Molly O'Keefe's Blog

Somehow in our family our now 8 year old daughter has been wise to all the little lies parents tell their kids about The Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus but my 10.5 year old son has suspended his disbelief regarding all this stuff.

Adam and I have thought that he was sort of CHOOSING to believe, but probably really knew the truth and we weren't entirely ready to rid him of that.  So, Lucy has kept the secret and Mick has kept on believing.

Until this morning.

My kids and I have been fighting. A lot. Over everything. There is no conversation that doesn't have the potential to be a full-blown scream fest.  This is my fault. I'm the grown up. If this is going to change I need to change it.

So, after this morning's fight about Mick NOT wearing the clothes he slept in to school and Lucy NOT wearing the dress she found at the bottom of her book bag, (my point that all I wanted was for them to not be smelly at school was not impressive to them in any way) I decided we needed to talk.

We could disagree but we would be polite. We'd stop yelling. We'd walk away without worrying about who had the last word. We would remember that we love each other and that we're a great family made up of wonderful people.

Naturally this conversation turned into a fight. I got the last word by being the loudest - natch. And yelled at them to get ready for school.

The kids gathered up their book bags and Mick told me he had two loose teeth. I checked the wiggliness and confirmed: yep, two loose teeth. We even managed to smile at each other.

 I'm sorry I yelled, I said.

 I'm sorry I yelled, too, he said.

Peace restored. Happiness achieved. Hope for the future in place.

Lucy then says: You know Mick, Mom is the tooth fairy.

Mick: WHAT?

Lucy: Yeah, and you know about Santa Claus, too. Right?

Mick: MOM?

Mom wondering how this happened? And so FAST!!! We were JUST SMILING!!!!: Ummm...

Mick: MOM!!!!

Mom: If you believe in Santa then Santa is real!

Mick: MOM ARE YOU SANTA!!! MOM ARE YOU?? MOM!!!

At this point I realize if I say yes, I am completely lying to him. He's ten and half. His sister knows. I can't keep the myth alive.

Mom: Yes, Mick, Dad and I are Santa.

Mick attempted to storm out of the house, but I stopped him and calmed him down. Lucy started to cry at which point it was all I could do not to yell: THIS IS YOUR FAULT!

I asked Mick if he had any questions to which he answered - Have you been lying to me about everything my whole life?

I attempted to restore his faith in me before sending him out the door for school. Not sure if it worked.  My guess is not.

But then I poured myself a coffee, contemplated adding whiskey and sat down to work, at which point I put my hand in my hair and discovered during last night's birthday party for Lucy which we threw in a park - a bird must have pooped on my head.

And then I must have slept in that bird poop.

I poured out my coffee and filled my mug with that whiskey.

How is your morning going?

Happy Summer gang!! I have one more week of work left and then I'm deep into summer mode. Which means swimming pools and reading ALL THE BOOKS!! 






Pre-order BURN DOWN THE NIGHT from the ebook retailer of your choice and get a FREE short story download! Visit this site , enter the order number from your receipt, and click submit to claim your freebie. 
The short story is a hot little number between stripper/conwoman and general woman of secrets Joan and dangerous, dangerous Max.  The scene gets referenced in the book – and it’s a whole lot of fun. Go forth – pre-order and get your free story.

A battle for control turns explosive as a beautiful con woman takes a bad-boy biker hostage in this edgy, seductive novel set in the world of Everything I Left Unsaid(“Toe-curlingly sensual.”—Katy Evans) and The Truth About Him (“Absolutely one-click worthy”—J. Kenner).
The only thing that matters to me is rescuing my sister from the drug-cooking cult that once enslaved us both. I’ve run cons my whole life, and I’ll use my body to get whatever I need. Max Daniels is the last connection I have to that world, the one person reckless enough to get involved. Besides, now that his brothers have turned on him, he needs me too.
The deal was supposed to be simple: a place to hide in exchange for rescuing my sister. Now he’s my prisoner. Totally at my mercy. But I’m the one captivated. Enthralled. Doing everything he asks of me until I’m not sure who’s in control.

We both crave the heat. The more it hurts, the better. But what if Max wants a different life now, to leave the game . . . to love me? I thought I knew better than to get burned. Now I’m in too deep to pull away. And the crazy thing is . . . I don’t want to.
Also!!
I've got a really fun Facebook group called O'Keefe's Keepers and the week of July 4 I'll be giving away an awesome prize a day as a thank you to all my new followers! So - come hang out!
And wait...I'm NOT DONE!!
The Heart of It - my 10,000 word erotic short story is COMPLETELY free! Totally free - across all retailers! Check it out!



What are you guys up to this summer?? Are you reading ALL THE BOOKS?

I usually do The Author Is.... interview series in my newsletter and I'll get back to sending it out in my newsletter next month (Skye Warren, anyone? Sign up for my newsletter at www.molly-okeefe.com if your answer to that question was YES! PLEASE!) But I wanted to share my fellow Gambled Away author's answers to the questions I had after reading their amazing additions to the anthology.
The first story in the collection is All or Nothing by Rose Lerner.  
England, 1819 – Architect Simon Radcliffe-Gould needs someone to pose as his mistress so he can actually get some work done at a scandalous house party. Irrepressible gambling den hostess Maggie da Silva would rather be his mistress, but she’ll take what she can get… 
Rose's story is a total revelation. Even if you've read her books and you're familiar with nuanced characters and radically different plot lines, this story just feels different.  We have a bisexual hero trying to get his business started, a Jewish heroine with her own sense of style and a house party - how much better can it get? And as reviewers have noted, it's so sexy. Like it's completely drenched in eroticism. 
So, I had to ask her: Rose - this story is very hot. Was that intentional or did the story just take you there? Did you like pushing those envelopes in your own writing? 
Rose: Huh, I hadn’t really thought about that! I think the “gambled away” trope did a lot of the work for me--it's a very hot premise--and then I got to write power-exchange kink, which I love. Maggie’s 1790s vintage wardrobe is very sexy and gave a frisson to everything. It's a scandalous house party story, so I did try to dial it up a little. And I think my books have been getting hotter since I started casting my main characters with favorite actors (True Pretenses was the first book I did that for).


The truth is, I love writing sex! In fact, I think "hotter than my previous books" may be slightly deceptive. Except for my debut, all of my books have had sex scenes cut during revisions. Look at the "deleted scenes" tag on my blog and you’ll see what I mean! I was working to publishers’ length constraints, which I didn’t have on this story. I’m pretty sure All or Nothing ended up with about the same amount of sex as Sweet Disorder or True Pretenses: a kiss, a intermediate scene that gets interrupted, and two longer scenes. I make my sex scenes do a lot of emotional work so I’ve learned that that’s about the minimum I need—but it feels like more crammed into a novella than it does spread out over a full-length book. 


Next up we have Jeannie Lin's fabulous story “The Liar’s Dice” 

Tang Dynasty China, 849 A.D. — Lady Bai’s first taste of freedom brings her face to face with murder. A dangerous and enigmatic stranger becomes her closest ally as she investigates the crime, but can she trust her heart or her instincts when everyone is playing a game of liar’s dice? 
This story reads like the introduction to an exciting and epic historical mystery in the lines of the Timothy Wilde books. But with an amazing female lead. The possibilities are literally endless. So I had to ask Jeannie:  Are you planning on creating a historical mystery series with these characters - because if you are let me just give you my money now… 
Jeannie: Wei-wei is the character I get the most reader mail about and I've been pondering her story for a long time. I realized the problem was I couldn't visualize a single book that would encompass her story. I knew in her first adventure she would meet the seemingly unscrupulous Gao, but the rest of her story is still unfolding in my head.
So in short, yes! The Liar's Dice is a lead in to a mystery series with our own Wei-wei at the center of the ensemble cast introduced in the Lotus Palace series. (Ensemble casts being one of the features I really dig about Joanna Bourne's Spymaster series.)
Well, interesting she should bring up Joanna Bourne!! Here's a little bit about her story: 
London, 1793 – Soldier of fortune Gideon Gage has come home from halfway around the world, fully prepared to face down a ruthless gang to save his sister. But there’s one member of the gang he could never have been prepared for: fascinating Aimée, driven from her own home by the French Revolution and desperately in need of his help. 
Gideon and the Den of Thieves is full of all the amazing language and characterizations that Jo is known for. And I could ask her about all of that. But...Hawker plays a pivotal part in this story. He’s the youngest we’ve seen him in her books and all the more fascinating because of it. We’ve seen him in several books now and so I had to ask her:
Did you have any idea he would be such an important piece of so many books? Did he come to you fully-formed and demanding some word count? Have your fans demanded more of him? Do you have any more of Hawker to show us?

Joanna: I created Hawker as a sidekick, and only a sidekick. He walks onstage in Spymaster's Lady, a mouthy nineteen-year-old with a bullet hole in him. He gets saved a couple times in the book. I needed him for the role of 'plot moppet in distress'. (Yes. Really. With all his deadliness, that's his function in the plot.)
He's there to provide comic relief. He plays off the grim and serious alpha male protagonist. He's a fourth corner to the dialog. He feeds in backstory.
When an author creates a secondary character they intend to use as protagonist in Book Three, they write a hero because he has to be a hero in that future book. So he's tall, physically strong, socially elite, handsome, fearless, and an all-round honorable guy.
Hawker, because I didn't intend to make him anything but a sidekick, ever, was allowed to be underage, wounded, short in stature, unethical, genuinely lower class, pretty much dishonorable, and perfectly willing to be cowardly if the situation called for it.
I wrote him as kinda a sociopath. At least, he feels no particular remorse in killing which strikes me as a definitive sign thereof.
Who did readers want to see more of? The sociopath.
In Forbidden Rose, Hawker is even younger, cruder, more foul-mouthed, more violent, more ready to do murder.Readers really wanted to read his story.
There is just no accounting for readers.
I thought Hawker's misspent youth in the padding ken would make a good setting for a novella that had gambling at the core. What was he like before he ended up in the British Service? I've shown where he ended up in Black Hawk. This is a look backward to where he started out.
Will I write again in the Spymaster's Fictive universe?Who knows. Maybe.

Isabel didn't get a chance to answer my questions about her amazing world-building in her story "Raising The Stakes." Here's a little taste: 
California, 1938 — When the flute she won in last night’s poker game unexpectedly summons an elven warrior bound to her service, two-bit con artist Sam takes quick advantage. With Talathan’s fairy powers at her command, her shakedown of a crooked preacher is a sure thing…but would she rather take a gamble on love? 
There's a magical flute, a warrior elf and a tough-talking con woman. Do you need to know any more? I sure didn't. It's charming and funny and exciting!
My story, Redeemed is the third in my Into The Wild Historical Western Series. 
Denver, 1868 — After agonizing years in the Civil War’s surgical tents, Union doctor James Madison has nothing left to lose. But when beautiful, tortured Helen Winters is the prize in a high-stakes game of poker, he goes all in to save her—and maybe his own soul. 

Gambled Away is on sale for 2.99 on Amazon and free on Kindle Unlimited.  But it here. And talk about it  here. 

Last October Adam and I took the kids to Haunt at Canada's Wonderland. We weren't going to do the scary asylum/club vampire/mother noose stuff. We wanted to ride the rides at night and have a few teenagers dressed up as zombies jump out at us.

Now, for this story to resonate you have to know two things:

1. Somehow, Adam is the fun parent. While it was balanced between us for a while, after our trip to the UK last year - it was no contest. Dad was way more fun than Mom. And last October as we walked around Haunt - the two kids fighting each other to hold dad's hand while I was like three paces behind - I felt this incredibly keenly. My jealousy...it burned.

2. I am deeply scared of heights. Vertigo-style.  Standing up high or at the edge of something - or having my kids stand at the edge of something - I have the sensation of falling. I can not over-state this - it's  horrible.

So, there I am three paces behind my children and super-fun husband, when we walk by the Wind Seeker ride. Which, for those who might not know - is one of those spinning swing rides, only it goes up three hundred feet into the air while it spins. 300 hundred feet. It was higher than the crane building a condo nearby.

Mick says: "I want to go on that."
Super-fun Adam says: "No way, it spins. I don't do spin rides."
Mick says: "I'll go by myself."

Adam looks back at me and shrugs and I see my chance.

Stick-in-the-mud-scared-of-heights-Molly says; "I'll go with you."

Everyone laughs. But I'm serious so Mick and I go and stand in the line. Adam shakes his head at me but than takes Lucy off to get some over-priced glowing antenna thing and Mick and I hang out in line.  We talk, I make a joke, he laughs. I can feel my fun-meter rising.

But then he tells me I don't have to do this. That he understands. He tells me it's nice I'm with him in line, but that he knows I'm scared.

And I almost take the out - because I am scared. But then I think about what am I saying to him about facing fears. If I get out of that line, I'm telling him it's okay to let fear make you lose out on something fun. Or life-changing. When you let fear make your decisions for you - your world gets smaller. I believe that. I don't want my kids to feel that way.

Nope. I'm staying in. And now, I'm feeling pretty virtuous. Look at me - I am both fun and  having a teaching moment. Excuse me while I polish my crown.

Then we get rounded up into these little corrals because we're next. And the fear is now doing something to my bladder. And I might throw up.  And I'm thinking of how Mick might slip out from under the lap bar and how I'll just hold onto him. 300 feet in the air, I'll just use all my strength to keep Mick from falling through the lap bar to his death.

Mick is so excited. Talking non-stop. Wondering if anyone has ever gotten hit by a bird while they're up there.

This never occurred to me and now I'm scarred of getting hit by a bird.

Mick says: "Mom, it's not too late."
But it is. We're in the seat. The lap bar is coming down.  It was so scary I remember the feeling as I type this and it feels like my heart is going to come out through my ears.

I say: "Shit."
Mick says: "swear jar."
But I can't stop. All I can do is swear.  The swear jar is overflowing with money at this point.

And then we're going up. So high. And I am Blair Witch Project crying. Projectile snot.

Mick says: "Mom, you're hurting me."
I say: "Oh god. Oh my god."

Why am I trying to clean this up? There were like five f-bombs in that sentence.

I let go of him and hold onto the chain by my head as hard as I can.
Mick says: "Look mom, a cloud!"

But now I'm just crying and swearing and I have my eyes squeezed shut and Mick is going to have to fend for himself.  I mean, good luck to him and everything, but I have to hold this chain or I will die.

The ride lasts seven hundred hours.

Finally we are back on solid Earth, my hands are cramped from holding the chain, my tears and snot are frozen to my face and Mick runs off to Super-fun Dad to tell him about the cloud and the crane and how Mom just shut her eyes, cried and swore the entire ride.

To this day, I don't know what I did. Or if it mattered, if my lesson on fear will impact him in any way. Dad's still fun. I'm still scared of heights.

But yesterday walking home from school Mick was doubled-over laughing remembering that story.

And I did it - that counts for something. Right?

And no - I won't ever do that again.

It's amazing how time erases the bad memories, takes the edges off the horrible moments, the bitter turns. Four years ago my husband and I packed up our five year old and two-turning-three year old and went to New Zealand for seven weeks, to tour around in a camper. A teeny tiny camper.

I have a few really rough memories of this trip. But just a few. There was the night Lucy attacked Adam's face like some kind of feral wombat. There was the street corner in Queenstown when I walked away from my melting-down daughter and truly considered leaving her there. There are minor moments of irritation and exasperation, but largely my memories of that trip are wonderstruck. They are rosey and exuberant and even the bad times seem funny now.

Which is why we signed up to do it again. This time in England. 20 days, a nine year old and a seven year old and a teenier-tinier camper.

We got home from this "vacation" last night and so the bitter turns are fresh and this is what it's like for twenty days in that camper - it's like traveling with terrible roommates.

Like the worst roommates.

Roommates who don't cook. Or carry their own garbage. Roommates who constantly borrow money without paying it back. Roommates who never clean up or when they do - their clean up requires another clean up. Hours spent in campground kitchens trying to dam the rivers they've made on the counters.

Roommates who, when tired and hungry just sit down on the floor of the pub and pout. Roommates who really really don't want to see another castle unless there is a gift shop at the end of it (so they can borrow more money) and then if that gift shop is closed will wail so loudly, flounce so hard - everyone around them will stare, mouths agape, proving definitively that my roommates are the loudest things in England.


And Wales. And Scotland.

While hiking through Wales, behind a waterfall, even -  my room mates wanted to talk about their Halloween costumes.

In the middle of a tour through underground tunnels and caverns beneath Nottingham castle - truly one of the most amazing and cool things we did - my roommate wanted to talk about why Voldemort didn't have a nose.

One of my roommates only ate eggs and hamburgers. For twenty straight days.

But my other roommate ate everything - haggis, blood pudding. Mussels fresh from the sea.  And both my roommates wrote in their journals and drew amazing pictures of the places we'd been. And they really got into the rugby we watched. They stood transfixed through a tour of the World War II war rooms in Dover and a Viking Village and a turn-of-the-century factory.

They know quite a bit about Richard III.

Everyday they walked at least five miles, sometimes as many as eleven. Chatting the whole time - cheerfully.  They talked to strangers and asked questions.  They shook hands with people and a lot of the time I was really proud of them.

One of them wants to live in Cardiff. The other in Edinburgh. Both of them want to go to Japan in four years to do it all again.

I can't say I'm ready to do that this morning. But give me some time.

I love organization. And I love office supplies. Highlighters. I really love highlighters. And lists. Lists are my favorite things.  There’s a point in every book when the fog clears and suddenly I’m able to make lists of all the scenes coming up. Lists of the big changes. The character reveals. It’s a huge breakthrough moment every book. 
But I can never start with a list. 
And I love the idea of all those things making writing easier. I mean, I’m prepared for that. I really am. I have ALL THESE HIGHLIGHTERS. 
Sadly, my books start with a mess. And they are written in an even bigger mess.  
For some reason, the better it’s going, the more chaos I need.  I end up working at my dining room table.  (check out my Instagram accountfor what that looks like). And then when it’s really going well I write in my daughter’s bedroom. (Again, I instagramed that – don’t tell my daughter).
Last year I was rewriting The Truth About Him – and the rewrite was good. Hard, like crushing. Like  don’t-shower-for-days-who-needs-pants? kind of hard. But I was really pleased with how it was going.  So, everyday I found myself on the old couch in the play room with all of my kid’s toys stacked beside me. This pile of toys would fall down on me through out the day and I’d shove it away – not put anything away because that would mess with the chaos. 
My husband called it my hamster cage.  I called it my hamster cage.  My hamster cage was magic.
But it’s September and that means the kids are back to school and I finally have these days back after taking most of the summer off reading great books and getting new ideas. And while organization doesn’t help me write books it does get me motivated to do it. The way going shopping for school supplies made me excited for the school year - getting out my calendar and planning ahead makes me excited for the work to come.  It creates a framework around the chaos - makes the chaos seem like a good idea. A safe place. Something normal. 
I'm looking forward to the rest of these blog posts and getting some tips and ideas but mostly seeing how everyone else frames the mess and chaos of their writing life. 
There's an amazing giveaway attached - and anything organized by Lexi Haughton is about the most amazing thing - so you're going to want to enter this!!







And here are the rest of the participating authors! 
Monday, August 31st
Lindsay Emory      Molly O’Keefe                         KK Hendin                             Cherri Porter                           Meredith R. Stoddard              Tuesday, September 1st
Shari Slade                               Julia Kelly                                Karen Booth                            Derek Hawkins                       Rebecca Grace Allen               Jodie Griffin                            Wednesday, September 2nd
Jeffe Kennedy                          Alexandra Haughton               Mary Chris Escobar               Tamsen Parker                         Laura K. Curtis                        Thursday, September 3rd
Jennifer Lohmann                    Alexis Anne                             Kelly Maher                             Erin Satie                               Sandy Williams                                    Ophelia London                      Friday, September 4th
Vivienne Thorne                      Rebecca Paula                         Delphine Dryden                     Kristi Tuck Austin                   Edie Harris                              Serena Bell      

Hey! I'm so thrilled about the fantastic early press Everything I Left Unsaid  is getting and I wanted to let you know that I'm planning some special stuff for Everything I Left Unsaid and The Truth About Him.








First of all - I'm running a preorder Thank You Contest. If you've preordered the books, fill out the forms below and you're entered to win a $50.00 gift card to the e-retailer of your choice.  I know these books are a little pricier than my others - so it's just a way of saying thanks!










Everything I Left Unsaid:  http://goo.gl/forms/oqJYVwtJHf


 

The Truth About Him:  http://goo.gl/forms/rZjxTMhl5o







Also I STRONGLY urge you to sign up for my newsletter at www.molly-okeefe.com  Not only do I send out my The Author Is newsletter with fantastic (if I do say so myself) interviews with some of my favorite writers, (often with giveaways and exclusive excerpts) but in between the October release of Everything I Left Unsaid and the November release of The Truth About Him - I'll be sending out four Dylan Daniel's flashback scenes so readers will get a glimpse into the events that formed my mysterious hero. 








So - preorder and fill out the form and then sign up for my newsletter so I can send you delicious bonus material!

My husband is a self-taught drummer. His father is a self-taught drummer. Adam grew up with music and people playing music. He went to concerts at a young age - the Bee Gee's was his first one.


I played the clarinet (badly) for one year. And the hand bells in a church bell choir (which I think probably gives you a pretty good idea of what kind of kid I was). And I grew up in a house with one Crystal Gayle record.


All of this to say, in matters of music education, I leave the heavy-lifting to Adam. And Adam wanted the kids to learn how to read music and so we put our son in piano. He didn't love it, but he really seemed to 'get it.' So we were encouraged.


However over the summer our son started to really get into music and he had some pretty eclectic taste - Peter Gabriel, The Talking Heads, Kiss and Bruno Mars. He didn't want to play piano anymore, he wanted to play bass guitar. Probably because he wanted to be Gene Simmons.


Whatever, he was making choices and so we went with bass in the new year.


We have a very wonderful music school in our neighborhood and the bass teacher is a pretty funky guy who plays in a jazz band and tours with a blue grass band and I can't quite meet his eyes because he's cute. And our son really likes him and he seems to like our son  - so yay! High fives all the way around.


Adam and I take very little convincing that our son is going to be a very cool bass-playing kid. He was probably going to be a musical genius. How could he not? We were doing everything right!


WE ARE AMAZING PARENTS TO A REALLY COOL KID!


A few months went by - things seemed great. Adam and I got in the practice of dropping our son off at the lesson and running errands. So we weren't hanging out outside the door of the lessons. Practice at home was going pretty well. Not that I know, really, anything about the bass guitar. Hand bells, sure... bass guitar, not so much. But it seemed to be going well.


Until one day I dropped our son off and then went to pick up our daughter to a friend's house.  As we climb the steps to the house I hear this amazing classical piano music. And I think - well they are amazing parents too, playing classical music while the girls probably color or something.


I knock on the door, the music stops and the eleven year old sister to my daughter's friend answers the door. I am stunned. Shocked - I had no idea she could play like that.


I'm invited in by the girl's grandmother and I ask to hear another song. The grandmother goes and gets me a glass of orange juice, some cookies and a box of Kleenex (I think she's politely telling me I have a booger and quickly blow my nose.) She selects a song for her grand daughter to play. I sit. The girl begins to play and...


It's insane. It's powerful and passionate and HARD. Her little-girl fingers are all over that piano, they are a blur. And she's eleven.


By the second bar I'm in tears. And I can't stop. I am clutching tissues to my face. Guzzling orange juice to replenish my suddenly drastically depleted liquids.


She makes a little mistake and that somehow makes it worse. Because she's so gifted but she's also eleven. The grandmother turns the page of the music and then leaves her hand on the girl's shoulder and she's clearly so proud. And I cry harder.


The song ends and the girl turns to me and I clap and apologize because I am a snotty teary mess.
"It's all right," she says, "It happens a lot."


Because she's eleven. And she's got a gift.


I left that house, eyes swollen, my pockets full of Kleenex,  literally aglow with the beauty of the world. With the power of music. In love with kids and their untapped talents. In love with my own kid, who was on that same musical path. Who I was sure - utterly convinced - was only moments away from such an impressive display.


I went to go pick up my son and I was early so I would get to hear a bit of his lesson. And I was excited about that. Excited to see my son's growing relationship to music and to his individual talent and taste as a young artist. I was excited to listen through the door as he struggled and practiced and got better. I told myself to be realistic. To not make unfair comparisons.


I thought I was prepared.


I let myself into the basement where the studio was and I was barely through the door when I heard the teacher's voice saying. "Hey, hey buddy...please. PLEASE! Stop rolling around on the ground."


He couldn't be talking to my kid. Could he?


I peeked through the window in the door and there he was - my musical prodigy - rolling around on the floor, singing the KISS classic - I Want To Rock And Roll All Night, in a strange duck voice.


Right. Yes.


We got home, had a long conversation about how to behave in lessons. And after we put him to bed Adam and I had a long laugh. What else are you going to do?

Oh! It's a busy busy year, folks.

In May, I'm SO THRILLED to be a part of Brenda Novak's amazing fundraising efforts for Diabetes Research. She has three anthologies coming out; SWEET DREAMS which features ten new romantic suspense stories, SWEET SEDUCTION which will have all new erotica from your favorite erotica authors and SWEET TALK with all new contemporary romances from yours truly and some of the hottest names in the genre!

 Look at the amazing authors involved in SWEET TALK!

You can preorder copies here and here and here !

My story is about two childhood friends falling in love over five Christmas Eves. I pretty much love it to pieces.

In the fall/winter of 2015 I have a new series coming out with Bantam. Book 1 is called EVERYTHING I LEFT UNSAID and book 2 is THE TRUTH ABOUT YOU.

This is the story of a woman on the run from an abusive husband who finds a cell phone and starts a very exciting, but very dangerous relationship with the man on the other end.

More details to come.

And, for those of you waiting for more of my historical western series - the wait is almost over. This summer I will release book 2 TEMPTED, followed quickly by REDEEMED.

Phew - that's a lot of stuff. Through it all, you can sign up for my The Author Is...  newsletter . Every month I interview one of my favorite authors, about their books and their process and careers. There are usually books given away - it's a pretty cool thing. Here is the schedule!



January - Cecilia Grant February - J. Kenner March - Brenda Novak April - Nalini Singh May - Carolyn Crane June - Megan HartJuly - Joan Johnston August - Coutney MilanSeptember - Deanna Raybourn October - Jill Shalvis  

When my brother was in High School he was kicked out of school for starting a food fight in study hall. Apparently he threw my mom's knox blocks (jello squares for those of you who didn't grow up with my mom) across the room and all hell broke loose. There's a good chance he'll comment on this blog and say this isn't at all right, but that's what I remember.

And more than remember, I dreamt about it. I fantasized about it. I created an 80's pop sound track for it. I recast my brother as Judd Nelson. (It was an easy switch, they had the same mullet). Starting a food fight just seemed so cinematic. So perfectly high school.

I was not the kind of kid who could start a food fight. I was not that brave. I had a terrible throwing arm. I was terrified of getting kicked out of school. I was weirdly self-conscious.

But I wanted to be. I wanted to be that kind of leader, that kind of bad-ass. The kind of kid who knew just when a knox block was needed.

Flash forward to college.  I spent a huge amount of time in college at my best friend's house. The Kavanaugh house was an incredibly happy place. There was singing, and parties and turkey dinners. Hijinks and practical jokes seemed to abound. JK had two brother's who always seemed to be Up To Something.

For Christmas one year JK's dad took her to get a fancy new hair cut and a new wardrobe. I think I was actually waiting at her parent's house for her to come home, like the lame best friend with nowhere to go. She arrived, totally beautiful and transformed,  decked out in new clothes with a great hair cut and we hung out in her kitchen and laughed and laughed. We were both giddy and silly and for some reason in my mind, it seemed like the PERFECT time for a food fight and I smeared red jelly frosting in her hair.

This was...twenty years ago and I remember her face perfectly.

She was horrified. And hurt. And FURIOUS.

It was a stupid idea, I realized it the second my fingers left her hair. It was the exact opposite of the right time for a food fight. And there was no way I could explain that for a second I kind of felt like we were in a John Hughes film. I could not have gotten the situation more wrong.

The next year, my best friend had moved to Chicago and I met Adam, my now husband. It was spring or maybe early fall and we were at a school-sponsored party. Which meant it was a little stiff, a little lame. There was a keg of beer no one was drinking. And those sumo wrestler fat suits in a bouncy castle. There was a table of food. Carrots with ranch dip. Chips with salsa. A band, I think.

Honestly, it really felt like it NEEDED a food fight. If a food fight started it would have been epic. Memorable. We would talk about it for years. It felt like my moment. So I took a chip, covered it in salsa and flung it across Adam's shirt.

He was horrified. And confused. And not at all entertained. I tried to make my case but he wasn't having it. He cleaned up his shirt and we went to go see a movie.

I have no idea why I've been thinking about this. My hairdresser the other day was talking about how the really embarrassing moments we have in our lives are painfully internal. They rarely involve a room full of people pointing and staring, but are instead those horrible stomach-churning moments when you realize how painfully out of step you are with what's happening around you.  I love embarrassing moment stories. I have a couple, shined to a high polish. But they're easy, really. I'm not really that embarrassed.

These food fight things, though...I'm still cringing.

And you would think after these two terrible food fight attempts, I would give up the dream. But no.

The next year, at my five year high school reunion, I threw a handful of cake at Brian Cater and instead of being horrified, his eyes lit up and he grabbed a handful and threw it at me and it was on.  I had my moment. A giant cake food fight. Organizers were not pleased. And it was a mess.

But it was perfect.