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Memorial Day Monday

Today is the unofficial start of summer, and as such, it’s the official kick-off of the summer music season (I have deemed it so!).

recordimagesSummer’s always been a time when we listen to more music than ever: driving to the beach, sitting in the sand, hanging out at the pool, barbecuing in the backyard . . . summertime fun and awesome tunes go together like hotdogs and mustard.

Since 2015 is the Summer of Beach Lovin’, each Monday of this summer I’ll be posting a different summer-themed song and talking about it. I’d love to hear YOUR favorite summer jam: which song absolutely means summer and beach to you? Comment here or on my Facebook page, and I’ll feature it in an upcoming post.

We’ll start with what is to me one of the most-often identified favorite summer songs: Surfin’ USA by the aptly-named Beach Boys (1963). I’ve loved this song since I was a kid–it named so many places in the US that were familiar to me, and my sister and I got a kick out of the lines:

You’d seem ’em wearing their baggies468-Kayla-Huarache-sandals-Ankle
Huarachi sandals too
A bushy bushy blonde hairdo
Surfin’ U. S. A.

Because no matter where we all live, whether in the middle of Manhattan, a wheat field in Kansas or on the shores of Lake Michigan, during the summer, don’t we all want to be going on a surfin’ safari?

Happy Memorial Day! Bring on the summer.

Five From Ruth Cardello

Welcome to Five From Friends Friday!

Each week, I’ll share with you five quick and quirky questions and answers

from some of my favorite author friends.

I think you’ll see some familiar faces in here, too.

Quickies from Ruth Cardello

Last fall, I was so surprised and flattered when Ruth Cardello messaged me, telling me that she’d seen an ad for BEST SERVED COLD and had shared it with her readers. I was even more excited when she invited me to visit her wonderful special group of readers, who were so warm and welcoming to me. Ruth is an example of what all indie authors SHOULD be–she’s nurturing, smart and professional, and I learn so much by watching her example. Thanks, Ruth–and take it away!

 

Q:We’re on the cusp of summer. Where is your preferred vacation spot this time of year–beach or mountains?

A:I love to be near water. There is an island near Rhode Island where my family tries to spend a week or two each year. We also love to drive down to the ocean as soon as the weather is warm enough. There is something so peaceful about walking barefoot down a beach and listening to the sounds of the waves crashing.

Q:It’s the time of year for big backyard barbecues! So what’s your favorite–hamburgers or hotdogs? And bonus–favorite side dish at a cookout?

A:Hamburgers and Dynamites. Dynamites are a Rhode Island spicy version of a sloppy Joe. Okay, it’s really much better than it sounds. You’ll have to come here and try one. Every family has their own recipe. {Note from Tawdra–YES, I’d love to try dynamites!}

Q:A mysterious benefactor offers to gift you the first edition of any book you choose. Which will be taking the place of honor on your shelf?

A:Jane Eyre. It’s one of my old favorites.

Q:Confession time: do you make your bed every morning?

A:My husband does it for me. He’s a retired Marine. He can’t go to sleep unless it was made nicely. I, on the other hand, could sleep just fine either way.

Q:You’re on an airplane, in first class, about to take off on a trans-Atlantic flight, and the flight attendant is here to take your drink order. What will you enjoy as you fly over the ocean?

A: You know, I’ve never flown first class. When I fly I’m always with a group–my husband, our kids, my assistant.  It would probably be a very unexciting glass of water 🙂  But I’d be just as happy. Flying in coach with everyone I love trumps flying in first class any day–no matter what beverage they serve.

***

Somewhere Along the Way (The Andrades, Book 4)

SomewhereAlongTheWayLuke Andrade: Wealthy, talented, fiercely loyal. He’s the glue that holds his family together, but every man has a breaking point. When he heads to Ohio to attend a funeral, he does so with the intention of taking time off to clear his head. The very last thing he expects to do is meet a woman.

Cassie Daiver: Scarred, but not broken. She’s recreating herself in a small town far away from her painful childhood.

He’s angry with the world and himself. She finally has something she’s afraid to lose. They couldn’t have met at a worse time.

Luke and Cassie are about to discover love often happens somewhere along the way, and usually, when one least expects it.

Preorder on Amazon!

Ruth Cardello is a New York Times and USA today bestselling author. She was born the youngest of eleven children in a small city in northern Rhode Island. She lived in Boston, Paris, Orlando, and New York before coming full circle and moving back toRuth Cardello Headshot Rhode Island, where she lives with her husband and three children. Before turning her attention to writing, Ruth was an educator for twenty years, eleven of which she spent as a kindergarten teacher. She writes primarily about rich, alpha men and the strong women who tame them. She also dabbles in cowboy romances. 

Follow Ruth here:

Website/Facebook/Facebook/Twitter

 

Writers: A Higher Standard?

{This post originally appeared here three years ago. It’s a rerun because this week, this author is on vacation! That’s right, folks, I actually have a life. So enjoy a little blast from the recent past. It holds true even for today. See you next week!}

These days, I spend a good deal of time with other writers on social media sites like Twitter and Facebook.  It’s wonderful to interact with these creative minds, and most of the time, I really enjoy it.

tumblr_lvhuqruxUd1r1vzzeo5_r1_500But every now and then, I see a tweet or post pop up. . something along these lines:  “This is how my book got it’s title!”  Or “My characters love there story.”

Cringe worthy grammar issues make me. . well, cringe.

Am I too picky?  Maybe.  After all, these are just a few lines tossed out into cyberspace; it’s not the Great American Novel.

True. . .but shouldn’t authors, people who have chosen to embrace the written word as their vocation or avocation, be held to a higher standard? At the very least, shouldn’t we use the basics correctly?

My own personal biases are the least of the reasons to watch our grammar. As indie writers, we are already fighting preconceived notions that we just weren’t good enough to make it in the world of traditional publishing. I’ve encountered some traditionally-published writers who sniff (in their tweets of 140 characters or less!) that indie books are poorly written, poorly edited, amteurish imitations of ‘real’ books.  Why should we give them reinforcement for that argument?

You can be a writer even if you don’t know all the basic grammar rules, but you’ll be a better writer if you make the effort to understand them. Learn how to use there, their and they’re as well as its and it’s.  Study sentence structure.  And then pay attention to every tweet and post.  Yes, we’re all going to make mistakes here and there. That just means we need to proofread all the more vigilantly.

Writing well truly is its own reward. . .and the best revenge!

I’m Reading All Played Out by Cora Carmack

I’ve been waiting for this book for freakin’ ever, so it had major expectations to meet. And it did. Oh, baby, did it.

Nell is Dylan’s roommate (Dylan, female lead of All Broke Down). And anyone reading these books knows that Mateo Torres is the house clown–the one about whom everyone laughs and shakes their heads. He’s also a bit of a manwhore.

Nell on the other hand is focused and driven–school and her career are it for her. After a bad bout of the lonelies, she decides to experiment and try out ‘real’ college life before she graduates. To that end, she makes a list and sets about to check off the items.

Accomplishing this task puts our girl squarely in the path of sexy Torres. . .and he falls hard. How he wins her skittish and reluctant heart is spun sweetly and with earnest realism; we see Nell yearning and pulling back while Torres exercises admirable patience and depth as yet unseen in his character.

I love when an author takes a side character we assume we knew–whom we had stereotyped–and brings him out, makes him 3-D and deep. It’s a good reminder that when we pigeonhole people, we’re doing them and ourselves a disservice.

My one and only complaint about this book is that Stella’s story, which I’ve been waiting impatiently to read, isn’t up for preorder yet. EARLY 2016!!! Gah, I’ll wither away and die before then. (Not really. At least, I hope not.)

If you haven’t read The Rusk University books, RUN and get them all. Right now. Go on, shoo. And read them, and then come back and thank me. ‘Cause I know you will.

The One Teaser

If you visit this site with any regularity, I hope you’ve heard of The One Trilogy. Heck, I hope you’ve read them all! But just in case, today’s Tuesday Teaser gives you a sampler of each book. Bon appetite.

The Last One

“Thanks.” The light was changing as the sun rose fully, and I laid down my pencil. The sketch had turned out well, though not quite the same as I imagined it would look in paint.

I dropped my head back and let it roll, working out the kinks from thirty minutes of looking up. Without breaking the movement, I reached for Sam’s mug. “That smells heavenly. Can I have a taste?”

TKTO3FINALHis brown eyes darkened as they wandered down my face to my lips and back up again. He held the mug to my mouth and tilted it until I tasted the hot sweet liquid on my tongue.

“Mmmmm.” I closed my eyes in appreciation and ran the tip of my tongue over my top lip.

Next to me, Sam made a noise deep in his throat. When I opened my eyes and turned my head to look at him, he was closer than I’d expected. He stared down at me before his gaze dropped lower to my body. I’d run outside in the same clothes I’d worn to bed, my favorite soft white tank, with no bra underneath, and an old pair of green cotton shorts that barely covered my ass. It wasn’t appropriate outside attire, clearly, but that wasn’t bothering Sam.

Or maybe it was. His throat worked as his eyes made their way back up to my face. I held my breath, and for the space of a few rapid heartbeats, he didn’t move. And then slowly, so slowly, he snaked the hand not holding the coffee cup around my shoulders and caught my chin between his thumb and forefinger. With just the slightest pressure, he coaxed it up, leaned forward an inch and touched his lips to mine.

I wanted to move my arms around his neck, open my mouth and deepen the kiss. But I held back, afraid of spooking him. Instead, I closed my eyes, waiting for the touch of his tongue to my bottom lip, and let him tug my chin to open my mouth.

His lips were firm but languorous, moving as though we had all morning to do nothing but sit here, connected only at our mouths. His tongue teased, first stroking the inside of my lips, then circling around my tongue, seeking and taking. His fingers splayed over my jaw, moving my face up a little to give him even more access.

He didn’t touch me anywhere else, but I felt the kiss in a line of fire down my body. I wanted to grip his shoulders and pull him down on top of me in the grass. I wanted the weight of him on me, to feel him against my breasts and between my legs.

But I didn’t move. At the same time that I wanted more, this kiss was enough, because it was Sam, and because he had initiated it. With his arm still around me, I felt cherished and protected in a way I’d never known I wanted. His chest pressed against my back and along my side, cocooning me.

I knew the minute he began to pull back. He moved away from me, and I felt the brush of his breath over my still-parted lips. When I opened my eyes, he was staring into them under brows that were drawn together. I didn’t look away, and for a few seconds, he didn’t either.

“I need to get to the fields.” Without warning, he dropped his hand from my face and stood up. I’d been leaning on him more than I’d realized, and I had to catch myself from tumbling off the boulder in his absence.

“Okay.” I looked up at him, waiting. I wanted to push him. God, how I wanted to rise up on my knees, even knowing how the rock would bite into my bare skin, wrap my arms around his waist and make him kiss me again. I craved the touch of his hands down my back and on my ass.

“I need to go.” He repeated the words, but still he didn’t move. I stayed silent this time. His hand reached out toward me, and for a dizzy second I thought he might draw me close again, but he only touched his fingertip to one of my red curls. I held my breath.

 

The First One

I laced my fingers into hers and squeezed, pressing our palms together. “Ali, don’t ever think I don’t want to touch you. God, right now, all I want is . . .” I took a deep breath. “I can’t even say it, because if I do, I’ll end up making it happen.”

“Why don’t you?” She smiled and raised our joined hands to her lips.

“I think . . .” This wasn’t going to be easy. Not when part of me—the part that was a distance south of my cerebral cortex— was screaming that I was an idiot. “I want you, Ali. I want to kiss you all the time. I want to touch you all over. I want to peel off all 10943440_10205012488699255_162617064_nyour clothes, and let you take off mine, and lay out there on the blanket, skin to skin, nothing between us but the night air.” God, I was a fool. “But I like you a lot. You’re more than just my girlfriend, you’re my best friend.” I reached across and tucked a strand of her silky hair behind her ear. “I want to make love to you.” Saying the words made it so real, the throbbing under my zipper became almost unbearable. “But I want us to be ready. Both of us. I want us to make the decision together, so we have no regrets. When we’re together, really together, I want it to be the best moment of our lives. Something we never forget. Something we think about for the rest of our lives.”

When I dared to look into Ali’s eyes, I was half-afraid I’d see incredulity and maybe even scorn. What I was saying wasn’t exactly popular philosophy among high school students. But instead, I saw the sheen of tears and the unmistakable glow of love.

I recognized that expression. I’d seen it in my mother’s eyes when she looked at my father, and in Iona’s when she talked about Mark. I’d known for a while it was how I looked at Ali. Love was more than just the girlfriend/boyfriend stuff that went on all around us at school. It was a big deal, life-changing and forever. It was Ali and me, together against the world for the rest of our lives.

That was exactly what I wanted. And why I was willing to wait for sex. Getting it right was more important than getting it right away.

The Only One

Ten minutes later, Rilla was back in the kitchen. I sat at the table with Piper on my lap, and the island counter between us meant I only saw Rilla’s upper half. She’d pulled her hair back in a low ponytail, which made her eyes look even bigger. But what caught my attention was her shirt. It was deep blue and sleeveless, showing her toned arms. The top few buttons were undone; there was nothing revealing about the blouse at all, but it actually fit her, molding to her curves just enough that I wanted to investigate closer.

Promo7TawdraKandleAnd then she stepped closer to us, and I couldn’t hide my grin. “Rilla Grant, are you wearing jeans?”

She flushed, but I could tell by the way her eyes shone that she was pleased I’d noticed. “Yes. I thought tonight would be a good time to give them a try.”

Rilla and Meghan had gone shopping together just the weekend past, and while I hadn’t seen any of her new clothes until now, I knew she was excited about what she’d bought.

“Come in here and let me see!” Mom called from her room. “Dang, I always miss out on the good stuff.”

Rilla grinned and turned toward my mother’s room, giving me a tantalizing view of the way the denim hugged her ass. God almighty. Who knew shy little Rilla Grant was rocking a body like this under all that material?

I knew I had to rein myself in. I hadn’t been blowing smoke when I’d told Rocky that Rilla and I were only friends, that she worked for me, that she was far too young for me. I meant it all. But just for now, just for tonight, it was fun to let my mind down paths of possibilities. It felt right to pretend that we were a little family, that I was going to enjoy a night out with my girl and my daughter.

Mom ooohed and ahhhed, and once Rilla was satisfied that she was settled for the evening and would be all right while we were out, the three of us got into my truck. I buckled Piper into the backseat and then stood back to help Rilla climb in, clasping her small hand tight in mine for a little longer than necessary and holding back from giving her a boost. My fingers itched to cup her backside, just to cop a feel over the jeans. I lectured myself sternly as I walked around to the driver’s side. Cool it, buddy.