Book Blitz! Excerpt, Author Interview & Giveaway! Merry Mary by Ashley Farley

A young woman longing for a child stumbles upon a Christmas miracle.

Investigative journalist Scottie Darden is photographing the homeless for her Lost Souls series when she makes a discovery that could change her life forever. Under a makeshift tent in subzero temperatures in a downtown city park, she finds a woman’s dead body with her infant child. Without her cell phone to call for help, Scottie makes the split-second decision to take the baby home. Her initial instinct is to provide the baby with food and shelter until her family can be located. But as her fondness for the baby grows, she finds herself facing a life on the run or worse—prison time for abduction.

Curl up with Merry Mary this holiday season. A heartwarming story of the powerful connection between a caring soul and an innocent child in need.

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“Shh, don’t cry,” she said, rubbing the baby’s tummy.

What would become of the baby? Scottie didn’t think the Commonwealth had the authority to place the baby up for adoption without permission of next of kin, which meant the baby would be placed in a foster home until the police could track down the father. If the father even wanted the child. If the father even knew he was the father.

The baby began to wail, presumably with hunger. “Don’t worry, little one.” She picked the baby up and held her tight. “We’ll get it all sorted out. In the meantime, I have plenty of formula and diapers to keep you comfortable.”

By the time Scottie got the baby inside, and mixed up a bottle from the supplies in her baby cabinet in the kitchen, the little girl was screaming, flailing her arms and legs in hunger. Scottie plopped down on the leather sofa in the adjoining family room, propped her snow boots up on the coffee table, and brought the bottle’s nipple to the baby’s mouth. The infant took the nipple between her lips, then thrust it back out with her tongue. Scottie turned the bottle upside down on her arm, letting a few drops of formula leak from the hole in the nipple, before returning the nipple to the baby’s lips. When she tasted the formula, the baby began to suck greedily.

“Careful now, baby girl. Don’t drink too fast or you’ll upset your tummy.” The baby stared up at Scottie with bright eyes. “We need to give you a name, don’t we?”

Scottie had been in the process of picking out names for her baby when her daughter was stillborn at thirty-one weeks. She’d been torn between Kate and Liza, after her grandmothers Katherine and Elizabeth. She ended up calling the baby Angel, which seemed appropriate for an innocent child who never drew her first breath.

Scottie’s eyes traveled the room, coming to rest on the nativity scene on the mantle above the fireplace. “Why don’t we call you Mary after the Virgin Mary?” She caught sight of the needlepoint pillow Brad had brought down from the attic—a green background with Merry Christmas in curlicue script in red across the front. “Or Merry, which seems appropriate for a spunky little girl like you.”

The baby stopped sucking and smiled up at her.

“I agree,” Scottie said. “I like them both as well. Merry Mary it is, then.

Tell us about Merry Mary in one sentence. 

Merry Mary is a heartwarming story about the powerful connection between a caring soul and an innocent child in need. 

What do you think readers will enjoy most about your story?

 I hope readers, especially mothers, will identify with my protagonist’s desperate longing for a child and empathize with the decisions she makes. I also believe they will enjoy the close relationship Scottie shares with her brother, Will. 

Are you working on a new novel? 

Yes, the sequel to Merry Mary, which I plan to release in Spring 2016. My currently untitled WIP is a full-length romantic political suspense starring Scottie, Will and the charming Guy Jordan. 

Who or what was the inspiration for your story?

 I created my protagonist, photojournalist Scottie Darden, out of my love for photography and my desire to see the world. Understanding some of the technical aspects of photography adds credibility to my story. All of my plots focus on familial relationships. My first novel, Saving Ben, which I wrote as a tribute to my brother who died of a drug overdose in 1999, depicts a college-aged brother and sister. Her Sister’s Shoes portrays three middle-age sisters struggling to balance the demands of career and home while remaining true to themselves. Scottie Darden shares a close relationship with her brother In Merry Mary and the upcoming sequel. Certain aspects of their relationship remind me of my brother and me, but mostly I created them out of the special bond between my own children, who are close in age—21 and 20—as well as spirit.

What is your favorite thing to do to get ready for the holidays?

Definitely not shopping. Every year on the day after Thanksgiving, I put my small artificial tree up in the corner of my kitchen, where I spend most of my time, and decorate it with food-related ornaments. I enjoy this tree so much more than the live tree I put up in the living room, which stresses me out and makes me a bah humbug. 

What is your favorite holiday . . .

Movie? 

I’ve seen The Holiday with Cameron Diaz, Kate Winslet, Jude Law, and Jack Black at least a dozen times. Jack Black is lovable. Cameron Diaz wears the most amazing clothes. And Jude Law steels my heart every time when he cries at the end. 

Novel? 

The Christmas Train by David Baldacci. Disillusioned journalist Tom Langon meets a host of interesting characters as he travels from Washington to Los Angeles by train for Christmas.

Song?

 Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas is You”

Tradition? It’s all about the food for my family. We have many traditions for the holidays, but our Christmas Eve meal is the most important. We invite the whole family over for a formal sit-down dinner. Even though we have the same dishes every year, everyone always raves about Emeril Lagasse’s Twice Baked Potato Casserole, which I thought you might enjoy.

10 large russet baking potatoes (about 7 pounds total)

8 tablespoons (1 stick) plus 1 tablespoon unsalted butter, at room temperature

1 cup sour cream

1/2 cup heavy cream

2 teaspoons salt

1 1/2 teaspoons freshly ground black pepper

3/4 pound bacon, cooked until crisp and crumbled

1/2 pound sharp white Cheddar, cut into 1/2-inch cubes

3/4 pound mild Cheddar, grated (3 cups)

1/2 cup finely chopped green onions

3 eggs, lightly beaten

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F.

Scrub the potatoes well and rinse under cool running water. Pat dry with paper towels and prick the potatoes in several places with a fork. Place the potatoes in the oven and bake for 1 hour to 1 hour and 15 minutes, or until tender. Remove from the oven and set aside on a wire rack until cool enough to handle.

When the potatoes have cooled, cut each potato in half and, using a spoon or a melon baller, scoop the flesh out of the skins, leaving as little flesh as possible. Place the potato flesh in a large bowl and add 1 stick of the butter, the sour cream, heavy cream, salt, and pepper and mash until chunky-smooth. Add the bacon, cubed white Cheddar, half of the grated Cheddar, the green onions, and eggs and mix thoroughly.

Butter a 9 by 13-inch casserole with the remaining tablespoon of butter and reduce the oven temperature to 375 degrees F.

Place the seasoned potato mixture in the prepared casserole and top with the remaining grated Cheddar. Bake for 35 to 40 minutes, or until bubbly around the edges and heated through and the cheese on top is melted and lightly golden. Serve hot.

Ashley Farley is a wife and mother of two college-aged children. She grew up in the salty marshes of South Carolina, but now lives in Richmond, Virginia, a city she loves for its history and traditions.

After her brother died in 1999 of an accidental overdose, she turned to writing as a way of releasing her pent-up emotions. She wrote SAVING BEN in honor of Neal, the boy she worshipped, the man she could not save. SAVING BEN is not a memoir, but a story about the special bond between siblings.

HER SISTER'S SHOES—June 24, 2015—is a women's novel that proves the healing power of family.

Look for MERRY MARY this holiday season, a heartwarming story of the powerful connection between a caring soul and an innocent child in need.

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Release Day Blitz! Worth Saving W.S. Greer

When we first met, we were both lost. It was written in our eyes when we first saw each other. My past haunted me, your present haunted you. I could see that you were aching, yet trying to bury the pain deep down so that no one would know, but it was there. I saw it. I saw you. I thought you needed me to swoop in and save the day; to be your hero, your knight in shining armor that would ride in and rescue you from the torment. And something inside drove me to a place I'd never been before. A place where it didn't matter how stacked the odds were, because nothing would stand between us. Nothing would stand in the way of me being the savior you needed me to be, and I'd go to hell and back to protect you. I thought you needed me, but I was wrong. It's me who needs you. I need your heart next to mine in order to get over what I've been through, and to push through the obstacles that are in our way now. It won't be easy. It'll be the hardest thing either of us has ever had to endure, but as long as we make it through together, it'll all be worth it, because you're worth every bit of the struggle. It's because of you that I can stare death in the face and not feel the slightest hint of fear. You make it all okay. You're worth it. You’re worth saving. 

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WS Greer is a multi-genre author, and an active duty military member with the US Air Force. He’s been serving his country since 2004, and has been an author since his debut novel, Frozen Secrets, was released in 2013. WS was born to military parents in San Antonio, Texas, and bounced around as a child, from Okinawa, Japan, to Florida, to New Mexico, where he met his high school sweetheart, who’d become his wife in 2003. Together, the two of them have two wonderful children, and are currently living overseas on the tiny island of Guam. WS has tackled different genres throughout his writing career. From suspense with his debut novel Frozen Secrets, to erotic suspense with his bestselling Carter trilogy and Defending Her, and now contemporary romance with Worth Saving. As a reader, WS usually prefers the drama of suspense, but as a writer, he’s branched out and is doing his best to reach a wide audience and a plethora of readers. WS loves connecting with his fans and readers, and does so whenever he gets the chance, and he would love to hear from you. You can find him on his personal blog, Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. Stay tuned, there’s more great stories coming from WS Greer! 

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Excerpt Reveal & Giveaway! Thirty Nights by Ani Keating

 

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Thirty nights. Two hearts. One fate. American Beauty, Book 1 After her parents’ tragic deaths, Elisa Snow wanted nothing more than to escape her past. Eighteen and alone, she fled her quaint English village and moved to the United States. A starving science student by day and an artist’s muse by night, Elisa has slowly built a new life. She never dreamed she would lose everything again. She’s one week from graduation when her visa is unexpectedly denied. Given thirty days to leave the country, she must face the one thing she cannot survive again—saying goodbye and leaving her home. Yet within minutes of her world shattering, she meets a man with the power to piece it back together. After finishing his tour of duty in Iraq, Aiden Hale traded battlefields for boardrooms, becoming one of the most successful venture capitalists in the nation. But all his wealth can’t buy him reprieve from the horrific memories of war. The only thing that gives him peace is a painting of Elisa. Drawn together by their invisible wounds, they begin a passionate affair as they race against the clock to defy their pasts—and fight for their future. Earlier versions of this book were posted on the author’s blog under the titles of The Master’s Muse and 30 Nights of Snow, using the pen name Ani Surnois, and has since been extensively edited.

 

The light of his bedroom is muted. No sound but the night and my loud breathing. He is close, very close. I smell sandalwood. Cinnamon. Aiden. I see nothing but him. And he has turned part beast, part man. The molten blue of his eyes stirs, melts, whirlpools, freezes and revives all over again, in some inner battle. He caresses my cheek with the backs of his fingers, along my jawline, until he reaches my lips. He traces my lower lip with his thumb and the edge of his nail scrapes my skin lightly, back and forth, back and forth. My eyes close, my head lolls to the side. Then, both his hands frame my face. “Open your eyes,” he whispers. I do, but my eyelids are heavy. “Elisa, have you done this before?” His voice is low, almost part of the night. I can only shake my head. “La virgen,” he mouths. “Are you sure you want this?” This, yes. What’s coming later, no. I nod. Apparently the powers of speech have deserted His lips hover over mine. I feel his hot breath on my mouth. “I should stop you, but I won’t. Because every day, every hour—awake or asleep —since I saw your first painting, you have haunted me.” His voice is on a tight leash, and the fire in his eyes rages brighter. One of his hands leaves my face and splays at the small of my back. He presses me against his body. Hardened, coiled. For me. He brings his mouth to my ear. “I think it’s time I haunt you back.”

   

 

Ani Keating is an attorney, daughter, sister, and wife, living in the City of Roses, Oregon. When she is not in court or at the office helping clients sort through legal issues (and complaining about the photocopy machine), Ani explores her childhood passion for writing. Her first novel, Thirty Nights, is a sexy and heart-tugging story about love’s power to save and guide us even at our darkest moments. Thirty Nights was originally posted online on fanfiction and on Ani’s popular blog. Over the course of eight short months, the story received more than half-million hits, 63,000 visitors, over 1,000 followers, and over 3,000 reviews and messages. It will be released for everyone on November 17, 2015. Its sequel, Ninety Days, is currently in the drafting stage. When she is not writing, Ani spends endless hours at Powell’s Bookstore, exploring classics and latest releases. She also likes to stroll through the Portland Rose Garden, drool over shoes on any store window, and dance to everything from Beyoncé to Johnny Cash. You can connect with Ani on the following media: Web Site: www.anikeating.com Twitter: @AniKeating Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ani.surnois For inquires related to signings and book and movie rights, please contact her agent at stacy@reasonmgmt.com.

 

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Book Blitz! Excerpt & Giveaway: The Divide (Dreamland #2) by E.J. Mellow

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Molly finally uncovers the truth about the strange dreams that plagued her sanity for weeks. Now destined to accept a clandestine role, Molly must find the strength and courage buried deep to push forward and succeed.

With the help of Dev, the roguish blue-eyed man of her dreams—whose dark past resurfaces to haunt him—Molly prepares to test the limits of her newly awakened powers and set right a world on the edge of being consumed by nightmares.

But when an unknown shadow stalks her every step and a shocking revelation about her ancestry comes to light, Molly may find herself forced to make a decision that could leave her alone in the dark and standing on the wrong side of a divide.

Don’t miss The Divide—the heart-thumping second installment in The Dreamland Series.

Clapping echoes in the room, and I glance up to find Dev casually leaning against the wall next to the door. His eyes are narrowed with appraisal, and his mouth is half-cocked in his signature amused smile. “Impressive,” he says as he pushes off the wall and slowly walks toward us. His sudden appearance and graceful saunter rock me out of my fighting mind-set. I take in his broad shoulders and the way his shirt hugs him like a jealous girlfriend. 

Letting go of Rae, I tuck strands of hair that fell from my ponytail behind my ear, suddenly aware of how sweaty I am. 

“Thanks.”

“I’d like to see what you could do against a real opponent,” he says with a smirk, crossing his arms. The stance calls attention to his biceps, the same ones I once found myself mortifyingly squeezing. 

I leer at him. “And I’m sure you think you’re said opponent?”

“There’s only one way to find out.” 

Rae fluidly stands from his fall and drapes an arm around me. “Molly here is a natural.” 

I snort out a laugh. “And I’m sure retaining past Dreamers’ abilities has nothing to do with it.” 

“Don’t be so modest.” He squeezes my shoulder. 

“Have you practiced with any weapons yet?” Dev moves toward an empty wall in the center of the room. Placing a hand on it, the area drops out, revealing a rack of diverse armament. There’s an abundance of blades, and my eyes pause on two hook swords, knowing how they feel in my grip, before traveling on to the axes, clubs, daggers, unusual looking guns, and blunt staffs. Here is where Dev stands, taking out two Bō—a Japanese long staff weapon. Somehow I know all the names and uses of these objects, except for some of the guns. Those remain foreign.

The only difference with these weapons and the ones I’d find at home is the material in which they are made—the same strange gunmetal aluminum as the Arcus. And if my memories from past Dreamers are anything to go by, they can be filled with an altered form of Navitas, making them glow the hot blue-white, and lethal toward any opponent. 

“I was saving that part of the training for later,” Rae explains soberly. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Dev asks, handling the Bō naturally as he walks back to us. “She seems to have grasped her hand-to-hand combat for today. Why not finish with a little sparring?”

“See what I mean about the tough teacher,” Rae mutters to me. 

“What do you say, Molly? Care to give me a go?” Dev taunts, holding one Bō while twirling the other. 

I narrow my eyes and extend a hand. “I know I won’t hear the end of it until I do.” 

He gives me one of his sexy grins while throwing me the staff. I snatch it from the air, immediately knowing I’ve been trained in the art of bōjutus.

I smile back. 

Oh, it’s on.

As if reading my thoughts and without any further warning, Dev sweeps toward me. His intense blue eyes are the last things I register before my mind switches off and I lunge back.

I'm the author behind the NA Contemporary Fantasy trilogy The Dreamland Series. When I'm not busy moonlighting in the realm of make-believe, I can be found doodling, buried in a book (usually this one), or playing video games. 

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In The Spotlight! Excerpt & Guest Post: Going Against Type by Sharon Black

Some would say Charlotte ‘Charlie’ Regan has it all. Beautiful, smart, athletic, and a great job working as a journalist – in the almost exclusively male sports department. But Charlotte is not quite so sure as she seem. Recently split from her overbearing boyfriend, she escapes for weekends surfing in the Atlantic, and spends her free nights watching sports, roaring at the TV.

Derry Cullinane is a fashion writer, gossip columnist, and sophisticated man-about-town – The go-to guy for any woman seeking expert advice on what fabulous outfit to wear for any given occasion. He’s also tall, dark, good looking . . . and straight! So what’s the snag? He has a track record of dating glamorous, vain, and shallow women.

Charlie gets an opportunity to write a new column under the pen name Side Swipe, but soon is drawn into a war of words and wit with a rival paper’s columnist, The Squire, and their verbal fireworks get readers and editors talking. Yet neither Charlie nor Derry knows just who the opponent is.

When Charlotte and Derry meet at the Races, the attraction is instant. As their relationship develops, so much more proves at stake than protecting their alter egos. But a blunder puts Charlotte’s job in jeopardy just as Derry’s past makes front page, and Charlotte begins to doubt her feelings. When Side Swipe and The Squire are finally forced to reveal themselves, will they revert to type – or confound everyone’s expectations?

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‘So, did you not enjoy the date?’

Charlotte sighed. 

‘Oh Helen, don’t get me wrong, he’s the perfect gentleman. You know, thoughtful and entertaining and completely relaxed with everyone. It was like Grand Central Station during the interval, but he also knew the director so we were invited back to the Green Room after the show. And I was completely out of my depth. 

Helen sipped her coffee.

‘You’re a big girl. Stop looking for problems. Was he flirting with other women?’

‘Other way around: they were flirting for Ireland. But some were definitely ex-girlfriends!’ She groaned. ‘I think the worst moment of the night, was when one of them asked me what was the last play I saw?’

‘What?’

‘You remember last Christmas when I took Anna and Daniel to Jack and the Beanstalk!’

Helen’s eyes lit up.

‘Did you tell her that?’

‘I figured, what the hell, be truthful.’

Helen giggled.

‘You know what it reminds me of? That scene from Pretty Woman, where Richard Gere brings Julia Roberts to the opera and the old lady asks her if she enjoyed it, and Julia Roberts says, ‘It was so good I almost peed my pants…’ Helen stopped as she caught the expression on Charlotte’s face. ‘Probably not the best example.’

‘Probably not,’ Charlotte agreed, then ruined the effect when she giggled too.

Hi Mikky, 

I’m so thrilled to be here today. I’d like to tell you and your readers a little about myself and my inspiration for my debut novel. 

I’m from Dublin, and except for some summer jobs abroad back in my student days, I never left! I took history and politics at college, and then did a postgraduate in journalism. That was during the 80s, when so many students like me were being told to stay in college for as long as possible, because there were no jobs in Ireland. A lot of my friends emigrated, at least for a number of years. 

I was a bit luckier. I managed to get work with a local Dublin paper first, and then I started working for a national newspaper. I married a fellow journalist (who worked for the opposing paper!!) and I took a substantial break from paid work, when my children were small, before returning to freelance work for a while. 

By the time I gathered my courage to write a novel, I knew I had to write about something I knew. 

Going Against Type is a romantic comedy, set in the world of Dublin-based national newspapers. It’s the story of rival newspaper columnists, who write under pen names, and unknowingly fall in love with their arch enemy: each other! They each have good reason to protect their alter egos. So their relationship develops, each blissfully unaware of whom the other is. Until they are forced to reveal themselves....

I always loved romantic comedies, and they are still my comfort read. I like them to be sharp and witty, and so I tried to write mine that way also. 

My inspiration was the 1940s Hollywood film, Woman of the Year, with Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracey. I’d be a big fan of both. Hepburn plays a high brow pundit, who rubbishes sport in one of her columns. Tracey is a sports columnist who leaps to defend his beloved sport and in turn, attacks Hepburn’s views, and the fun begins. In the film, they meet quite quickly and despite knowing who the other person is, they fall in love. 

In Going Against Type, I did something a little different. My heroine, Charlotte ‘Charlie’ Regan is the sports buff. At the beginning of the story, she is given a chance to write the new, anonymous sports column, Side Swipe. 

My hero, Derry Cullinane is a fashion writer and gossip columnist, The Squire for the rival paper. He’s sophisticated, man-about-town and a bit of a playboy. They fall in love, and that’s where the fun begins. 

The hardest part of the book to write was their columns. I had actually written columns for a short while when I was a journalist, but in the book I had to write two opposing viewpoints. That was difficult. They needed the most rewrites and editing, but it was worth it. 

What I ended up with was a huge contrast between their weekly attacks via their columns, and their real life relationship with each other. And of course it meant there was more at stake. 

I love Charlotte’s character. She’s a feisty, 20-something woman, working in an area still largely dominated by men. I know very little about sport, having never been sporty myself. 

But I admire people who are, and I wanted Charlotte to be very different from me. Because Charlotte’s a journalist, I’d hate to think I was writing bits of me into her. 

A lot of people are surprised that my very manly hero writes about fashion and celebrity gossip. Apart from wanting to shake things up, I wanted to write a strong male character, who is completely comfortable in his own skin, and his fabulous tailor made suits! He is fine with having a female boss and working with so many women. Actually, he likes that a lot! 

It sounds like a terrible cliché, but writing this book was a huge learning experience. I had written short stories down the years, and had some of them published. I’d started so many novels, but had never finished them. 

I think I knew the time was right. And I knew I had a good story. It made me determined. I became an author and I’m so grateful for that. And I’m proud of my debut.

Author Sharon Black grew up in Dublin. She studied history and politics at University College Dublin and then did post-graduate in journalism at Dublin City University.

She has worked for national newspapers, including The Evening Herald and The Irish Examiner.

She had short stories published in U Magazine and won the 2010 Dromineer Literary Festival short story competition. When she is not writing, she reads, walks and sees friends. She co-founded a local book club 14 years ago. She loves theatre, old Hollywood films, science fiction and good stand-up comedy.

Sharon lives in a Dublin coastal village, with her husband and their three children.

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Book Blitz! Excerpt, Guest Post & Giveaway! Canvas Bound, Captive Art #1 by Laura M. Kolar

Sixteen-year-old Libby Tanner’s art comes to life. Her painted skies turn from day to night, leaves rustle on trees, and sometimes, a mystery boy appears.

While attending England’s Aldridge Art Academy, Libby meets charming Brent Henderson, a performing arts student who showers her with attention. But his rival, gorgeous Dean James, is the one who occupies her mind, even though he’s very much attached to his current girlfriend.

Libby soon learns there’s more to both Brent and Dean than she ever imagined. In order to save her future and the boy who’s captured her heart, she must unlock the secrets behind her art by entering the most dangerous place of all… the world within her paintings.

But once she steps into the canvas, she risks being trapped forever.

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CHAPTER ONE

I paced my studio floor as evening descended on the field in my painting. The sparse oak trees cast lengthening shadows on the acorn-littered ground, where the grass was more golden brown than green. The sunny sky became a star-filled night, and the field turned murky as the shadows faded into the black oblivion... just like my mystery boy.

He’d vanished.
Again.
So did the rush of him appearing in my finished work, my joy squelched by the

expression on his face. Usually he wore a smile—a sad one, but still a smile. That night, he’d just looked miserable.

I stopped pacing and stared at the canvas, reaching out to the spot where I’d last seen him. Maybe if I could touch him or knew where he went when he disappeared, I wouldn’t feel so hollow from his absence.

An icy trail ran down my arm a moment before my fingers grazed the wet paint. I pulled away, checking to make sure I hadn’t smeared the field. It was the first time he’d appeared since I’d arrived at Aldridge, and I didn’t want to ruin whatever connection I had to him. My hands shook as I picked at my nails, which were coated in splatters of color from painting all day. A glimpse of him, sad or not, had been enough to keep me working, hoping to see him again. I’d picked my fingers mostly clean when a knock came from the door to the adjoining room.

Please go away.

The knock came again, more urgent.

If you’re here, he won’t come back.

He wouldn’t anyway, though. He never came to the same painting twice.

“Libby, if you don’t open this door, I’m going to break it down.” Travis sounded more concerned than angry.

I sighed heavily as I dragged myself across my studio and into my bedroom, kicking a path through my discarded clothes to open the door. “This is solid walnut and has a steel lock. You’d only hurt yourself trying to break it down.”

“Hmm... good point.” His eyebrows knitted as he gave me a once-over. “Did you forget, or are you wearing that to dinner?”

I glanced down at my paint-covered T-shirt and jeans. “This is what I always wear to dinner.”

“Right. Surprise, surprise. Olivia Tanner forgot.” He breezed past me, patting my shoulder on his way to my bathroom where my closet and dresser were located. “You’re lucky you have me as your social director,” he said, ducking behind the door.

He wasn’t joking. If not for Travis, I’d probably never leave my private suite. We’d met two weeks ago, on my first day at Aldridge Art Academy. He’d enrolled several months before me and was assigned as my student liaison, a job he took very seriously. We were both from the States and had clicked right away—probably because he was the only person I’d ever met who liked Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall movies as much as I did.

Travis emerged from my bathroom, holding up my red dress. “You’re also lucky you have me as a fashion consultant.”

I hadn’t been paying attention to what he was wearing, but as he stood waving the gossamer fabric between us, I noticed his white shirt, black coat, slacks, and tie. His usually

tousled blond hair was combed neatly, and he wasn’t covered in bits of clay from sculpting all day.

“Oh, crap. I forgot.”

“Yep, we’ve established that.” He thrust the dress at me. “I know you’d rather stay locked in your room like an old maid and sniff paint fumes all night, but trust me, you do not want to miss this.”

I grabbed the dress and glared at him. “I don’t sniff the fumes. My studio is well ventilated. And if you’re telling me I don’t want to miss a fluffy dinner where a bunch of teenage girls ogle over a bunch of teenage boys, sorry. Not for me.”

“See, that is something an old maid would say, and you are a teenage girl.” He shook his finger at me. “Or did you lie about being sixteen?”

“No, I didn’t lie. I’m sixteen going on seventeen, not seventy.”

“Anyway...” He waved me off.. “I hear there’s a fresh batch of cute guys, and you haven’t met any of the performing arts students yet. Most of them are great people.” “Most of them?” I put one hand on my hip, the other still clutching my dress.

“Well, I don’t know all of them. Yet.” He waggled his eyebrows. “But the point is, you have to come out of your studio, and this dinner is mandatory.”

Huffing at him, I flung the dress over my shoulder and stomped into the bathroom. After an impressively fast shower, I pulled my chestnut hair into a bun and fastened it with bobby pins, allowing a few curls to fall around my neck. I stepped into my dress, glad I’d shaved recently, and tugged at the hem. The style reminded me of the famous Marilyn Monroe image, the one with her skirt billowing up around her. Mine had the same plunging neckline and gathered waist.

I’d thought I brought a simple black dress, the one I always wore to gallery showings. But sometime after I’d packed my garment bag, my mom swapped it for this one, with a note that read, “Saw this and thought of you. For a girl who sees the world in such vivid colors, you should dress that way, too. Wish I could see you in it. You always look beautiful in red. Love, Mom.” I sucked in a deep breath, willing away my thoughts of home as I tugged at the hem again.

“You almost done?” Travis called from the other room. “We’re going to be late.”

“I still can’t believe they make us do this.” I applied some foundation, wishing I were painting a canvas instead of my face.

“You mean independent study and no one enforcing a ridiculous curfew isn’t enough freedom for you? Wait. Don’t answer that. If your parents had any idea how loose they actually are with the rules around here, they would yank you out so fast it would make my head spin. Oh, the scandal! Teenagers sneaking in and out of each other’s rooms under the cover of night. Anyway, think of it like an assembly, England’s Emily Aldridge Academy of Arts’ special brand of torture.”

I laughed at his horrible attempt at a British accent as he uttered our prep school’s original name. “I thought you said no cell phones and blocked social media sites were their own special brand of torture?”

“Yes, well, they want us to be free-spirited, just not over the Internet.” He sighed. “At least tonight is better than one of my parents’ stupid dinner parties. I have to pretend to be someone I’m not at those.”

“I’ll let you be whomever you want if you let me skip tonight.” I dabbed my lips with a tissue then picked up my jewelry from the counter. “I’m going to lose several hours of painting time, and I’ll probably be out of the mood when dinner is over.”

“Even you don’t believe that. You’re never out of the mood to paint. But sure, I’ll let you skip tonight. You can skip out the door, down the hall, and all the way to the dining room. Though if your goal is to not draw attention to yourself, I’d suggest walking.”

I didn’t respond as I fumbled with my necklace. The delicate silver chain held a single teardrop-shaped topaz, my birthstone. Eventually, I gave up trying to get it on and opened the bathroom door.

“Whoa!” His sky-blue eyes grew to the size of saucers.
I glanced down at myself. “Too much?”
He stood up from my desk chair and circled around me. “No, but I’m seriously

questioning my sexuality right now.”
I rolled my eyes and dangled the necklace in front of him. “I need help with this.”
“I’m serious, Libby. You’re...” He took the chain and fastened the clasp with ease before

his gaze wandered down to my plunging neckline. “Eyes up here,” I said.

His lips spread in a wide Cheshire cat grin. “Sorry, even I can appreciate a nice rack.” “Well, don’t get used to it.” I smoothed down my skirt.
“I won’t. But this”—he waved his hand at me—“is not the way to avoid attention.” “That’s it.” I gritted my teeth, realizing my rack would soon be on display for the whole

student body. “I’m chang—”

“Oh no, you don’t.” He grabbed my hand. “We’re late, and besides, in my opinion, not even your cleavage beats a well-defined six-pack on Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome.”

“You win.” I pulled my hand from his grasp. “Let’s go.” I slipped on my black heels and made my way to the door. “You coming?”

“Yep, just enjoying the view.” He shut the door to my suite behind us. “Committing it to memory actually. It may never happen again.”I glanced over my shoulder, almost wishing I’d let him try to break down the door. I didn’t want him to get hurt, but I would’ve had more time to paint.

It’s been over a year since I’ve written anything. Sure, I’ve opened a few of my old manuscripts and looked at them, maybe changed a few words here and there. But to add actual word count has been more than a struggle.

Some of you authors out there are gasping right about now. How can she call herself a writer when she doesn’t write? Well, while I may not have added word count, I’ve never stopped thinking about writing or brainstorming story ideas. I just can’t seem to pen words to paper (or type them). Even writing this post has taken me more time than I care to admit.

When I sit down, thinking I have some time to work, I get completely stuck. Not just writer’s block, it’s a major malfunction. Somewhere between my head and my hands there is a disconnect.

It’s to the point where I’ve seriously considered trying to find a ghostwriter. Is that cheating? I should be able to figure out the dialog, or at the very least describe the scenery, but even those things have been elusive.

This past weekend, I participated in a book festival with a bunch of other author’s and I thought to myself, I wonder if any of them have struggled this badly before. Feeling like a failure at something you love to do is probably one of the worst feelings ever. The best comparison I can come up with is that it feels like I’m continually sending rejection letters to myself.

I keep waiting for that breakthrough moment when all my ideas fall together perfectly and the story flows out like a gushing waterfall of words. But how long should I keep waiting? When is the point where you just start typing nonsense and hope that you’ll be able to edit it into a presentable piece of work? I don’t know.

I also don’t know why or how it happened. Maybe I just got too busy with other things. Maybe it’s because I started a new day job. Maybe it’s because my laptop keeps telling me the battery is at the end of its useful life. Most likely it’s a combination of many factors all rolled into one giant jumbled ball of goo, keeping me from my goal of publishing more books.

Though, however long it takes for whatever it is that needs to be straightened out, I’ll be ready. Because there will always be another story to dream up. My imagination isn’t dead. The follow through is just on hiatus for a bit. 

Laura M. Kolar lives with her husband and daughter in a one-stop-light town in northern-lower Michigan. Though she didn't discover her love of books until she turned thirty, as a self-declared hopeless romantic, she has spent the past few years reading and writing stories with mostly happy endings. If not at her day-job or with her family, you will find her sipping a cup of chai latte while sitting in her favorite rocking chair, hunched over her laptop writing or spending entirely too much time on Twitter.

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