links:

Amazon UK

Amazon.com

Amazon.fr

Amazon.de

It might be short and it certainly ain’t sweet, but you need ‘Birdy’ in your life. Trust me.

Saffi

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12 Days of Christmas – #1 Elizabeth Ann West

WOOOOOOT! It’s here! It’s Christmas Eve! Yay!

Ok, we’ve had some brilliant stories and posts over these past 12 days. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading them as much as I have enjoyed hosting them. Thank you to everyone who contributed.

I saved the last spot for someone special. Elizabeth is not only one of our brilliant authors over at MWiDP and our fabulous IT guru, but in 2012 we are going to be working on a couple of projects with her. She’s also pretty cool!

Here she is:

Christmas Under Pressure

This is my fifth attempt to write this blog post. I’ve followed the series and I’ve built up all of this pressure on myself to deliver. I’ve got THE Christmas Eve post. The last one…and I’m so afraid to disappoint.

Here’s the problem: I’m not IN to Christmas this year. In my country, the good old US of A, there are two extreme camps. One side looks at Christmas like a sport, with bargains hunted with such ferocity, don’t visit your neighborhood K-mart without pepper spray! On a completely opposite side of the spectrum, are the religious fanatics, who want to throw piety around like it’s 1692 and there’s some witches to burn. How many tiers did you make your birthday cake for Jesus?

This year, I did all of my shopping in one day. I bought a small gift for the in-laws and shipped it to them directly, as our recent move from SC to CT has put a damper on our Christmas fund. My children each had a limit placed on them, and I even traded in my hand held video game player for an extra boost so we could upgrade my stepson’s system.

My husband and I are not exchanging gifts this year, a first. And I don’t care. I’m not upset one bit. This year, my family worried about our future too, too much. My husband applied for an officer program in the Navy and if he didn’t get it, was getting out. He flew to job interviews in places that get eleven feet of snow per year. Let me say that again. Me, a girl raised in southeastern Virginia, where everything shuts down on a forecast of flurries, was going to move to a place where they get ELEVEN feet of snow!

And I would have gone. But thankfully, he made officer and we now live in Connecticut, where they average about twenty inches of snow per year. For the first two year though, it’s a slight pay cut (we’re making the same amount we made in SC, but there’s a high cost of living up here and we are renting out the house we own down south).

The bottom line is my family is healthy and happy. My marriage is in a less stressful season, despite living a little tighter to our budget. I couldn’t ask for more than that. Well I could, but I don’t want it. I’m looking forward to a new year writing another novel or two, and putting on a publisher hat once in awhile. I’m anxious for a brand new chance to make life special, whether it’s reaching out to a reader who wants to read my book but cannot because she is blind so I’m making her an audio book, or teaching my daughter how to spell her name.

This year, I just want a normal, quiet holiday. My family is finally together, without anymore Navy deployments. The lack of emotional drama is one of the best gifts I could ask from Santa Claus. And we’re building new family traditions, such as my parents visiting the weekend before Christmas. What about that extravagant Christmas dinner everyone puts on? The West family is making pizzas.

So Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas. Let your heart be light. From now on our troubles will be out of sight.

If you haven’t seen Meet Me in St. Louis, give it a chance this holiday season. And I look forward to celebrating a new year full of new opportunities with all of you. Merry Christmas!

Thanks Elizabeth! And here’s to 2012!

So, that’s it. We’re done.

All that remains is to wish you and yours a very Merry Christmas and a fantastic New Year. Here’s hoping that 2012 brings us all everything we could wish for and more.

Saffi

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12 Days of Christmas – #2 Leonard Hilley

Squeeeee! Only two more sleeps!

And so, to Leonard:

Haunted by Santa Claus

Leonard Hilley II

The first Christmas I remember clearly was when I was two years old.  We lived in Alabama where Decembers were usually too warm for snow.  A knock came upon our front door.  My mother told me to look outside as she opened the door.  On the front porch was a small racecar track set on a piece of plywood.  She told me that Santa Claus had left it for me.

While I stared at it, not understanding whom Santa Claus was, my father snuck back through the house and showed up behind us.  He carefully picked up the board and car set and brought it into the house for us to play.  I didn’t know Santa, but it was neat that he dropped off the gift.  But, why didn’t he stick around?  What was the rush?

My mother explained that Santa had to deliver toys to all the kids in the world and just didn’t have time to meet everyone.

The mystery of Santa Claus worried me the following Christmas.  Songs of Christmas and Santa played on our record player.  Who was this Santa Claus and how did he always know what I was doing and whether I was naughty or nice?  This troubled me.  I thought only God had such power.

At a department store, my mother took me to see Santa.  He gave me a piece of candy that I didn’t like, so I tucked it inside my coat pocket.  When I got home, I took the plastic wrapper off the candy and tossed it in the toilet.  The second I did this; I suddenly remember that Santa had probably watched me do this.  I quickly tried to flush the candy, but it didn’t go down.  I lowered the lid and hurried to the living room.  Now I feared Santa wouldn’t give me any presents.  Why should he?  After all, I had thrown his candy away.

Christmas came and I got nice presents.  Had Santa missed me throwing away the candy?  Or, was it candy that he didn’t like, either?  It no longer mattered.  I had toys to occupy my time.

I don’t recall how young I was when I discovered that Santa didn’t really exist and that presents were placed under the tree by my parents.  Maybe when I entered preschool someone had told me.  But the leverage that you had to be good or you didn’t get presents from Santa no longer held validity.  So, my parents played another song a LOT before Christmas.  “I’m Gettin’ Nuttin’ for Christmas.”  Not that I was a bad kid, but they still let me know that goodness earned presents and being bad had severe consequences.

Nowadays, it’s difficult to find kids that believe in Santa.  The hustle and bustle of Christmas and its commercialization has soured many people and children.  At family gatherings I have seen kids open presents and snub their noses at their gifts.  Parents run up huge Christmas tabs on their credit cards and have lost sight of what Christmas is truly about.  What happened to the days when gifts had more meaning than the cost?

Santa once haunted my youth, but seeing a traditional holiday mired by Black Friday and fist fights over gifts haunts me even more.  Give the greatest gifts ever—love, respect, and time.  Life is too short not to share these.

Leonard’s books can be found here:

Amazon page and links to books

Thanks, Leonard. I bet you’re hoping for a shiny new car from Santa eh? (judging by your author pic)

So, tomorrow is the big one! Yes, after those incredible countdown posts, it is finally Christmas Eve. It’s been fun (if not exhausting) and I hope you have enjoyed our very own take on advent here on SMoD&L. We have had an incredible year and if you missed the post explaining news of our deal the other day, then pop on over to my (new look) sister site and check it out. Finishing the countdown off tomorrow is the brilliant Elizabeth Ann West. Now where did I put the sellotape?

Saffi

12 Days of Christmas – #3 Artermis Hunt

Ok, just 3 days left until the big day! Now, this next post isn’t what you’d call creative and not isn’t particularly cheery, but what it is, is the PERFECT epitome of this blog’s theme AND absolutely true.

Read it and take heed. Over to Artemis Hunt.

Merry Xmas. It’s been a tumultous month for me since we last chatted on this blog. My beloved mother-in-law died of lung cancer, only to be followed by my husband’s aunt 10 days later from pancreatic cancer. This serves to remind me how fleeting life is, and how we should seize the moment.

Haven’t decided to independently publish? Do it now before it’s too late.

I haven’t regretted a moment of it.

These are my monthly sales:

Aug (1 week)             14
Sept                          44
Oct                           977
Nov                           4311
Dec (as of Dec 8th 6 am)      2700

My top selling work (a short story) is in the Top 3 Erotica of Amazon US. I’ve been on the Movers and Shakers list periodically. As of today, I have 5 or 6 works in Amazon US’s Top 100 erotica, mostly priced at $2.99. My works have been on Bookstrand’s Top 30, and I stick out like a sore thumb amidst Bookstrand’s own well-promoted Siren writers, who fill up almost the entire list. 7 of my works have earned the All Romance Ebook bestseller crown. My works have occupied the Top 1,2,3 and 4 spots of Amazon Germany‘s Top 100 English erotica list.

Erotica writers have written to me and hailed me a success.

How did I do it? Was it marketing? Pure luck?

Actually, I didn’t do a single shred of marketing for my erotica shorts/novellas other than to cite every title down on each of their Amazon pages. It’s actually pure luck.

It’s true!

I know people don’t like to hear about luck. But I made my own luck. I wrote stories in a series, and released them quickly, sometimes days after the other. I was determined to do what Joe Konrath said we must do – write until you get lucky. I wasn’t even aiming for Amazon’s Top 1000. I was just writing and writing and hoping to make a decent living without hitting a ball out of the park.

So, give yourself a gift this Xmas, and celebrate being alive. Do what you want to do. Don’t look back. This past couple of weeks have thought me that life is really too short to spend regretting things you haven’t done. If you are in doubts about self-publishing, just try it. Then you won’t be in doubts anymore!

Aphrodite/Artemis Hunt

Thanks, Artemis. A very simple message.

Tomorrow, Leonard Hilley.

Saffi

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12 Days of Christmas – # 5 Nick Spalding

Oooh, it’s getting closer! #5 on our countdown to Christmas!

Today’s writer needs no introduction (but I’ll do it anyway!). The fantastically funny (and rather handsome) Nick Spalding!

Nick Spalding on the joys of Christmas presents…

In what is a spectacularly obvious piece of lazy recycling, here’s an excerpt from my first comedy memoir ‘Life… With No Breaks’ all about the joys (or otherwise) of gift giving at Christmas. Enjoy!

 

I’ve received some extraordinarily silly presents in my time.

I seem to have one of those personalities where people think I like quirky and strange gifts, normally purchased from gadget shops.

Would you believe a friend once bought me a kite? When I was thirty two?

I’m all for staying young at heart, but do I really need to express it by running round the park on a windy day, trying to get a kite in the air for more than three seconds?

There I am, wondering how long it will be until my hair falls out of my head, grows on my arse and gets thicker in my ears – and I unwrap a gift more suited for a time when I was as hairy as a cue ball and still thought Batman was real.

The epithet written on the card that came with the kite said:

‘For when you want to get high!’

Stunning.

The kite went in the shed and I conveniently ‘lost’ the friend’s phone number for a while.

Because I’m a writer, I tend to get presents related to that pursuit. Nothing useful though, like a new keyboard to replace the one I’ve broken the letter B on, or a book telling me how to write a best seller.

No, I get bought quirky things.

Like a pen with a radio in it.

Yes… a pen with a radio in it.

How desperate for friends have you got to be before that sounds like something you’d actually want?

Small earphones extended from the pen on a cable, which was slightly too short to be used without bending your head over to one side, looking like you were a tad mental.

I gather the person who bought it for me – a relative this time, so no chance of severing ties – thought I might enjoy the chance to write flowing script and listen to the radio at the same time, all from one convenient device.

And who could blame them? After all, it’s not like it’s possible to do those things easily and efficiently any other way, right?

Hmmm…

Singing socks.

They were a good one.

You put the socks on, pressed a button on the side and they warbled a tune at you. The song in question was ‘Tiger Feet’ by Mud (which is available on Spotify, I believe).

The socks had a badly stitched picture of a tiger on them. The small electronic device that controlled the whole thing rubbed irritatingly against your skin.

I wore them – once – for the delight and edification of my wife, who found the whole thing hilarious.

I can’t really blame her. There I was, standing in my new socks, with a seventies rock song wafting from around my ankles and a green flannel dressing gown covering my modesty.

The expression on my face could best be described as perplexed.

At this point, it’d be nice to launch into a tirade about the companies who produce this crap.

I’d like nothing more than to vilify the fools who sit in product meetings and decide upon the latest crazes to fill our shops from floor to ceiling and drain our bank accounts with frightening rapidity.

But I can’t do that because it’s not really their fault.

It’s ours.

The simple fact is, if we didn’t keep buying this crap then they wouldn’t keep making it. If we didn’t keep buying pens with radios, singing socks, cardboard moo machines – or any one of a thousand other completely useless items you’ll find in the shops – then these people would stop producing them. They’d then find more constructive things to do with their time, like inventing flasks that keep the contents hot, or office chairs that don’t make your arse numb.

Have you noticed the kind of stores that sell this stuff only exist for a short period of time before disappearing into the ether?

They usually spring up at Christmas in otherwise disused shops, promising quality presents at rock bottom prices. They’re generally manned by people who are on day release from minimum security, or haven’t been caught by the police yet.

They tend to get out of town long before you come back, wanting to complain about how the novelty indoor fountain you bought for your auntie Jenny has stopped working and started making disturbing farting noises in the middle of the night.

There are many reasons why we keep buying these weird and wonderful gifts, but mainly it’s because they make Christmas shopping a whole lot easier.

Unless you’re buying for children – who are happy with anything, provided it’s plastic, brightly coloured and incredibly expensive – it’s hard to come up with gifts that aren’t as dull as ditch-water.

I’m as guilty of it as anybody.

My father is the kind of man who’s always had the money to buy what he wants and the sense to know what he doesn’t. Therefore, purchasing presents that elicit any kind of positive or heart-felt appreciation is next to impossible.

This makes the Christmas Eve shopping trip even more of a nightmare.

The amount of time I’ve stood in front of the gifts section at Boots, wondering whether to buy dad a ceramic miniature garden gnome or bathroom set – you know, the ones that invariably contain shower gel, talc, deodorant and an amusingly shaped bar of soap – doesn’t bear thinking about.

I’ve settled for the fairly stress free option of buying him a bottle of whisky every year. He may not appreciate it, but he’s normally so pissed by the time I talk to him, it sounds like he does.

A small, guilty part of me thinks I’m turning him into a raging alcoholic. I’m convinced at some point he’s going to decide I’m trying to kill him in order to get my hands on an inheritance.

I might swap to cigars in the next couple of years. Give his liver a rest and his lungs a wake up call.

My mother, bless her, is grateful for whatever I buy and I love her for it. She keeps everything.

There’s a dusty box in her bedroom closet that contains Christmas cards written by me at the age of seven.

I had a look through them once. It disturbed me that my handwriting hasn’t improved much.

Much like my father, I have a distinct inability to show gratitude when I receive an unwanted or ridiculous gift. I have a big problem with what I like to call the post-unwrap pause.

This is the time when you’ve successfully unwrapped the present enough to see what it is and registered the fact it’s the worst present in history. You then have to fake a look of gratitude at the wizened old carbuncle of a grandmother who bought it for you.

It’s very difficult.

I find myself making a rather high-pitched keening noise, accompanied by my face twisting horrendously into something approximating joy and surprise.

I’ll then come out with a comment along the lines of:

‘Oh! Thank you, Gran! I was just thinking the other day it’d be nice to write and listen to the radio at the same time.’

To me, I sound about as convincing as Hermann Goering’s defence lawyer at the Nuremberg trials, but she seems to take what I’m saying at face value, concludes the festive transaction with a kiss, and a short anecdote about how she was passing The Gadget Shop, saw the offending item in the window and immediately thought of me.

It’s a lot easier to open presents when the giver isn’t in the room with you. You can safely express your feelings about the quality and suitability of your new possession by swearing at it, or burying it at the bottom of the garden beneath the miniature gnome.

Bearing this in mind, I’ve resolved to open my annual Christmas haul from now on in the toilet with the door locked.

___________________

Enjoyed that, did you? Then why not buy the whole book? Available on the Kindle and in paperback at AmazonUK:

If you want more Spalding in your life (and who doesn’t? …well, my ex-wife for one), why not buy the rest of my books here

They all make excellent Christmas presents.

…for every member of your family.

…buy them two copies each just to be sure.

Merry Christmas everybody!

Tee hee. Oh, Nick, you are a one!

Come back tomorrow for a FIRST for SM0D&L! The one and only Mark Williams (yes, my partner in crime) will be popping across to entertain you!

Saffi

12 Days of Christmas – #7 Ruth Barrett

And so to #7 in our Christmas countdown!

Today, Ruth Barrett explains about her personal holiday demons, how she copes with them and her creepy cure (I mean, come on, what did you expect from this lady?)

Christmas time… again.

I struggle with Christmas more and more as each year comes and goes. I always want it to be something magical. Not about the buying and giving of Stuff, or the exhausting pace of trying to cram too many dutiful visits into a short stretch of time. The pressure is huge to have a GOOD TIME and feel all warm and fuzzy. It wearies me.

Family dynamics play a big part in whether one enjoys Christmas or not. For the most part, my family and I are relatively remote (pardon the awful pun.) I have no grandparents or aunts and uncles left, my cousins are mostly strangers to me, and my more immediate family are all living in their own little bubbles (as am I). There are a handful of exceptions: I am very close to my mother, and one of my three older brothers and his daughter do keep up a consistent connection. I’m not sure why it has to be this way without getting into a lot of intimate family head-shrinking and analysis. It is what it is.

Since my parents are elderly and now living in a condo, the hosting of the ‘holiday family gathering’ (and frankly the only time I ever see most of them) is a quietly contentious issue. Everyone waits for someone else to step forward. No one ever does until the pressure builds to the boiling point at the last minute, and then there is a simmering unvoiced resentment if you can’t make it due to other plans. I am single, don’t drive and live in a small town at some distance from everyone. During the off-season, getting to my parent’s city by public transport is a day-long tedium of mixed buses, taxis and trains. Throw in the date of December 24th or 25th and the nightmare is compounded a thousandfold. Weather can also be dicey, as I live in a snow-belt.

The stress of it all starts about now and lasts into the New Year. I’m hoping- whoever bothers to host (and I am not set-up to do so, and am furthest away of all the clan)- that I can get a ride with a friend so at least I see my Mom. I have a horror of spending Christmas Day alone. There is a kid in me who wants a beautiful tree with amazing decorations, a table laden with a feast and happy faces to share it all with me. The reality is never close to that sort of fun, and the effort to make it happen at all is exhausting.

Don’t feel too down: these are just my personal seasonal demons, and I’ll cope. I always manage somehow to have some great times with friends, enjoy a feast and do something charitable. I just wish it didn’t feel like something we have to do, and always on other people’s terms. I try to treat others well all year long. I want nothing more than to let go of past regrets, and just rise above social pressures and family politics.

For all that, there is a tradition I hold dear. The best of all Christmas stories is a British ghost story. Every year I make sure to read it, or attend a public reading of it, and watch the brilliant black and white Alastair Sim film version. No colorization please! No lame ‘updated’ movies with Jim Carrey or what have you! If you have never read the original, do yourself an enormous favour and get yourself a copy. This quote really captures it all:

“I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach. Oh, tell me I may sponge away the writing on this stone!”

- A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens

Ruth Barrett is the author of a ghost story too! ‘Base Spirits’ is available as an e-book here:

Amazon Kindle

Amazon UK

Smashwords

Paperbacks are available through fine indie bookshops: Fanfare Books: fanfare@cyg.net or Callan Books: jcallan@orc.ca (Autographed upon request before shipping.)

Follow Ruth on Twitter

Visit on Facebook 

Blog 

Thanks Ruth!

Ruth kindly gifted me a copy of ‘Base Spirits’ for Christmas and I can’t wait to read it!

Come back tomorrow for the wonderfully talented and equally weird Kealan Patrick Burke!

Saffi

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12 days of Christmas – #8 Tallulah Grace

 

Here it is! #8 of our blog fest countdown to Christmas!

Today the brilliant Tallulah Grace brings you the first part of a Christmas Story, ‘Kelly’s Christmas’. You can read the rest of the story over at Tallulah’s blog.

Hallelujah for Tallulah!

Christmas brings wonderful memories and warm moments for most of us, but some would rather ignore it altogether. Kelly lost everything one Christmas Eve; can an ethereal visitor help her rejoin the living? This short story is the back story of one of the characters in my upcoming novel, as yet untitled.

Kelly’s Christmas

The lights dangling merrily from every house on the street except hers silently mocked as she drove home. “It’s Christmas, time for family and friends and all-around good cheer,” they screamed with their twinkling colors swaying in the cold winter wind. Like she needed a reminder. It was impossible to turn around in this town without getting some type of in-your-face seasonal message. It was enough to make Rudolph puke.

She used to love Christmas; the decorations, the parties, the baking and the joy in finding just the right gift to make her little girl smile. Before, she couldn’t wait for Christmas to arrive. Before, she shopped all year to give everyone on her list something special. Now, she wanted to close her eyes and wake up in mid-January. Or not wake up at all.

As the garage door closed behind her, she grabbed her briefcase and the fast food bag that held her Christmas Eve meal. Doing her best to ignore the holiday wishes stamped all over the paper bag, she made her way into the dark house. Seven years had fled since the night she’d lost everything, but the memories were still fresh, too fresh to celebrate this farce of a holiday ever again.

The high-pitched beep of the alarm broke the silence until she entered the code. After flooding the kitchen with light, she locked all three deadbolts before stepping out of her shoes. “I should have gone away again this year,” she told the African violet perched on the window sill.  “Blake could’ve handled the trial.” Even as she spoke, she knew that this one was too important to turn over to anyone else. No way would she risk the pervert walking. His victims could never testify against him, but she would speak for them, with a vengeance. He would rot behind bars, of that she was certain.

“Fine thoughts for a Christmas Eve.” The voice came from out of the blue, causing her to drop the wine glass she had just taken from the cabinet and whirl around frantically. The kitchen was empty.

“Who’s there?” She reached behind her, trying to grab a butcher knife from the counter. “Show yourself!” She commanded.

“I don’t think I can.” The voice came again, this time it was right beside her. “Put down that knife, please, before you hurt yourself.”

“What is this?” Kelly whispered, sliding along the counter’s edge, away from the disembodied voice.

“Don’t be frightened, sweetheart, it’s me, Kyle. Have you forgotten what I sound like?”

Kelly froze, still holding the knife in front of her. This could not be happening. Maybe I’m losing my mind, she thought.

“No, you’re not crazy,” the voice answered her thoughts. “At least not any crazier than normal.”

The low, deep chuckle sent shivers along her spine. It sounded just like Kyle, but it couldn’t be. Kyle died seven years ago, along with Kaylee, their daughter, her parents and Kyle’s parents. It was a stroke of luck that she had not been in the house during the invasion. A stroke of very bad luck. She would much rather have died along with her family than to be left behind to mourn them.

“No, Kelly, you’re still here for a reason. Please stop thinking that way.” The voice became soft, almost pleading.

“Stop that! How can you know what I’m thinking? Where are you?” Kelly moved along the counter until her back touched the corner. “If this is some kind of sick joke, I am not amused.”

“It’s no joke, hon, it’s me. Come sit down and I’ll explain.” One of the chairs around the breakfast table slid out as the voice continued. “You always did believe in ghosts, don’t tell me that you changed your mind.”

Kelly stared at the chair, willing it not to have moved. After several, silent minutes, she spoke. “Kyle?”

“Yes love, I’m here. Please put down the knife and sit. I’m not sure how long I can stay.”

Read the rest of the story at Tallulah’s blog

Happy Holidays~
Tallulah

Thanks once again Tallulah for brightening up SM0D&L!

Tomorrow – the delectably dark, Ruth Barrett!

Saffi

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Aid an indie writer #12: Manifesting Daddy by Donna Butler

GENRE: Women’s Fiction

BOOK TITLE:  Manifesting Daddy

PEN-NAME:  Donna Butler

BOOK BLURB: 

For wife and mom, Melanie Brodie, the path to wholeness is full of surprises. And a few obstacles. The “You Suck Chorus” has taken control of her mind, convincing her that she’s unloved, unfit and undeserving of a life worth waking up to. Depressed and fed up, all she wants to do is tell her troubles to “Daddy”, her hero, but he’s been dead more than thirty years. Her young, Chinese shrink tries to help her. So do her best friends with their pep talks and supernatural ceremonies. But it is Austin, the sexy, black, new neighbor who shows her that where her bliss lies, so does her self-esteem. It would be so easy to fall in love with him, especially with a marriage as rocky as hers. But that odd, familiar spark in his eyes holds clues to a metaphysical mystery.

LINKS TO BOOKS:  https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/24271

LINKS TO BLOGS/WEB SITE:  http://www.donnabutler.com/
ANY ADDITIONAL INFO: 

Donna lives in the Kansas City area suburbs with her fiance and two cats. In addition to writing, she loves animals, gardening, cooking, fireworks, drag queens, cute purses and most things described as “out there” or metaphysical. In her second novel, Clutter, to be released in March, 2011, the girl who has everything becomes the girl who can’t part with anything, when tragedy turns her into a hoarder.

Helping other indie writers in 2011

So, it’s January, the weather is miserable and the Spring seems a long way away.

In order to help beat those January blues, I have decided to help out other indie writers and host a book a week on my blog. Let’s face it, we need all the help we can get!

So, look out for the first one this week!