How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named.
Hello! The charity I want to focus on this month is the Salvation Army. We all see their kettles and bell ringers at Christmas or shop in their thrift stores, but maybe we don’t think about what the group does throughout the year. Even in this time of the corona virus, the Salvation Army is striving to provide food, comfort and help to those in need and in a safety conscious way. They do good work.
However, my reason for wanting to celebrate the Salvation Army is that my mom often told me that when she was small, she probably never would have had a doll if not for the one she received at Christmas from her local Salvation Army. My grandmother worked two jobs—hard jobs, like scrubbing the floors on her hands and knees in the local school and factory work—and still found time to sew all of the clothes for twin girls she was raising alone. There was no money for things little girls longed for, like dolls. In that way, the Salvation Army fed my mom’s heart and soul, if not her tummy. I salute the work they do now, during the fight against Covid-19, and every day.
Please leave a comment on this site–any comment–and I will donate an amount to the Salvation Army. Thank you!
Sometimes the work charities do seems like magic, so today I’d like to feature a bit of magic from my book Your Desire.
Blurb:
Your Desire. A mysterious shop appears in town for one reason: to bring the spice of passion and the thrill of love to one special person. Magic is in more than the item purchased—it’s in the heart of the buyer, often hidden, usually surprising. And after enchantment takes hold ad the fantasy is fulfilled? The store fades from sight and memory, only to reappear somewhere else. Maybe in your town…?
The Artist and the Director
Derica Meadows, the conservative Director of Accounting at a large San Francisco firm, sees the most beautiful dress imaginable in a shop window. So different from her usual genderless pant suits, she’s swept into acquiring the gown for a formal business affair the next night. But a funny thing happens on the way to her party, in the form of a compelling man and a photo shoot. Suddenly, the normally logical Derica finds herself swimming in a sea of romance and sexual freedom she’d never before considered. The hunk of an artist can satisfy her fantasies, but what will happen to her climb up the corporate ladder in the process? And to her heart?
Awards Night
Allison Hayes has always tried to be all things to all people. Need anything done? Call Allison. It seems no one considers that Allison might have needs, too. When she goes home one night to find a man had crashed his car in her pasture, she resigns herself to helping out yet again. However, it isn’t long before she finds the roles reversed, as the mysterious man fulfills her deepest desires. By morning, Allison knows that in being the Good Samaritan this time, she gained more than she gave. The question is, was it passion for one night or a lifetime of love?
Buy link:
Amazon KU
Excerpt:
The whir of a sewing machine traveled across the ether. As intended, the sound blended with the those of a lawn mower in Cleveland, a blender in Dallas, an electric razor in Seattle. Some people, those specially attuned to properties outside the normal realm of humans, heard buzzing that could have been a sewing machine, but it was faint and truly indistinguishable for what it was. More like a mosquito at the ear. They heard it but couldn’t decipher exactly where to swat, so they did their best ignore it.
Of course, the sound was not supposed to be heard, and therefore not investigated. The very few who did hear it clearly, who also heard Nigel and his granddaughter clearly, well, they generally resided in a hospital setting where three squares a day were provided and tranquility came in the form of little green pills. At the least, they saw a shrink three times a week. Their knowledge wasn’t taken seriously.
This worried Nigel, but what could he do? It wasn’t his fault humans had devolved to the point where they no longer believed in enchantment. He shook his head and tsked as he sewed. When he was a boy learning the business from his grandfather as his granddaughter now learned from him, no one would have believed the universe could get to this point, where people believed in the “magic” of technology but not the magic that could be found in their own hearts.
Of course, challenges were exciting, and skeptical humans certainly kept him on his toes.
Absently, he hummed as he completed the final seam on the full, purple satin skirt. He pulled it from the machine, snipped the threads and shook the material out before pinning it on the dress form.
“Edwina! I have the skirt finished. Come here, dear.” Standing back to cast a critical eye over how the skirt hung, he held up an artist’s rendition of what the final product should be. He looked from drawing to garment, made a few small adjustments to the pleating around the waist and nodded in satisfaction.
“Hey, Gramps,” his granddaughter said, bounding into the room.
For the millionth time, he mentally cringed at the lack of style in today’s youth. Their kind had the ability to appear any way they wished. Glancing in the mirror, he saw a debonair David Niven reflected back. The sleeves of his snowy white shirt were rolled to his elbows, but the Windsor knot in his tie was perfect, as was the knife-sharp crease in his trousers and the shine on his shoes. When he rolled down his sleeves and put on his jacket, he would look every inch the gentleman. Quirking his brows in approval, he unconsciously ran a fingertip lightly over his moustache. Instead of selecting what he would consider an appropriate shell, Edwina—a name which screamed propriety—chose to look like a bag lady gone wild.
Like today, for instance. Long blond hair, streaked with pink and purple, pulled up into a ponytail to hang down the side of her head. Black lipstick and eye shadow. Two earrings in one ear and four in the other. A bright orange tank top and faded jeans—separated scandalously by a good three inches of bare stomach—looked as though they’d been worn (and torn) for centuries. And her feet—her lovely, dainty feet!—were shod in horrid, ugly brown things that not even the most desperate soldier in Caesar’s army would have donned.
When he had questioned her once about her appearance, she’d said with delight that she was starting her own trend. A Lauper-Madonna-Pink look. It was not something he’d understood. Today, after a quick perusal, he leaned closer.
“What is that?” He swiped his thumb across her cheek, then examined what was on the pad.
“Body glitter. Isn’t it cool?” She grinned at him.
Her enthusiasm, as well as her utter lack of self-consciousness, brought the slightest of smiles to his eyes, even as his mouth formed a moue of reproach.
“Yes, well.” He wiped his thumb on a handkerchief pulled from the pocket of his jacket, hanging on the wall behind Edwina. “‘Cool’ is what ice cubes provide. I don’t know what body glitter is good for.”
Giggles flowed from her, reminding him of when she was a small girl instead of the nearly grown youngster she was now. Where had the centuries gone? Despite the shudders her wardrobe caused, he loved Edwina enormously and strove to give her the very best education in what they did, which was make dreams come true.
Dee’s bio:
A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex. Writing was so much fun Dee decided to keep at it. That’s how she spends her days. Her nights? Well, she’s lucky that her dream man, childhood sweetheart, and long-time hubby are all the same guy, and nights are their secret. For romance ranging from sweet to historical, contemporary to paranormal and more join Dee on Nomad Authors.
Author links:
Website: https://nomadauthors.com
Blog: http://nomadauthors.com/blog
Twitter: http://twitter.com/DeeSKnight
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DeeSKnight2018
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/265222.Dee_S_Knight
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B079BGZNDN
Newsletter: https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/h8t2y6
LinkedIn: http://linkedin.com/in/dee-s-knight-0500749
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We all write characters with all kinds of characteristics. But have you written characters with disabilities?
us come up with believable heroes or heroines. In my novella Awards Night, Allison comes home to find a car crashed through her fence and plowed into a tree. The man who’d been driving is not injured much—except he’s blinded by damage to his head. Allison doesn’t know the man. He says his name is Frank, and as you might guess, he’s pretty cranky. Some might even say nasty. But really, he’s scared half to death. In reality, though he doesn’t share this with Allison, Frank is the CEO and founder of a major international electronics firm. He’s not used to taking orders or feeling helpless. But now he does (to a certain extent) and he is. How he adjusts is quite interesting (I hope!).
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