Author: Dee S.

A Humorous Look at Why We Might Be Better Off Not Having Fought the Revolution

Barbecued pulled porkI sit writing this on the day we Americans celebrate our independence from the British. Jack and I spent the day with friends, eating fruit, barbecued pulled pork on a bun, cole slaw and fries. We enjoyed iced tea—both sweetened an un- —and that most American of desserts, apple pie. Like many of you, we celebrated the Fourth of July unmindful of the heat, concentrating more on the coldness of the watermelon.

I couldn’t help but wonder what we would have celebrated in July had we not fought the War for Independence. Maybe we shouldn’t have—we wouldn’t have had the War Between the States if there’d never been any states, for example. So here are ten reasons we might have been better off if we’d remained British. I’ve never claimed to be a scholar, and you’ll soon see why I’m right. Please excuse any mis-statements.

  1. We would have tea. Not just the drink, which is delicious, comes in lots of blends, and is so much more soothing than coffee to drink when you have a cold. I mean the activity, TEA. Sitting back, relaxing, Afternoon teasipping a wonderfully warm, bracing blend such as Darjeeling while nibbling on tiny sandwiches, cake and biscuits (cookies to us Yanks). And when you ordered tea in a restaurant they would be faster to recognize when you need more hot water. Now you’re basically ignored. 🙁
  2. We could lay claim to thousands of years of glorious history. I have to admit, as a die-hard Virginian, are somewhat snobbish about history when we visit places like North Dakota. Not that ND doesn’t have a resplendent history, but Virginians are rather prideful. (She says with York and the Minsterpride.) Anyway, if we’d remained British, we could point to things like Stonehenge, York Minster, and Beatrix Potter’s house and say to the rest of the world, “Look what we have, nyah, nyah, nyah!”
  3. The British have the coolest currency. If we hadn’t broken away, we too could have pretty colored paper money, and easy to figure out coinage. Plus, when your pockets are full of pounds, you feel rich (and you walk a little to one side), even if you only have $15.
  4. We’d have a queen (I mean that in the royal sense of the world, not the Elton John sense). A president is pretty neat, but gosh, a QUEEN. Think of it. I really like Queen Elizabeth. Call me crazy, but I love her clothes, her hats and even her handbags. (Queen Elizabeth, if you’re reading this, maybe you’d be appreciative enough to offer an invite to Balmoral?)
  5. If we were still one country, maybe air fare would be cheaper, or maybe they’d keep the QE II running, but at reasonable prices. I’m all for a quick weekend trip to Great Britain.
  6. We’d have been taught to pronounce words like “Edinburgh,” “Cheltenham,” and “Magdalen College.” Or why they have seven rivers named River Avon, though the word avon itself means river. So it’s really Stratford-upon-River? Somehow that loses something in translation.Monty Python
  7. We could claim PG Wodehouse, Oscar Wilde, Hugh Laurie, anyone who speaks with a Scot accent, but especially Sean Connery, The Bodleian, Diana Riggs, Stephen Fry, Monty Python, Masterpiece Theatre and Mystery, Camelot and magic, Richard Burton, and I could go on and on.
  8. We’d already drive on the left side, so when we took those inexpensive vacations and rented a car, we’d know what the hell we were doing.
  9. We’d have Boxing Day AND Christmas—twice the celebrations!
  10. The Brits are known for their stiff upper lip. Sometimes we Americans could use a bit of that.

Okay, so I’m kidding about all this. Even with the problems and troubles we have, the political squabbling, and the economic ups and downs, we’ve grown from an insignificant little nation to a rather remarkable force. A force for good more than evil, or at least I think so.

On this July Fourth as on every other of my life, I’m proud to be an American. Proud, tall (which I’m happy to say is a relative term, since I’m pretty darn short) and unashamed.

July 4th--Happy Birthday, America!I thank the men and women who have fought—and still fight—to allow us our bar-b-ques and our arguments and celebrations. Without you, we would be driving on the left and eating bangers and mash instead of hotdogs. Thank you for your sacrifice.

Happy birthday, America, and may you stay strong and well.

Dee

Only a Good Man Will Do: Seriously ambitious man seeks woman to encourage his goals, support his (hopeful) position as Headmaster of Westover Academy, and be purer than Caesar’s wife. Good luck with that!

Naval Maneuvers: When a woman requires an earth-shattering crush of pleasure to carry her away, she can’t do better than to call on the US Navy. Sorry, Marines!

Welcome to the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour! #RRBC #RWISA

RWISA Showcase

EXCERPT FROM UPCOMING NOVEL, “WINTER OF THE DRILL”
By Rhani D’Chae

***

Decker leaned against the hood of his car, talking to JT in a low tone of voice. His face wore a pleasant expression, and a casual observer would have had no clue as to the seriousness of their conversation.

“Second floor, third from the left?”

JT nodded without turning, keeping his eyes focused on Decker’s face. “That’s what Hunt said, and it does make sense.”

“Are you sure?”

The boy closed his eyes, remembering Hunter’s words immediately after the shooting.

“I think it came from that window over there!” Hunter’s eyes zeroed in on a building across the street. “Second floor, three in, left.”

JT nodded his head, confident that he had given the correct information. “Third from the left. I’m sure.”

Decker dipped his head almost imperceptibly, flicking his eyes quickly over the row of windows on the second floor of the nondescript building. Nothing seemed to be out of place, but he had not expected to find anything. However, the address of the building, as well as the location of the window and anything of interest nearby, went into the small notebook that he always carried with him.

“Well?” JT’s voice held a touch of impatience. “Do you see anything?”

“Yes.” Decker laid one hand on JT’s shoulder. “I see a boy who needs to learn that some things take more than a minute.”

The addition of a friendly smile took most of the sting from his words, and JT responded with a smile of his own.

“Okay.” Decker rose from his perch and stepped on to the sidewalk. “I’m hungry, and you never got to the Olive Garden. Let’s find some food.”

* * *

From his vantage point at the front window of the Greyhound station across the street, the man known only as Rhegan, watched them head toward a small cafe. He had returned to the strip in search of street gossip but had surprisingly heard almost none. And what he did hear was not worth listening to.

As he watched the pair walk slowly along Pacific Avenue, he thought back to when he had sighted on the boy and pulled the trigger. He had aimed carefully, not wanting to kill, but even so, he was surprised to see JT back on the street so soon.

After the shooting, he had taken a few minutes to watch the fireworks, knowing that the police would not be called.

His victim had fallen hard, his panic obvious as he managed to scrabble behind the nearest parked car.

His companion had reacted with cool precision, slipping one arm behind the boy’s shoulders and speed-dialing his cell phone with the other hand.

Even from a distance, Rhegan could see that the man was scanning the street. When the steel-blue eyes passed over the window that he looked through, he felt a sudden chill, as if those eyes had looked directly into his and issued a challenge.

A few passersby stopped to offer assistance, but Rhegan could tell that the man was dismissing each with a plausible excuse, for there was none of the panic that usually accompanied a public shooting.

Within minutes a car had pulled smoothly to a stop, collecting both men before exiting at a sedate speed that would not attract attention.

Rhegan had expected the part-time bouncer to run crying to Valdez, resignation in hand. Hopefully, the news that another person had taken a hit in his name would force a desperate Valdez to sign his club, the Toybox over to Malone, at whatever terms had been typed above the signature line.

Malone had told Rhegan that desperation was the only thing that would put a pen in his rival’s hand and had given him a list of potential targets. Malone had laid out his plan of attack, and Rhegan had no problem with any of it.

But, instead of running, his first victim had returned to take care of business. Head high and shoulders straight, he walked the sidewalk that still bore spatters of his blood, not even glancing down when his boots passed over the red splotches.

He was doing what Reagan himself would have done, and the hard-eyed gunman respected that, even while he planned when and where to take the boy out for good.

Rhani D’ChaeThank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today!  We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.

We ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs.  Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent!  Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about this author:

Rhani D’Chae’s RWISA Author Page

Welcome to the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour! #RRBC #RWISA

RWISA Showcase

“Mirror, Mirror” by A.M. Manay
Set in the world of The Hexborn Chronicles

Shiloh stood in her teacher’s doorway, pulling anxiously on the end of a pink braid that had snuck out of her hood. Brother Edmun was in high dudgeon, ranting about insults and ingrates. A wooden crate sat upon the table, straw peeking through the slats. She could feel magic pouring out of it like waves of heat; it wasn’t dark magic, but it didn’t feel like good magic, either.

“Master?” she ventured. “Would you like me to make your breakfast?” She didn’t bother to ask about the box. He’d tell her if he wanted her to know – and, in his own good time, not before.

Edmun looked at her as though she’d appeared out of thin air. He waved her off. “Don’t bother, poppet. I couldn’t eat.”

Shiloh’s eyes strayed to the crate, but she said nothing.

“Go finish your essay from yesterday,” Edmun barked.

Taking her seat at her little desk with her back to the table, Shiloh could hear Brother Edmun unpacking the mysterious arrival. It was all she could do to resist the urge to peek when she heard the sound of a hammer. Under his breath, Edmun muttered a constant patter of unintelligible complaints. At last, she heard him pull out a chair and collapse into it. Carefully scanning the page once more for any mistakes, she stood to present her work to her master.

He looked down at the offering in her little hand, her words marching neatly across the page. Pen in one hand and her paper in the other, the glower slowly disappeared from his face as he read, leaving behind a hint of satisfaction. At last, he nodded, resting his unused pen. Shiloh exhaled in relief.

“Well done. A princess at the Academy could not have done better at twice your age.”

“Thank you, master!” Her smile lit up her eyes, which then strayed over Edmun’s shoulder to a mirror with gilded leaves and lacquered flowers hanging on the wall. The ornate frame looked out of place in the rustic mountain cabin.

“Don’t look in it more than you can help it,” Edmun ordered, calling attention back to her teacher’s face.

“Yes, master,” she replied. “May I know why not?”

Edmun hesitated.

“I can feel that it’s magic, master,” Shiloh continued.

He snorted. “I’m sure you can.” She waited for more, but knowing well enough not to press him.

Edmun heaved a sigh. “A man can give you a gift out of love, to please you. Or, he can send it as an insult, to remind you of errors and to caution you against repeating them. This mirror is the latter.”

“What does it do?” she asked.

“That is none of your concern,” he replied. “And that is all I will tell you. Go get a wand from the cabinet.”

Excitement sheathed Shiloh’s face. “We’re using wands today?”

Edmun glanced down at her from beneath his eyebrows. “Is there another reason I’d ask you to get one? Now, do it quickly, before I think better of it.”

***

The following evening, Shiloh picked up a clean rag and set about the dusting. Edmun was busy in the temple, preparing for the upcoming Feast of the Father. As soon as she was done in the house, she was to join him there. As usual, the red cabinet took most of her attention. The many books, wands, and magical curiosities inside had to be carefully wiped and returned to their accustomed positions. It was tedious work, but she was pleased that Edmun trusted her with the task.

Her work on the cabinet finally completed, she turned to dust the mirror and gasped. The silver surface had turned to black. A face appeared, and not her own. Shiloh took a step backward.

A man cocked his head to the side, a slow smile spreading across his face. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but Shiloh did not wait to hear the words. She ran, her head scarf flying behind her all the way to the temple doors. She threw them open.

“What?” Edmun demanded, looking up from the altar.

“The mirror,” she panted. “It turned black, and then there was a man…”

Edmun crossed the floor and took her by the shoulders. “What did he see? What did you say?”

“Nothing! I ran as soon as I saw him. I was only finishing up the dusting. Who was he?”

Edmun ran a hand over his mouth and chin and took a deep breath. “The most dangerous man in the kingdom. Silas Hatch.”

“The Hatchet?” Shiloh shivered. “The king’s spymaster? Why would he appear in your mirror?”

“Who do you think sent it? Hatch likely meant to speak with me, to threaten me. The king hates and fears me for reasons you well know.” His brows drew inward. “He gave you a right scare, didn’t he, poppet?”

Shiloh nodded. Edmun knelt to look her in the eye. “Now, if I were a kind man, I’d tell you that you need not fear him. But I’m not, so I’ll tell you the truth. You should be terrified of him. If you ever give him reason to believe you are disloyal to the crown, he will slit your throat with his own hands.”

“Why would I ever be disloyal to the crown?”

Edmun placed a hand on her head. “Good girl. Now, put that man out of your mind and help me ready the temple for tomorrow.”

Shiloh nodded, yet the ice of fear in her stomach remained; as did the look of worry on her beloved teacher’s face.

***

Shiloh sat on her bed in the loft above her father’s smithy. Upon her blanket lay an array of charms she’d just made for protection against all manner of hexes or ill-wishing.

The look upon the mirror man’s face had chilled her to the bone—something about the smile. It had been predatory. Proprietary. Wary. It had given her the distinct impression that the man’s interest lay not only in her master but in herself, as well. I will not leave my teacher unprotected.

She pinned one charm on the linen beneath her tunic. The others she gathered into an old handkerchief. She tied it tight and placed the bundle in her pocket along with a jar of paste.

She knew Edmun would already be in the temple performing his ablutions for the feast day. She let herself into his house and crossed warily to the mirror. She exhaled with relief to find it clad in its ordinary silver.

Carefully, she lifted the mirror off its nail and turned it face down upon the table. She held the pot of glue in the crook of her elbow and pried it open, then affixed seven charms to the back of the Hatchet’s “gift” to her master, one for each of the Lords of Heaven. She returned the mirror to its proper place and hurried to the temple before Edmun could scold her for tardiness.

***

At dusk, Edmun sat his tired bones into his favorite chair and looked balefully at the mirror. Given the visitation to Shiloh the night before, Edmun expected to see Silas Hatch’s face, yet as the pink light of sunset faded, the man did not appear.

“Perhaps tomorrow,” Edmun murmured. “I had hoped to get it over with.” He looked up at the mirror and realized that it was just slightly askew. Standing, he removed it from the wall. Turning it over, he found Shiloh’s handiwork.

Edmun smiled and shook his head. “My sweet, clever poppet. Too clever by half.” Sighing, he plucked the charms from the backing and set the mirror on the table, leaning against a water pitcher. Silas appeared in moments.

“Master Edmun, I feared you had forgotten the terms of our arrangement. There was to be no meddling with the mirror.”

Edmun swallowed heavily. “It was a momentary lapse,” he lied. “I thought better of it.”

Silas grinned. “You don’t have lapses. It was the girl, wasn’t it?”

Edmun said nothing.

Silas laughed. “It was. Ha! And what is she, only eight years old?”

Still, Edmun said nothing.

“She must love you as much as I did,” Hatch mused.

“What do you want?”

“Are you really teaching her mirror magic this young?” Hatch asked, brow raised.

Edmun closed his eyes and sighed. “Of course not. Evidently, I didn’t teach you your own well enough, as she defeated you with a handful of charms and some paste.”

The young man’s ears flushed. “Well, then,” he managed, “I shall have to redouble my efforts.”

“You do that. And Silas?”

“Yes?”

Edmun leaned in. “The next time you frighten that girl, it had best be after I’m cold in the ground.”

A.M. ManayThank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today!  We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.

We ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs.  Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent!  Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about this author:

A.M. Manay’s RWISA Author Page

Dressing up? Um…no #MFRWauthor

Dressed up party girlsThere was a time in my life where I wore a dress or skirt every day and dressed up for going to the theater or out to dinner. When Jack was at VMI, we attended five formal events a year. And I loved it. Then I got real.

I don’t live in New York or a city where one is expected to dress way above casual for a meal out. And I don’t party—even for New Year’s Eve. In effect, I’m a party pooper. I value comfort over fashion, function over form. I can’t even remember the last time I had a dress on…

That’s not to say that I don’t love seeing girls decked out for a prom come into a restaurant. Or posing for pictures on the street. I think fondly on the days when I used to do that. The pictures make me nostalgic. But not so nostalgic that I want to go back to the good old days.

Fortunately for me, I don’t have a husband who insists on nights on the Casual all the waytown either. The last time I suggested he wear a tie to an event he looked at me as though I had two heads.

I’m safe.

Read the next blog in the blog hop by going here.

Dee
Only a Good Man Will Do: Seriously ambitious man seeks woman to encourage his goals, support his (hopeful) position as Headmaster of Westover Academy, and be purer than Caesar’s wife. Good luck with that!

Naval Maneuvers: When a woman requires an earth-shattering crush of pleasure to carry her away, she can’t do better than to call on the US Navy. Sorry, Marines!

Welcome to the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour! #RRBC #RWISA

RWISA Showcase

POETRY by D. L. Finn

ICICLES
The icicles dangle downward
Reaching for the substantial snow
Each drop bringing them closer
As the landscape merges into itself
It is silent in its existence
Until a raven reveals itself
Wondering what’s in the trash
Yet, the moment remains peaceful
Sitting and surveying in the chill
An instant promising potential
When there is no celerity
When crackling fires call
When surroundings are concealed
Soon, the renewal will be revealed
But now it’s the stage of contemplation.
For sustenance
For solace
For soul
To live on our abundance of the past
This is the gift of the snow
When we can replenish our hearts
In the silence of the icicles.

FREEDOM (Musings from the back of a Harley)
The freedom of the blue skies
Welcome us warmly back
Our path is asphalt
Our vehicle a mechanical horse
Our guide is the wind
Lush green walls soar
The sun illuminates the way
Oaks are waking up after a long nap
And I…
I fill my soul
With nature’s flowering renewal
Bursting with beauty and abundance
In the freedom of spring.

WHERE THE RIVERS MEET
Roaring white, pounding the granite
Swirling, swelling, splendor
The air is heavy with anticipation
It blows over me like a lover’s touch
Filling my heart with sweet floral ecstasy
I relax into the experience
Each breath carries away my worries
My eyes fill with abandonment
As the rushing liquid serenades me
Singing the praise of this paradise
Until the different directions converge
After a brief resounding rumble
They combine and continue on their way
Leaving the moment where the rivers meet.

OCEAN
As I sit perched up high on our lanai
Comfortable on my recliner in the shade
The ocean draws my gaze
Its sapphire and emerald water calls me
While the blue pool floats in its space—uninviting
I hear the sea’s song as it smashes onto the shore
The surfers ride its motion
The snorkelers gaze into its depth
And the swimmers float on its perception
Our attraction is undeniable
Opposites: one of air, one of water
It beckons, and I must respond
Offering myself up to the hidden world
Under the cerulean summon
I answer, embracing the ocean completely.

D.L. FinnThank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today!  We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.

We ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs.  Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent!  Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about this author:

D.L. Finn’s RWISA Author Page

Aussie Becomes Yank!

Jan and I host a newsletter we call Aussie to Yank, but in this case of welcoming a new American citizen, we adapted the title a bit. You’ll see why below.

Aussie flagA few years ago, my daughter Jeanette hit a couple of brick walls in her life and decided to take a break and travel to the USA. She wasn’t to know that meeting and falling in love with an American named Joe would be the beginning of a complete sea change for her. With that sea change came obstacles – a huge ocean separated Australia and America and her three months tourist visa demanded she return home. After a lot of soul searching, she decided to pick up sticks and stay in the U.S. with Joe.American flag

Leaving Australia for a new life in another country was a big, daunting step. Oftentimes she was very homesick. It wasn’t as though she could fly home for the weekend! Jeanette didn’t know anyone except Joe, but her fears (and most of her homesickness) were quickly dispelled when his family and friends welcomed her with open arms.

There was a lot of adjusting to do–

Coming from a country that has as many sheep as people she missed the mouth-watering roast leg of lamb with thick pan gravy. No hot meat pies with tomato sauce (ketchup), a must on cold days. No fish and chip shops with battered fish and chips cooked in hot oil, lashings of salt and wrapped in paper. Jeanette’s initial reaction to biscuits and gravy was ‘ugh’ until she learned American biscuits are similar to our scones. Eating out was confusing and remembering to tip even harder.

Learning to drive on the right-hand side of the road took time, remembering to open the left-hand door instead of the right took longer, however her driving test was surprisingly easy. In Jeanette’s words, “The guy had me drive around while he asked questions on koalas and kangaroos.”

Americans were very interested in our wildlife, especially the poisonous snakes and spiders. Breezily declaring she’d killed dozens of spiders with her thongs was met with an uncomfortable silence. (Oops! She didn’t know she meant flip flops.)

In Jeanette’s words again, “Everyone I’ve met has said they’ve always wanted to go to Australia, and they all think our spiders are BIG. I suppose they are but our shoes and thongs, I mean flip flops, are bigger.”

Because she lived in Queensland, (1.7 million sq. kilometres in size) it was assumed she knew Steve Irwin, ‘the crocodile hunter.’ After the fourth or fifth query, she maintained a very straight face while replying that yes, she’d gone to school with him. [LOL!!]

Jeanette was teased mercilessly over her accent and our habit of abbreviating words such as arvo for afternoon, Salvos – Salvation Army, brekky – breakfast, barbie – barbecue, snag – sausage, coldie – stubby of beer, garbo – garbage collector, and ambos for ambulance crews. Her love of Vegemite was met with looks of disgust and ‘how can you eat that stuff?’ Surprisingly, Joe loves it.

Settling into American life was made easier by the wonderful friendship and support from Joe’s family and friends, but Jeanette needed to get Jeanette's citizenshipserious about living there permanently. To obtain a conditional green card, she had to be married to Joe for one year, have a co-sponsor and not break the law. After that she could apply to have the conditions removed to become a permanent legal resident. And then, she faced another three years before she was eligible to apply for citizenship. Last year the process began, and in April 2019 she travelled to Detroit for the test on American history and government. She passed all the hurdles and finally, the citizenship ceremony was held on 20 June.

I’ve been asked a few times how I feel. I miss her horribly and though I’ve travelled to the U.S. for visits, the trip is not to be taken lightly. As far as I’mThe Aussie is in residence! concerned, Jeanette is Aussie born and bred and now America is her home. Becoming a citizen was absolutely the right thing to do. Each time I visit, her American family and friends make me very welcome. And, the nicest compliment of all, my son-in-law Joe hoists the Aussie flag up on the flagpole. I feel very much at home there.

Congratulations, Jeanette!! What a huge undertaking. I have a feeling you’re more knowledgeable about the U.S. than a lot of us born here. Welcome to being a U.S. citizen!

Welcome to the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour! #RRBC #RWISA

RWISA Showcase

The Road by John W. Howell © 2019

Just a couple more hours and I’ll be able to rest my eyes. Been on this damn highway for what seems like forever. His head slowly nods until the rumble strip noise causes him to jerk awake. “I have been asleep,” he yells. He yanks the wheel, and the tires screech in protest as he swerves back on to the highway. He can feel his heart in his chest and pressure in his eyes. In an instant, he regrets being so weak as to give in to the physical need. He also becomes alarmed since now he knows that sleep could overtake him without notice.  One second, his eyes could be open and the next closed. Thank God for the jarring and noise of the rumble strips since without its alarm, he is sure he would have ended up piled into a tree.

As his heart settles down, he concentrates on the road ahead. There’s someone at the side about a half mile away. A hitchhiker by the looks of a backpack. A sign in the person’s hand is not readable at this distance. The thought occurs that It would be a good thing to have someone else in the car to help him stay awake.  Of course, there are dangers in picking up a stranger. As he gets closer, he can see that the hitchhiker is not a guy like he thought. It’s a young woman about his age.  She is wearing some kind of overalls, but the distinctive female form still comes through. He decides to slow down and assess the situation. A girl makes all the difference in trying to reach a decision for or against a pickup. After all, who knows where this could lead? He does know that in all probability, she is not likely to stick a knife in his ribs and demand his wallet after a couple of miles down the road.

He eases the car to the shoulder and can’t help kick up some dust in the process. The sign is facing him even as the person turns away to avoid the dust storm he has created. Kansas City in black marker on cardboard is all it says.

He opens the passenger door and waves her over. “I’m going to Kansas City. Want a ride?”

The young woman looks back at him, and he can tell she is doing an evaluation on the safety prospects of accepting a lift. She slowly hoists her backpack on to her shoulder and walks with hesitant steps toward the car. She puts her hand above her eyes to cut the glare of the sun and stops short of the door. She leans in. “Did you say you’re going to Kansas City?”

“Yes. Yes, I did. I also asked if you would like a ride.”

“That all depends on your intentions?”

“My intentions?”

“Yeah. You are offering a ride. How much will it cost me?”

“Cost you? I’m going to Kansas City. Your sign says Kansas City. Why would it cost you anything?”

“Just want to make sure is all.”

“No charge. I’ve been on the road forever, it seems, and I would welcome the company. My name is James.”

“Sorry, James. I know I sounded a little ungrateful, but I have also been on the road and have met several guys that think I owe them something for a ride.”

“I can understand that. Let’s just say you can ride or not it’s your choice. No other decisions to be made.”

“Fair enough. I accept your offer. My name is Sarah.” She slides in and slams the door.

“Nice to meet you, Sarah. You want to put your backpack in the rear?”

“No, I’ll just keep it here in the front with me. You can never tell.”

“Tell what?”

“When I’ll have to bail. Everything I own is in this pack, and I sure wouldn’t want to leave it behind.”

“I get it. No use trusting someone just cause they say you can.”

“Right. I think I like you, James.”

“Wainwright. My last name’s Wainwright. How about you?”

“Not sure I have a last name. I go by Sarah.”

“No last name? How can that be?”

“You going to start this car or is my fear well founded.”

James flushes as he turns the ignition. “Yeah, here we go.” He looks in the side mirror and signals as he pulls back on the highway.

“You are a cautious one. There’s no one for miles.”

“I guess it’s a habit from city driving.” He keeps checking in the mirror until he is up to highway speed

“Where you from, James?”

“New York. You?”

“I think I was originally from down south somewhere.”

“You don’t know?”

“Well, it’s been a long time.” She pauses.

James glances at her and sees that she is lost in thought somewhere. Her skin is fair, and she has the high cheekbones and lips of a runway model. She looks vaguely familiar, and he compares her looks to Joni Mitchell. There is that innocent, fragile look that makes you want to take care of her.

“I’m sorry. What did you say?” She is back.

“I didn’t say anything. I’m amazed you don’t know where you are from.”

“Well do you remember where you’re from or is it someone told you?”

She has a point. James only knew he was born in Chicago because his parents told him so. He lived in New York for twenty years so unless clued in he would have thought he lived there his whole life. “I guess I should rephrase the question. Where did you last live?”

“Yes, James. That makes a little more sense. I last lived in Dubuque, Iowa.”

“What a coincidence. I am driving from Dubuque. Do you believe that?”

“I can believe that. Someone once said there are only six degrees of separation of everyone on Earth. You and I traveling from Dubuque at the same time certainly falls into that realm.”

“Aw come on, Sarah. We are both going from Dubuque to Kansas City. That has to be more than a coincidence.”

“I never said I was going to Kansas City, James.”

“Wait. You have that sign that says Kansas City.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m going there.”

“What does it mean?”

“You think I know?”

“I’m getting a weird feeling here, Sarah. Like you aren’t telling me something.”

“Do you remember swerving after you ran off the highway?”

“What? Back there. Yeah, I remember almost falling asleep. Hey, wait a minute. How would you know about that?”

“Think a minute, James. How do you think I would know about that moment?”

“Sarah I’m too tired for guessing games. What is this all about?”

“Do you feel okay, James?”

“Yeah, just tired.”

“Look around. Do you see any other cars?”

“No, but I haven’t for a while. What are you trying to tell me, Sarah?”

“You fell asleep James.”

“When did I fall asleep? I know I nodded off, but when did I fall asleep?”

“Just before your car went off the road and you hit a cement culvert.”

“Now, you are joking. Right? Right, Sarah?”

“No joke, James. Look ahead. What do you see?”

“Uh up the road, you mean?”

“Yes, up the road.”

“Nothing but what looks like a sandstorm.”

“It’s no storm, James. It is nothing.”

“Who are you anyway?”

“Do you remember that little girl who went missing in the second grade?”

“Yeah, what does that have to do with you?”

“Does the nickname Jimmy Jeans mean anything?”

“That’s what Sarah called me in the second grade.”

“How did I know that?”

“You wouldn’t unless.”

“Unless I’m Sarah.”

“Oh My God. Sarah. It is you. Where have you been?”

“That’s not important. What is important is you were broken hearted when I vanished. You prayed for my return and made promises to God if only I would come back.”

“I never got over that either. I think of that little gir¾. I mean, I thought of you almost every day. Why didn’t I recognize you?”

“Cause I’m all grown up. There would be no way.”

“Where have you been Sarah. I have missed you so much.”

“Don’t cry, James. I’m here with you now.”

“Can you tell me what happened to you?”

“No, James, it’s not worth the time.”

“So why now? Why are you here now?”

“To help you, James.”

“To help me. How?”

“To understand what your life is like now.”

“Now? What do you mean?”

“You were in an accident, James. You ran off the road, and I am sorry to say your body didn’t survive. You are now going with me on an eternal trip.”

“You are saying I’m dead. I can’t believe that.  Look at me. I’m just as alive as you.”

“That’s right. You are.”

“Um, Sarah?”

“Yes, James.”

“You are dead too?”

“Yes, James. A man took me from school and killed me. They never found my body.”

“W-what?”

“Don’t think about that now. Think about the future. Because you prayed so hard and missed me so much, I was given the honor of escorting you to the other side.”

“Other side? There’s a Future?”

“A wonderful one.  You and I for all time.”

“I would like that.”

“Take my hand then. Let’s be off.”

“I have more questions.”

“All in good time, James. All in good time.”

Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today!  We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.

We ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs.  Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent!  Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about this author:

John W. Howell’s RWISA Author Page

“The Call” #MFRWauthor

I haven’t had the pleasure of getting “The Call”—meaning from an agent or big time publisher. But I know people who have and to me, the only

Publishing contract

changes I’ve noticed is that they’re busier than ever, and, as with anytime someone gets a new job or position, their attention and time is necessarily taken up with new people. And they travel more, going to more conventions and such because it’s also part of the job that is writing. However, the authors I know who have been published with big-name companies are still friendly and inordinately helpful. Authors in general are a wonderful group of people!

I have been published for quite a while, and I hope those I know can say the same about me—that I’m friendly and helpful when I can be.

I will say, those working with larger companies than I have mostly earned decent money, allowing them freedom from worry and the chance to do things they weren’t able to do before finding their success. Writing has Successful authorgiven one the opportunity to live where she wants and to help her child attend the college of her choice. I know another who is able to spend more time with her family than when she worked a 9-5 job.

But for all of us, I think success in writing—whether in a large publisher or small, with or without an agent—has known a sense of accomplishment and well-being that can’t be found doing any other thing. I’m so grateful that I found writing and whatever success I have. It’s a blessing!

Read the next blog in the blog hop by going here.

Dee
Only a Good Man Will Do: Seriously ambitious man seeks woman to encourage his goals, support his (hopeful) position as Headmaster of Westover Academy, and be purer than Caesar’s wife. Good luck with that!

Naval Maneuvers: When a woman requires an earth-shattering crush of pleasure to carry her away, she can’t do better than to call on the US Navy. Sorry, Marines!

Besotted–FREE!–by Madison Michael

Here’s your chance to read Besotted for free!

Besotted
The Beguiling Bachelors, Book 4
By Madison Michael
♥♥♥ ~ Free June 19th – June 21st Only ~ ♥♥♥

About Besotted:

He Promised Forever, then Walked Away. Now he wants her back.

Tyler’s Winthrop, rich, handsome, elusive sees his moment to win Regan Howe slipping through his fingers. He has remained on the outskirts of Regan’s life since high school, reluctant to reveal his true past and expose her to danger. Despite their obvious attraction, Tyler has remained her friend and protector, keeping Regan at arm’s length for her own safety,

Regan Howe, won her coveted CEO position through hard work and a willingness to buck family tradition. Now, Brandon Hockney, a handsome US Senator with his eye on the White House, wants her to give it up, along with her home, friends and family for a move to DC and marriage to him.

Regan wants a family but is she prepared to leave all she loves, including the alluring Tyler Winthrop. Regan has waited twenty years for Tyler to commit. He once promised her forever, then he destroyed her trust and her hopes for a future together. Still, she cannot break the ties between them.

When Regan tests the waters with Brandon, Tyler is tapped as acting CEO, throwing the pair together, and forcing both to make a choice. Is this the end or their one last chance at love? Battling overwhelming odds and a racing clock, will Tyler be forced to release his one true love to find happiness with another man? How can he when he’s besotted?

As the danger mounts for Tyler,, can he wrestle free of his past and lure Regan away from her Senator? Join our handsome hero as he attempts to win back his love in this exciting and steamy page turner, the fourth of the sexy, contemporary Beguiling Bachelor romance series.


 Excerpt from Besotted:

Regan was just too damn alluring in that dress for him to accept that he couldn’t have her if he wanted her.

He was an idiot. He should have told her years ago. He should have told everyone. Despite the tongue-lashing he was silently giving himself, Tyler was certainly no fool. “The professor” to his friends, he was generally serious and professional. He had the smarts necessary to obtain both an MBA and a law degree, and he was now CEO of LHRE and on hiatus from one of the fastest growing tech companies in the country. He kept his cool in general, but again and again he behaved like an idiot around Regan.

Since that damn frog almost thirty years ago, he had loved no one but Regan. Sometimes they made it work together, like in high school, but most times not. His feelings were unchanged, but something always stopped him from declaring his love and asking her to do the same. This time it was something insurmountable.

And yet Tyler couldn’t stay away. He was the proverbial moth to the flame, flirting with disaster every time he flirted with her. He had promised to stay away, to keep her safe,but the attraction was undeniable. Yep, prize idiot.

Returning to the ballroom after the latest threats, Tyler briefly considered sharing the conversation, coming clean with Regan and perhaps moving their relationship forward. He was at a fork in the road but remained silent, Tyler knew he was on the wrong path but couldn’t summon the will to fix it. Not only were his problems unsolvable, but she was involved with Brandon. Tyler felt hopeless.

He was preoccupied just as Regan accused, but Tyler tried to give Regan the attention she deserved. He failed miserably until Regan suggested they just leave. That got his attention. Who knew when he would hold her in his arms again.

“Come dance with me again. It would be a crime to waste that dress.”

Encircling Regan in his arms, his body responded to her nearness, even as his mind worried over the earlier texts. He was unaware of his hand stroking her back, fingers lightly skimming over her bare skin. He wasn’t thinking clearly when he pulled her close or when he dropped kisses on her hair. He wasn’t paying attention, just acting on instinct, Regan was responding, her breath growing uneven, her hands clinging to his shoulders.


 About the Author:

Madison Michael is an indie publisher, blogger and the author of the Beguiling Bachelor Series as well as the novella Desire & Dessert, from her sizzling B&B Billionaire Bachelor series.

 A Chicago native and hopeless romantic, Maddy was raised on Chicago culture, fairy tales, great literature and swashbuckling movies. Maddy employs that history, writing steamy contemporary romance novels set against the sumptuous backdrop of Chicago’s elite society.

 After receiving a BA in Journalism from the University of Illinois and an MBA from Loyola University of Chicago, Madison abandoned her writing to find her way in the corporate business world. Daughter of a librarian, it was inevitable that she would return to the world of books.

 Maddy writes from high above Chicago where she can stare at its gorgeous skyline or the shores of Lake Michigan surrounded by feline assistants. When she is not writing, Maddy can be found lost in a book, fighting for the rights of the mentally ill, or dining on Chicago’s famous cuisine. Hot dogs and pizza, anyone?

Social Links:

My dream wedding #MFRWauthor

I am perhaps that unusual woman who did not spend her childhood dreaming of her wedding. When I was little, I thought I’d like a gown as Cinderella ball gownwide as the church aisle, all satin and with beads and sparkly doodads. And I’d have ten bridesmaids and a groom in a tux, and the church would be full of friends and family. Wow! Cinderella would have been envious.

Then I grew…and then I stopped growing. A five-foot-two bride doesn’t suit a heavy satin ball gown as wide as church aisles. And while I had a lot of friends, did I really have ten that I wanted to be bridesmaids? Probably not. Plus, we didn’t have a lot of money and weddings, whatever else you can say about them, can cost a lot of money. A friend once said, put the word “wedding” in front of anything and the cost jacks up 200%.

Maybe the thing that changed my mind about weddings most was Jack, the man (boy, at the time) of my dreams. He was practical. And not one for fancy ceremony or big crowds. I cameSimple wedding around to his way of thinking and each year we dated my wedding dreams became more conservative.

Add to that, we decided to get married and set the date for nine days from that decision. Nine days is not enough time for a big shindig. No one was very happy with that timing, but we put aside everyone else’s vision and had the wedding of our dreams, with close friends and family. I already had a dress, bought on sale for $75. We held the service in the chapel where Jack went to school, just after sunset. About 70 people attended. Chunky candles filled the chapel with the scent of magnolia. A neighbor played the organ and later, cake baked by local Mennonites was served along with apple cider Camping honeymoonat Jack’s parents’ house. We went camping for our honeymoon. The whole wedding, pictures and all, cost less than $500. And it couldn’t have been more perfect. For us.

I understand why other people want something totally different—I did myself for years. What I ended up with is a far cry from my little girl imaginings. But we grow and change, right? If we had do-over we’d go to Las Vegas and get married by Elvis. What fun those pictures would be to look back on!

It wasn’t formal or fancy, but I ended up with the wedding of my dreams. More importantly, I got the man and the marriage of my dreams. And he did wear a tux! What could be more perfect than that?

Read the next blog in the blog hop by going here.

Dee
Only a Good Man Will Do: Seriously ambitious man seeks woman to encourage his goals, support his (hopeful) position as Headmaster of Westover Academy, and be purer than Caesar’s wife. Good luck with that!

Naval Maneuvers: When a woman requires an earth-shattering crush of pleasure to carry her away, she can’t do better than to call on the US Navy. Sorry, Marines!