Praise for Ghost of a Chance and Bishop Takes Knight! #MFRWHooks

 

Well, it happened again–I’m pleased to announce Ghost of a Chance (Redclaw Security, Book 2) is a finalist in the 2019 Independent Author Network Awards!

It was also a finalist in the 2019 Bookseller’s Best Awards, and Redclaw Security came in third for Best Shifter/Vampire series in the 2018 Paranormal Romance Guild’s Reviewers Choice Awards!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And The Romance Reviews gave Bishop Takes Knight (Redclaw Origins, Book 1) a five star review, naming it as one of their Top Picks!

The Romance Review
 

October 18th is also the last day to enter my Bishop Takes Knight Rafflecopter Giveaway–be sure to check it out! There’s still time to enter!

 

 

 

 

In the meantime, The Panther’s Lost Princess (Redclaw Security, Book 1) is now available on KU again!

 

Looking for other great reads? Follow this Book Hooks link for more romances right up your alley!

My Imaginary Friends are Speaking to Me Again

Autumn is the season of change.

I saw a similar saying on Instagram the other day and had to laugh–with the above modifications, that’s exactly what happened here: a 40 degree drop in temperature that had everyone scrambling to pull their jackets out of the closet.

For me, it’s a welcome change, a sigh of relief. I’m not heat-tolerant, and this summer’s brain-melting temps seemed like they would never end.

I adore autumn. I love mornings with the air so crisp it’s like biting into a juicy apple. Waking to frost on the grass. The sound of dead leaves skittering across the sidewalk. The joyful way the dogs bound through the woods… I love how the spectrum of light shifts from white to gold as the sun slants through red, orange, and yellow leaves on the trees. The smell of wood smoke in the air. The way the night sky blazes with stars as if someone scattered a fistful of diamonds. Hot chocolate and hearty stews. Homemade bread. Sweaters and boots. And OMG, pumpkin pie! I start eating pie in October and don’t stop until after Thanksgiving.

I love everything about autumn. Just. Love.

We’ve been in a drought this summer, with scarcely a drop of rain since June. The leaves are going straight to brown with hardly any color change and I’ve got one tree I don’t think is going to make it through the winter. The lawn is burnt to a crisp and starting to blow away. We’ve had day after day of temperatures in the 90s, and I feared it would continue well into my beloved October, but finally, finally, the temperatures have broken.

Because October is my favorite time of year, I usually take off a week sometime that month. I’m about to begin my vacation soon, and let me tell you, I need it. I view my upcoming time off like a miser with a pile of money–I want it ALL. I want to ride my horse across fields where the grass is stiff with frost and take the dogs for long, rambling walks in the woods where rain drips off leaves and mushrooms peep out of the undergrowth. I want to sit on the couch with a book and a blanket and animals piled around me while soup simmers on the stove. I want to finish putting everything away from the remodeling–put up shelves and pictures, organize the books, pull out that rock painting kit I’ve had for over a year and dab some paint on stones. I want to make a daily habit of exercise now that the heat isn’t trying to kill me, and do some meal-planning.

But most of all, I want to write.

For the first time in a long while, the stories are whispering to me again. For most of my life, my stories have been my companions, my company, my entertainment. Ever since  I was a small child with asthma, who spent a lot of time alone with books, I’ve been a storyteller. I wrote my own stories when I didn’t like the endings of the books I read. I wrote more stories when I wanted to continue the adventures with the characters I loved. I daydreamed during long car rides, and could be counted on to occupy myself quietly no matter what. I loved being sent to my room because I could indulge in my flights of fancy at will.

As an adult, I never minded being alone because I wasn’t. I could call up whatever long-running story I’d been playing in my mind whenever I wanted. There was no such thing as boredom. I never had trouble falling asleep. I could conjure my friends and bam! Off on an adventure we’d go–the more ridiculous and outrageous, the better.

As a writer, I drew on these wild escapades, eventually taming them down and taking out the more outrageous (and Mary Sue-like) elements. The stories had already been honed from years of constant replay. While I had to learn the mechanics of writing, the ideas were always there, ready to be implemented.

But somewhere along the way in the last few years, my imaginary friends stopped speaking to me. I didn’t notice at first. I was dealing with Major Bad Stuff. I had a series of life-altering events occur and that sent me into a tailspin of depression. I struggled to go to work, to interact with my family, to take pleasure in all the things that brought me joy. Stress skyrocketed, and with it, anxiety. When I would try reaching out to my imaginary friends, I was met with silence.

I’d lost the key to my Secret Garden.

That’s not to say I didn’t keep writing. I did. In fact, I think I did some of my best work. But the words came in dribbles and drips from a rusty faucet. They had to be filtered again and again, and it took a year to get enough water to drink. I’d lost the ability to daydream, to plan my scenes in advance, to play with my characters so that I knew them inside and out before I put a single word on the page.

At the time, I thought perhaps it was part of the writing process, a maturing of my skills, so to speak. I thought becoming a better writer might mean the elimination of the childish play I’d indulged in my entire life.

In retrospect, I can see that the depression and anxiety had such a hold on me that any attempt to play in my imaginary worlds brushed my characters with the taint of unhappiness. When actually sitting at the keyboard, I could grind out the words because I was “writing”, not mucking about telling silly stories I would never use about my characters. But telling silly stories to myself is part of my writing process, and I didn’t realize how important it was until it came back.

It came back.

Slowly at first. A scene here or there as I was falling asleep or walking the dogs. If I let myself roll with it, if I didn’t shrug it off and pick up the phone to occupy my time instead, the scenes began occurring more often in greater detail. Scene after scene connected into a chapter. Scenes skipped ahead, leaving breadcrumbs along the path, showing me the way toward the rest of the story. Scenes that made me stuff a fist into my mouth to stop me from bursting into laughter. Sentences that gave me that eureka! feeling and had me rushing to write them down before I forgot them.

Until this morning, when I lay smiling in bed as the rough outline for the WIP rolled out like a red carpet leading the way back to my Secret Garden. I opened the door and saw my characters sitting together on a park bench eating sandwiches. I laughed at the vacuum cleaner joke and narrowed my eyes in satisfaction at the unfolding of the plot. I could see it all there before me, the vague outlines of the flower beds, the plants lying dormant but ready to bloom in the spring. I was back in the Garden.

I don’t know what changed in the last few weeks to bring me to this point again. Was it the successful release of another story? A coming to terms with depression and chronic pain? Starting a meditation program? Reading more? Or autumn itself, with the sweeping out of the old and the advent of all the things I love?

I don’t know. Maybe it was all of those things, including the pair of fabulous boots that jumped off the shelf into my shopping cart yesterday when I had no intention of buying another pair of boots.

All I know is I’m not questioning it. I’m embracing it. Because my imaginary friends are speaking to me again.

Walking the Fine Line of Burnout

Let me start off by saying first of all, this is not meant to be a whiny post about how I wish I could quit my Evil Day Job and spend all my time writing books (although I do). Nor is it a contest to see whose job sucks the most. Since I’m writing this post, chances are I’ll think it’s mine, no matter what you say. 🙂

It’s a post about walking that fine line between being able to do your job to the best of your ability and burnout–and what to do about it.

See, I think most of us are closer to burnout than we think. It’s almost a given these days. Who hasn’t heard of the newly minted lawyer or the medical resident who is worked to the bone as some sort of rite of passage, putting in over a hundred hours a week into a job that demands nothing less because they think that’s how it’s done. That’s how you advance, become partner, a senior staffer, move up in management. That one day you’ll have the corner office and the healthy paycheck and you’ll be able to catch up on sleep or your kid’s recitals or afford that really awesome vacation.

Only it’s never enough, is it? Because (at least in the US), our workplaces demand more and more from us every year, expecting us to get more done with less support staff, improve the bottom line with fewer rewards. Accept a “promotion” that is largely a title for doing the work we’re already performing. Forcing senior, experienced employees out because they can hire two new graduates for what they have to pay the veteran employee. I recently overheard employees at my local grocery discussing how everyone’s hours have been slashed to just under full time so the national chain can avoid paying benefits like health insurance. At the same time, the company is replacing cashiers with automated systems for checkout, and eating the cost of shoplifting instead of keeping the live people on staff.

And we accept it because we’re scared we’ll be the next on the chopping block.

I live in a rural area where work is hard to come by. I have a mortgage and bills to pay, which as I age, increasingly includes medical bills. I’m lucky to have a FT job which contributes significantly to the household economy. I know this. And at the same time, I resent the degree to which the job owns me.

I resent putting in 10 hour days and having that never be enough. I resent the advent of mobile technology making you accessible to your employer 24/7 with demands you fix something or take care of something on what should be your down time. Twenty years ago, my employer would have paid my health insurance in full as a perk of the job. Now I’m expected to contribute $400/month out of my paycheck every month to retain coverage.

I resent coming home at the end of a long day irritable and fried, unable to interact pleasantly with those I love. By the time I get to the house, I’m too tired to make reasonable decisions about what to have for dinner, let alone find the energy to work on the current story. I don’t like the person I am right now. And yet I scarcely know how to change.

It’s a little thing, but one of the dictates of my workplace is that management gives me the next day’s assignments before I’m finished the current day’s work so I can review them in advance. They take this one step further in that I receive the workload for the day after my day off as well. The end result is my inbox is never empty. I never get to check off the day’s assignments as complete because there is always more sitting in my inbox.

Small wonder I dream about work as though I’ve never left, nightmares in which I look out the office window to see long lines of people waiting to be seen, like the lines outside Best Buy before a Black Friday sale. I never get to say I’m done for the day.

For a while now, I’ve been saying I’m on the edge of burnout, because in my head, “burned out” is a state of non-functionality, where you are incapable of doing your job, one step away from a nervous breakdown. Not willing to declare myself a charred cinder, I admit to being close just the same. And I have to admit there are days when the idea of a nervous breakdown sounds good if it means weeks spent in an asylum with nothing better to do than stare at the ceiling.

But I’m starting to think the gradient toward burnout is more subtle than you’d suspect. Whatever it is, I think I’m nearly there.

But if I am, then what? I still have bills to pay. I can’t just lie on the couch and read books all day, though I’d dearly love to give that a shot for a few weeks.

Which was why I was glad to stumble across Burnout:The Secret to Unlocking the Stress Cycle by Emily Nagoski, PhD and Amelia Nagoski, DMA. Various people on my social media feeds had been talking about it, and though I didn’t want to admit to actual burnout, I felt I was close enough to consider reading it.

I haven’t gotten very far into it yet, but I’m already of the opinion almost every woman I know could benefit from reading it. Not just those suffering from near burnout, either from work or their family lives, but also women struggling with PTSD, or relentless perfectionism, or just the demands that society seems to place on most of us. Men, too, with their struggle to meet society’s needs as well as those of their families, all while holding their emotions tightly in check.

According to the book, the biggest factors in burnout stem from never completing the cycle: as cavemen, if we were attacked by a saber-toothed tiger, we either survived the attack or we died. If we died, our stress was over. If we survived, there was a huge sense of relief and a celebration among our other cave-dwellers as  we shared our story of our exciting near-miss. The adrenaline spiked, our muscles expended the energy in our survival, and then it was over.

In modern society, it is never over. The saber-toothed tigers are always with us, snapping at our heels, demanding we run faster, jump higher to escape–only we never do. We nap fitfully on the ledge outside our caves, always ready to leap up and run again.

Small wonder we struggle with weight issues here in the US. Our adrenal glands are on maximum overload all the time. And how do we handle stress? We eat. It’s a physiologic drive for survival because we always feel under threat.

Frankly, I’m not sure how I can change things given I have so little say so in how management tells me to do my job. But change I must. I can’t keep dozing on the edge of my ledge, longing for the day when I’ll be able to rest knowing I am in a saber-toothed tiger-free zone.

So while I take most self-help books with a grain of salt, this one is resonating with me.

Bishop Takes Knight: Book Tour and Giveaway!

What a whirlwind this day has been! Work was the usual hectic scene, but today was also the launch of Bishop Takes Knight, the first book in the Redclaw Origins series! The response so far has been enthusiastic. I’ve already received a glowing 5 star review from the Paranormal Romance Guild

 

I’m also doing a book tour and giveaway with Silver Dagger Book Tours. Check out the tour for your chance to enter to win the reader’s choice from my backlist and a chance at an Amazon gift card!

 

 
Bishop Takes Knight
Redclaw Origins Book 1
by McKenna Dean
Genre: Paranormal Romance
 
 
New York, 1955. Former socialite Henrietta (“Rhett”) Bishop,
destitute after her father gambles away the family fortune, takes a
job at Redclaw Security. But Redclaw is no ordinary operation. Part
detective firm and part enforcement agency, Redclaw regulates matters
involving the growing population of shifters who have emerged since
the onset of the nuclear age.
 
Peter Knight is a nuclear scientist shattered by the death of his wife.
Blacklisted by the government and scientific organizations, he drowns
his sorrows while searching for the people behind his wife’s murder.
 
When Rhett is assigned to recruit Knight, their meeting is more than
either bargained for—a rival organization will do anything to
secure Knight for themselves. Following a lead to locate a missing
cache of alien technology stolen from Redclaw, Rhett is thrown back
into her previous glittering life with Knight as her pretend
boyfriend. But when someone from the past turns up to start a bidding
war on the artifacts, Bishop and Knight wind up in a fight for their
very lives.
 
 
 
 
 
McKenna Dean has been an actress, a vet tech, a singer, a teacher, a
biologist, and a dog trainer. She’s worked in a genetics lab, at
the stockyard, behind the scenes as a props manager, and at a pizza
parlor slinging dough. Finally she realized all these jobs were just
a preparation for what she really wanted to be: a writer.
She lives on a small farm in North Carolina with her family, as well as
the assorted dogs, cats, and various livestock.
She likes putting her characters in hot water to see how strong they are.
Like tea bags, only sexier.
 
 
 
 
Follow the tour HERE
for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!
 
 
 
 

Couples Series Romance: What is it and why do we want it?

Nick and Nora Charles from The Thin Man movies. Remington Steele and Laura Holt. Jonathan and Jennifer Hart (does anyone remember Hart to Hart but me??) The Scarecrow and Mrs.King. Maddie Hayes and David Addison. Rick Castle and Kate Beckett.

What do they all have in common? Couples that banter their way into a relationship while solving crimes.

I love this trope. It’s my personal catnip.

While I love romance stories, I love action and adventure, too. I love mysteries, science fiction, and paranormal stories. I WANT IT ALL.

And I can get it with stories that combine these elements. Even better, when I fall hard for a particular couple, I want to spend more time with them. I want to go on a series of adventures with them. I love watching them meet, seeing the sparks fly, longing for them to get together—but I also believe the story needn’t end when they fall in love or say “I do.”

Granted, I think a TV show that’s built entirely on UST takes a big risk of imploding once the characters finally get together. (I’m looking at you, Moonlighting.) I want to see progression of the relationship, but I also believe it’s possible for the relationship to continue to be interesting and relevant after the couples are an established pair.

It’s like when I first began reading fanfic. I concentrated heavily on first-time stories until I found my OTP, and then all of the sudden, I couldn’t get enough of that pairing. I wanted MOAR, and I didn’t care if they were just meeting for the first time or celebrating their 50th anniversary together. I wanted to spend time with that couple in their universe.The more stories, the better.

From a storytelling perspective, I think writing established relationships is tougher than first times. In part because we romance readers are geared toward Happily Ever After being the end of the story—and I’m not saying romances shouldn’t have HEAs or Happily for Now endings! Far from it! What I’m saying is it’s harder to depict a happy couple as having the kinds of conflicts that make their continued stories interesting.

But it’s what I crave.

I wish I knew how to categorize these stories. Are they considered romances? Genre-based stories with romantic elements? I don’t know. To me, they are romances, even if the genre storyline is a somewhat bigger player than the love story. I know people will argue with me on that point, and I get it. The general rule of thumb which says “if you can remove the romantic elements from the story and it doesn’t fall apart means it’s not a romance” holds true for the most part.

Except when you get hooked on a pairing. 

For me, all bets are off if I fall for a couple. I’m going to eat up their series with a spoon because in addition to fighting mages/shifters/criminals/ and solving the crime/murder at the village fete/mystery surrounding buried treasure, I’m there for watching my couple trade witty comebacks and do their mating dance. And I don’t care if it takes a couple of books to get there, as long as I can see that it will.

Take Kate Daniels series by Ilona Andrews. I only recently started this series, but even I can see where things are headed between Kate and the Beast Lord. I’m enjoying watching these two powerful beings battle it out as they move closer together, loving the little hints (and clues left in plain sight) as they dance their way toward a committed relationship. I got my husband hooked on the series as well, and one of the things he likes about it is that the characters are working their way toward love.

Finding the love people have for this series has lead me to start the Psy-Changeling series by Nalini Singh. And every time I find a new-to-me series that features a long, slow dance between the lead couple, I fist bump the air and go, “Now that’s what I’m talking about!” Mind you, I want to know my “pair” will get together. Extra points if the first story ends with them in each other’s arms. I’m just saying if I can see the pairing coming, I’m willing to give it some time, too.

Recently, I had a conversation with fellow paranormal romance and urban fantasy author Jenna Barwin about her own Hill Vampire series, which includes her 2019 Rone Award Nominee, Dark Wine at Sunrise. I asked her what drew her to write a couples series?

She said, “I write a paranormal romance couple series because I love that genre! As a reader, when I fall in love with a couple, I don’t want their story to end at getting engaged or married, I want to see how their “happily ever after” plays out over the long term, long after they say “I do.”

The Hill Vampire series features an exclusive community of winemaking vampires and their mortal mates. They live on vineyard estates in the Sierra Escondida foothills.

My Hill Vampire series follows the romantic relationship of Cerissa and Henry, who, along with other members of their community, are trying to stop the vampire dominance movement (VDI), a vampire conspiracy that is determined to kill the leaders of Sierra Escondida and take over. The VDM plans a political coup, and once the path is cleared, will turn mortals into blood slaves. So it’s equal parts steamy romance and paranormal mystery/suspense. The mystery/suspense plot is strong enough to satisfy urban fantasy readers, and the romance between Cerissa and Henry is hot enough to satisfy romance readers.

The series begins with Dark Wine at Midnight, in which research scientist Cerissa Patel must find a way to save humanity from a vampire conspiracy without revealing what’s hidden beneath her skin. But her cover story isn’t enough to fool vampire Henry Bautista—he’s dark, dangerous, and will do anything to protect his town, including stopping her.”

So you can see, I have another series to add to my TBR list!!

As for me, I’m trying my hand at writing my own couples series: Redclaw Origins. If you’ve read my books, you know the Redclaw Security series features a new pair in each book, with cameos from previous books and introductions of future characters as well. Redclaw is an elite paranormal agency tasked with investigating matters in the shifter realm as well as securing dangerous artifacts that became active at the same time shifters began making a widespread appearance.

In Redclaw Origins, I introduce Bishop and Knight: two humans hired by the recently formed Redclaw Security to be its newest secret agents. Bishop Takes Knight opens in 1955, and the advent of nuclear technology has triggered the activation of latent shifter genes in an unsuspecting population, while at the same time activated powerful alien tech. Rhett Bishop and Peter Knight proved to be such a delightful pair, I knew I wanted more of their adventures together.

I also have another planned couples series in the Redclaw Universe: The Better Off Red series, which will concentrate on a single team within Redclaw, the Major Shifter Crimes Division, and its lead investigator Morgan Delaney. When Morgan butts heads with her boss’s half-brother, Rian Stirling, over a series of shifter murders, she must resist the pull of fated mates and the appearance of a conflict of interest while she hunts down the real killers.

Of course, this means I need to get cracking on the next book, right? Right. But I’m smiling as I envision all the trials and tribulations I’m going to put my couples through before they get their HEA.

 

 

 

 

Feeling Guilty over Joy When the World is on Fire

photp by Ashutosh Sonwani pexels.com

TW for frightening world news events and the despair they cause. (I promise I’ll make it better, though)

 

 

I have a new book coming out this week, and I gotta tell you.

Most days it feels wrong to talk about it.

I’m not the only one. I think when you take the natural reticence many authors have about self-promotion and add it to the fact most days, the world news is a dumpster fire, it’s difficult to feel right about promoting something as trivial as a new book, or celebrating any event in your life. What if you line up a bunch of timed social media releases, and they hit your timeline on the same day of some horrific event? I don’t know about you, but something like that makes me cringe inside. If that happened, I’d rush off and delete the rest of any planned posts and downplay my book news.

And yet, as of the first of this month, there have been more mass shootings in the US than there have been days in the year. It’s fair to say it’s nigh unto impossible to avoid releasing your doves of happy news on a day when nothing bad has happened. Not a day goes by when we don’t learn of fresh horror: be it rampant, unchecked government corruption (honestly, there are too many stories to link here), the acceleration of climate change, the news that the same insecticides killing the bees are also affecting songbirds, another dozen stories on racial injustice, or whatever hits the news that day. With today’s social media, it’s easier than ever to connect to world events, whether or not the reporting is accurate.

Recently, I wrote a blog post about a reporter who attended a romance conference under false pretenses in order to blast the industry and those who work in it. A point this so-called journalist kept making was that these authors came together to “peddle their soft porn” while “the Amazon burns.” Essentially, she compared romance authors to Nero fiddling while Rome burned (another case of history being written by the victors).

The article by this journalist seeking a free weekend away from her kids enraged many romance readers and writers alike. And for me, it pointed out one glaring hole in her argument about the frivolousness and uselessness of romance stories: as long as the Amazon burns, ANYTHING someone takes pleasure in counts as a selfish waste of time. That includes taking your kids to Little League, being excited about a new job, sharing your vacation pictures online, or seeing the latest blockbuster movie. By this standard, there should be no sports fans, no knitting groups, no book clubs. Why bother getting a new puppy or kitten; we’re all going to die.

Problem is, that holds true regardless if the end is 20 minutes or 200 years from now. Sneering at romance is simply more acceptable than belittling diehard football fans.

Face it, “the Amazon burns” is the perfect metaphor for human civilization as a whole right now. Moderating climate change should be our greatest priority, but that requires a whole chain of events, including putting people in power who believe in science and prioritize global concerns instead of lining their pockets. To take pleasure in the little things in life isn’t a repudiation of making things better in the world.

It helps.

It reminds us the world is worth saving, that people are worth saving. That there are good things in this world, worth sharing with others.

On a more practical level, our social media interconnectedness, while great for sharing things, can also make us more anxious and depressed. And for many, reading is a stress-reducing activity as powerful, if not more so, than meditation. I know this to be true. Without even realizing it, I stumbled upon this a few years ago. I work long hours at a high-stress job, and while I’ve always been a big reader, I desperately needed to spend my 20 minute lunch break with a book each day. If I’m behind my book, don’t talk to me. Don’t expect me to answer work-related questions. I’m the taxi driver sitting at the wheel with the OFF DUTY sign engaged. That twenty minutes absorbed in a story is twenty minutes in which my brain has disengaged from a vicious cycle of worry and anxiety. And I can take a deep breath and come back to slog through the rest of the day’s problems.

The truth is, regardless of whether the world is on fire, we still have to go to work, raise our kids, take care of our elderly parents, deal with relationship issues or that cancer diagnosis, decide if we should take the promotion that moves us across country, and mow the lawn. We still have to live our lives and living without joy is no way to live at all.

So I say, revel in your vacation photos to the Grand Tetons. Celebrate your daughter’s win at the science fair or your son’s award in the local talent contest. Post your puppy pictures and make someone smile. Learn to crochet. Share images of that crafting project you finally completed. Go out to that anniversary dinner. Laugh with friends over a movie. Live-Tweet your favorite TV show or the book you’re reading.

And don’t be afraid to promote your art. It might be exactly the thing that helps someone get through their day.

Introducing Bishop and Knight: Redclaw’s newest Secret Agents #MFRWhooks #MFRWauthors

I can’t believe it! Bishop Takes Knight is ready for pre-order and will be released NEXT WEEK!

I can’t tell you how excited—and nervous—I am about releasing this new story in the Redclaw universe.

Let me share the nervous part first and get that out of the way. I’m nervous because this story is a departure from me in many ways. It’s a historical (the origin story for Redclaw Security), set in the 1950s. It’s also told in 1st person POV from the viewpoint of Henrietta Bishop, our intrepid heroine. The characters have big obstacles to overcome before cementing their relationship, so while it ends HFN, it’s going to take further stories and adventures before we see the relationship come to fruition. As for seeing that, while Rhett, as she prefers to be called, is a passionate woman, she doesn’t tend to share all her personal details on page.

Whoa. That’s quite a difference from my previous stories in the Redclaw Universe. I have a feeling people will either love or hate Rhett Bishop and her new partner, Dr. Peter Knight.

But I’m hoping you’ll love them.

Rhett Bishop is delightfully dry, frequently witty, resourceful woman trapped in an era where women were largely decorative or homemakers, preferably both. Peter Knight is bitter, brilliant, and desperately unhappy until he meets Rhett, who soon teases him into crawling out of the hole of despair he’s fallen into and using his brains for something other than sulking.

Knight is sarcastic, inventive, and clever. He thinks fast on his feet, and has never met a piece of tech he couldn’t manipulate. He’s spent the last two years frustrated by the lack of justice for his wife’s murder, but his time with Rhett reminds him of who he used to be before Margo’s death.

Both are out of their depth when they take up with Redclaw Security: part detective agency, part enforcement team for The Council, a longstanding secret organization of shifters living among us.

No superpowers. No shifting ability. Just their wits and nerve to see them through the search for Margo’s killer, a cache of missing artifacts of immense power, and the rival criminal syndicates who want to get their hands on the technology.

I adore Bishop and Knight. I hope you will too.

Now available for pre-order:

Amazon 

Barnes and Noble 

Apple 

Kobo 

 

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Social Media Do’s and Don’ts: Sometimes You Should Just Shut Up

This past weekend, I made a bone-headed move.

A Big Name Author I follow on Twitter bravely shared the fact she was starting new medication and that she had a lot of anxiety about doing so.

With all the best intentions in the world, I jumped into her Twitter stream to share my experiences with the same medication. My hope was to prepare her for potential side effects. See, a few years back, before I figured out that even a small amount of caffeine would send my blood pressure skyrocketing into the stratosphere, an urgent care doctor decided I was having panic attacks and put me on Ativan.

Unfamiliar with the medication, I asked if there were any restrictions taking it. I was told it might make me sleepy and it may be better to take it at night. On Wednesday evening, I took my first dose. On Thursday, I went to work as usual, taking another dose that night. On Friday, one of my co-workers called me at home–highly unusual. She called because she thought I seemed strange and out of it at work the day before. We talked on the phone for a half hour.

To this day, I don’t remember any of the conversation we had.

Also on Friday, I drove through a red light. When I realized what I’d done, I merely shrugged. And took the next dose.

Saturday evening, my husband and I watched a movie with a slightly sad scene in it. I burst into hiccupping, stuttering sobs, and punched him in the shoulder as I told him he was never allowed to pick the movies again. I also took the next dose. On Sunday, I could not find the barrettes I used to pull back my hair, and I came THIS CLOSE to chopping off all my hair with a pair of pinking shears. I’m not joking. A few minutes later, the young cat picked a fight with the old cat and I came THIS CLOSE to booting him outside–and we lived close to a busy interstate at the time.

My desire to kick my 100% indoor cat that I’d raised from a kitten out of the house into traffic finally brought me up short. Only then did it occur to me to wonder if the medication could possibly be affecting me. I stopped taking it, and the next day contacted my regular doctor, who had a fit when she heard the milligram strength of the dose I’d been taking. 

“That’s four times the starting dose I would have put you on!”

Needless to say, not only did I stop taking the Ativan, but I also figured out that caffeine was the culprit, and though cutting out coffee and soda cold turkey was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, my BP went back to normal when I did.

I still refer to that time as my “Britney Spears Weekend,” and I don’t mean that unkindly. Medications can have powerful, unforeseen effects.

Recently, due to a ridiculous series of tragic events, the subject of putting me back on Ativan came up again. Naturally, I resisted the idea. But it turned out that a quarter of the original dose works quite well for me when I occasionally need it.

And that was the point I’d intended to make to the Big Name Author, namely, work with your doctor, make sure you get the dose right, and trust your gut if something seems wrong. So, while I’m out walking the dogs, I typed in a shortened version of what I shared here. When I finished the third tweet, I suddenly realized what an awful thing I’d done. For someone anxious about trying a new medication, my story was the WORST thing they could possibly hear! Dope slapping myself all the while, I deleted my thread.

Sometimes you just have to know when to shut up.

I think that’s harder these days than it used to be. We’re so connected now via social media, and so many sites request our input I believe we’ve all been groomed to think our opinions are of paramount value, right or wrong. From Amazon to Yelp, from our dentists to the local hardware store, we’re constantly bombarded with messages reminding us to leave a comment, a review, our input. I don’t think this is a bad thing overall, but I  do think it makes it hard to remember sometimes we haven’t been asked. That our experience isn’t necessarily the end-all and be-all of someone else’s existence.

I’ve been trying to keep this in mind as I interact online these days. Sometimes I get it wrong. What helps is if I keep my mouth shut and listen for a change.

But hey, when I ask you for your opinion at the end of this post here, I mean it. I really want to hear what your experience has been!

 

The Fixer Upper by Maggie Mae Gallagher

OMG, doesn’t this sound adorable? If you adored that new Falling Inn Love movie on Netflix (no spoilers, I plan to watch it this weekend!) then this should be right up your alley!

The Fixer Upper

Abby Callier is more in love with Shakespearean heroes than any real man, and she’s beginning to wonder if there is life for her outside the pages of a book. It doesn’t help that her esteemed parents tend to view her as they would one of their science experiments gone wrong. On the eve of finishing her dissertation, she escapes her staid existence to live in the house she inherited from her Great Aunt Evie in the small town of Echo Springs, Colorado. Because, let’s face it, when a woman starts comparing her life to horror films, it might be time for a break.

Sheriff Nate Barnes believes in law and order and carefully building the life you want. In his spare time, he has been remodeling his house in the hope that one day it will be filled with the family he makes. But Nate doesn’t like drama or complications and tends to avoid them at all costs. And yet, when Miss Abigail Callier, his newest neighbor, beans him with a nine iron, he can’t help but wonder if she might just be the complication he’s been searching for all along. It doesn’t hurt that he discovers a journal hidden away by the previous tenant and decides to use Old Man Turner’s advice to romance Abby into his life.

Abby never expected her next-door neighbor, the newly dubbed Sheriff Stud Muffin, to be just the distraction her world needed. The problem is she doesn’t know whether she should make Echo Springs her home, or if this town is just a stopover point in her life’s trajectory. And she doesn’t want to tell Nate that she might not be sticking around—even though she should because it’s the right thing to do, the honest thing—because then all the scintillatingly hot kisses with the Sheriff will come to an abrupt halt. Did she mention that he’s a really great kisser?

Praise for The Fixer Upper:

“Maggie Mae Gallagher writes with warmth and a wonderfully compelling voice – I loved The Fixer Upper!” NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR HEATHER GRAHAM

 

“Maggie Mae Gallagher makes the reader forget the actual words on the page so they can just enjoy the story as it unfolds.” Nancy Berland, NBPR, Inc. President

 

Amazon https://amzn.to/2kmZHUm
Amazon Print https://amzn.to/2ZAv3t4
Nook http://bit.ly/2wP9KUD
Kobo http://bit.ly/2NHFlCX
iBooks https://apple.co/2YImFE6
Books-A-Million http://bit.ly/2k2czPw
Indie Bound http://bit.ly/2lwwW7T

Social Media:

https://www.facebook.com/MagMaeGallagher/

https://www.instagram.com/magmaegallagher/

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7846308.Maggie_Mae_Gallagher  

Twitter: @magmaegallagher  https://twitter.com/magmaegallagher?lang=en

https://www.amazon.com/author/maggiegallagher 

https://www.bookbub.com/authors/maggie-mae-gallagher

Dealing with Writer’s Block: Creativity Thrives in the Quiet Places

I’m in the process of final edits on my current project with a tight deadline, so I’ve been spending a lot of time with the manuscript lately. To the exclusion of just about everything else, I might add. No long walks with the dogs. No taking photographs on my rambles. Not riding the horse or swimming or anything. I sure as heck am not cleaning the house!

Just me and the manuscript, day after day. I’m in the final stages of polishing—looking for typos and making sure I have my ellipsis with consistent spacing throughout—that sort of thing. No major changes.

Yesterday we got a cool breeze rolling in, another hint of fall to come, and I decided to ride for an hour just to clear my head and move some muscles.

Shortly into my ride, as I was trotting around the arena in a circle, I had a eureka moment about the final scene in my book. Something that by changing, I could deepen the connection between the main protagonists and honor the fact that real character change doesn’t happen overnight. It was a great moment, and I couldn’t wait to get back to the draft and make the changes.

I love these moments, but as I finished my ride, it occurred to me I’ve been having less and less of them lately.

It’s really not that hard to see why. Fifteen years ago, it wouldn’t have occurred to me to take a phone with me on a dog walk. Ten years ago, when I began writing again, the phone stayed in my back pocket while I climbed hills and crossed creeks behind my dogs. Five years ago, when I began writing intending to publish, the phone was in my hand, but mostly to take pictures. But two things have happened in the last couple of years that give me pause. The first is an injury has sidelined me for months from many of my former activities. I haven’t been walking in ages because of plantar fasciitis, and then a knee injury.

The second is more insidious. I’m always looking at my social media feeds.

I used to watch my dogs at play, or take pictures of cool mushrooms, or close my eyes to the sun on my face and listen to birdsong.

Now I endlessly scroll, react, comment, or RT. Most of the time, to be honest, I’m in a state of rage over what I read. Not good for my mental health, but not good for writing, either.

In the book, If You Want to Write by Brenda Ueland, the author speaks of the importance of freeing the creative power within you. Of releasing the imagination to go on rambles of its own. She describes how talking 5-6 mile walks does this for her, but only if she exists in the present during those walks. If she heads out on them with the intent of either plotting a story or performing “exercise”, the ideas don’t come. I recently read that Tolkien plotted out large bits of the Lord of the Rings trilogy on similar rambles with his dogs.

But it doesn’t have to be a long, physical activity. The Queen of Mysteries, Agatha Christie, once said she got her best ideas while doing the dishes. I find this to be true myself. Some of my best ideas–my eureka moments–come while I’m doing mindless tasks, such as cleaning stalls. And Ueland herself describes “little bombs of revelation” that go off when doing other things: sewing or carpentry, whittling or playing golf, and yes, dreamily washing the dishes.

The problem is, we have less and less time to free our minds to wander these days.  Something constantly demands our attention. We have tendonitis from constantly scolling and a crick in our necks from looking down at our phones. And that wonderful, lovely brainstorming time, those little bombs of revelation? Well, they aren’t happening nearly as often because our brains are never quiet enough to meander freely. And I’m coming at this as an adult who didn’t grow up with a smartphone plugged into my ear. I can’t imagine how much harder it’s going to be for the people behind us to find that sweet spot of creative revelation. It’s not just so you can get those little bombs going off either. If you’re blocked on your current project, I believe letting your mind out to play is one of the best ways to get around whatever hurdle is blocking you.

I’m reminded of an article I once read about a bomb-sniffing dog who got burned out on the job because his handler used to take him to the golf course on the weekends and have him find missing golf balls. The handler mistakenly thought the dog was having fun doing this simple activity, but what he didn’t realize was the dog took finding golf balls as seriously as hunting out explosives, and the poor dog was effectively working seven days a week as a result.

So I plan to incorporate more ‘free time’ into my brain’s activity each week. I challenge you to do the same. Find “your moment of Zen” by whatever means necessary. If music takes you there, make a playlist and run it on repeat. Pick back up some of the activities you’ve set aside so you can grind out your stories. Stop grinding and let your brain out to play.

You’ll be glad you did.