Featured Author: Victoria Klahr

About the book:

Seth is back. 

When he walked back into my life, it almost felt like the pieces of my broken heart could be fixed. I thought we could go back to being best friends, but then I started to feel what I had been blocking out for years. I tried. Boy, did I try! But once I started to let him in, I wanted nothing more than to cross that line from friendship into something more . . . 



Just when I think I can move on and let myself be happy, an ugly reminder from my past comes storming in and threatens to destroy the sliver of hope that’s been growing since Seth came back.



Do I even deserve to be loved? 



“I’m not asking to fix your heart. I’m not asking to mend you. I love each and every shattered piece of you. I’m asking that you let me love you. Let me love each piece of your broken heart, and I swear to you I will make up for every heartache you have ever experienced.”



I came back for Josie. 



I knew I’d have to fight for her, but with the loss of her dad and the truth about what happened with her and Blake, I quickly realized that making her mine was going to be a lot harder than I first thought. The problem is, I can’t pretend like she’s just my best friend. I can’t pretend I don’t want more. 



I’m willing to do anything to get her to admit she has the same passionate feelings for me, because I know once she opens up and stops lying to herself, I can show her what it really means to be loved. It’s a battle of wills, but my love for her is stronger than her will to stop me.



So I fight for her. I fight because I know she deserves it.

Excerpt from That's a Lie

I was instantly distracted as I walked into the space. Seth. Shirtless. I don't think I need to explain my lack of focus. Or the drool. 

"You lied to me," he said gruffly, sitting on the barstool at my counter. His blond hair flopped in front of his eyes, and my hands itched to push it back. Touching him again the way I wanted to would satisfy only a millimeter of the need I have, but it would relieve some of the pain. I turned around to hide my thoughts.

"Ugh . . . I need coffee," I said vacantly, reaching for my coffee maker. I didn't even hear Seth move, but his hand grabbed mine and he turned me around, placing his hands beside me on the countertop to trap me. My breath caught, and I was positive he could hear my heart pounding in my chest.

His blue-green eyes screamed hurt and anger, but I didn't even care about him being mad. All that mattered was the charge that thumped between us. I was very aware of him.
"You lied, Josie. You're not supposed to lie to me."

"Seth . . . Come on," I said, turning my face away, unable to look at the raw emotion in his expression. His hand dashed out and grabbed my chin.

"How long, Josie?" he asked. I closed my eyes, not wanting to admit anything. "Open your damn eyes, Jos. Stop fu*#ing hiding." His voice was hard, but it was also full of desperation. I opened my eyes and narrowed them at him.

He didn’t understand that I needed to keep him away from me. My life is tainted by darkness, and he doesn't need that. Yes, I lied to the one person who I said I wouldn't deceive again, but it was for his own good!

"It doesn't matter, Seth. I'm fine."

"Like fu*#ing hell it doesn't matter. I haven't heard you scream like that since your nightmares after you were raped!"

The haunting reminder brought back vivid memories of that time. He or one of my dads would come lay with me to help me fall asleep. Every day that Seth wasn't in school, he was there with me, trying to make the nightmares go away.

"Since the engagement party," I whispered, looking down. I don't know why I admitted it, but I think part of me realized I couldn't hold on to all this pain anymore.

That's when my resolve started to break. How long could I go on fighting the feelings that I have for Seth? How long could I act like nothing hurts me?

"Fu*#, Jos . . . ," he whispered back, placing his forehead against mine. His signature smell of hay and apple pie drifted around me, and I almost lost my footing from wanting him so bad. "You should have told me."

"I didn't want you to worry."

"I worry about you every second you're not with me, Pussycat. Every second that you hide behind that wall you've built, I wonder when you're going to crack." His hand reached up to caress my face, and I leaned into his touch. It was only an infinitesimal movement, but I still heard Seth's breath hitch. My lapse in self-control made him bold. He brought his mouth to the side of mine, and kissed me. I couldn't stop the whimper before it escaped my mouth.

"There you are," he whispered hoarsely against my lips, always seeing me, even when I didn’t want him to. I wanted to bask in the moment, but I had already opened up to him too much. I pushed through his barricade and ran back to my room.

"I've got to help Dad at the garage today," I threw out as an explanation, and then I went to hide in my shower.

About the author:

Victoria Klahr (pronounced “Claire”) lives in Elizabeth City, North Carolina with her husband and daughter, Stephen and Alexis. She loves her chug (Pug/Chihuahua), Bandit, and daughter to pieces. She is a huge and proud book nerd who looks at her bookshelf in admiration daily. When she’s not daydreaming about book boyfriends and fantasizing about being a badass heroine like Rose Hathaway, she’s busy doing schoolwork for her Bachelor’s degree in Psychology and writing the stories that speak to her in her head. She loves peanut butter with Oreos, good friends, amazing gossip, driving in the middle of merge lanes, comedies, crude humor, pretending like she can dance, pretending like she can kick major ass, and a really, really good laugh.

Connect with Victoria:
Blog  |  Facebook  |  Goodreads

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Featured Author: Tammy L. Grace

About the book:

Spend Christmas in Friday Harbor this year surrounded by the friends you know and a couple of special deliveries from the Hometown Harbor series.

In between holiday activities, friends of Linda and Max are helping plan their Valentine’s Day wedding. Regi is anxiously awaiting the arrival of her fortieth birthday and the fulfillment of the promise she and Cam made over twenty years ago.

As she anticipates the reunion with Cam, she’s oblivious to the signals the local delivery man, Nate, is giving her. She and Nate work together helping a newcomer open an art and antiques shop. While spending time together, she discovers she has feelings for Nate and bonds with the new shopkeeper over their past losses. 

As Regi’s contemplating her choices, she’s dealt a blow that brings her to her knees and reconnects her with the past. In the pursuit of her youthful fairytale promise, she’ll risk the only chance she’s encountered for true happiness and a home. 

The Dirty Dozen with Tammy Grace

1.    What’s one thing that drives you crazy?
Must I pick only one? I would say inefficiency. I have very little – make that no patience for this quality in systems or sadly, people.

2.    What is your guiltiest guilty pleasure?
I’m guilty of eating rocky road ice cream as a meal. There’s a wonderful ice cream shop about 30 miles from my home, and I’ve been known to drive to it for lunch!

3.    What is your most embarrassing moment?
I worked in a junior high school, and on one of my first days at work, I slipped on the stairs (wearing new school shoes, of course) and bounced all the way down the flight in front of a group of seventh and eighth graders. Not fun when you’re in junior high and even less fun when you’re an adult.

4.    What is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done?
I backed into a car parked behind me in my own driveway.

5.    What’s the most daring thing you’ve ever done? 
I’m not much of a daredevil, but would have to say parasailing over Lake Tahoe.

6.    On what life choices would you like to have a re-do?
I would dedicate more time to spend with the important people in my life. When people die or get ill, or even move away, you realize you could have made different choices and spent more of your days with them.

7.    What makes you nervous? 
I’m a bit of a worrier, so many things! Airport security, traffic, anything from the IRS, driving in fog, going to the doctor ~ dare I go on?

8.    What makes you scared?
Watching the news scares me about the future – I used to watch it faithfully, but quit a couple of years ago and substituted classic television shows.

9.    What’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told?
When my son was little I convinced him that I had access to an evil babysitter, Mrs. Neusbaum. So, if he got out of line, I threatened to call her to come over and take care of the situation.

10.    What’s the biggest mistake you’ve ever made?
I trusted a colleague and later learned she was only using me to climb the ladder.

11.    When was the last time you did something for the first time?
I love to bake and try new recipes, so that happens often (maybe too often)!  As an author, I find myself doing new things with social media and promotion all the time. 

12.    One of your main characters has to die. Which one would you kill off? 
Oh, that’s a tough one.  I’d hate to do it, but I’d choose Jeff. He came close to death in the second book, and I actually thought about taking him out, but my mom convinced me to let him live.

About the author:

Born and raised in Nevada, Tammy L. Grace loved reading at a young age. With the help of her middle school teacher, she discovered the joy of writing. After spending a career in local and state government service, she retired and finally has the time to dedicate to writing. 

When Tammy isn't working on ideas for a novel, she's spending time with family and friends or supporting her addiction to books and chocolate. She and her husband have one grown son and a spoiled golden retriever.

Connect with Tammy:
Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Amazon author page 

Featured Author: Jessica Ashley Dafoe

Jessica Ashley Dafoe is on tour with CLP Blog Tours and she's here today with a guest post and an excerpt from her novel, The Tantalizing Tale of a Bitter Sweetheart. Don't miss the Rafflecopter giveaway for a $35 Amazon gift card at the end of the post.

About the book:

Successful, lucky in love, taking the world by storm?.....not quite. Portia Delaney is down on her luck, disgruntled in a dead end, mind- numbing career with little prospects and is not even close to finding a stimulating romance to take her mind off her lack-luster situation. Her defeatist attitude and unmistakable idiosyncrasies don’t help much either. 

But with rock bottom comes a choice, lie down and enjoy the cold and barren ground beneath, or climb that ladder of success to the top. Portia finally sets out to do just that. With a fantastic group of friends and a bit of fateful circumstance on her side, she begins her trek up and out of the despair filled trenches. But Portia soon finds out that with success, often comes hardships and unwelcome competition.

Guest Post 

by Jessica Ashley Dafoe

Leading Ladies of Inspiration

It is interesting that after taking a moment to reflect about all of the novels I have read over the years, and to select from those my most favourite of all, those that stand out among the others are of course novels which focus on a somewhat lost and inadvertently helpless, even seemingly hopeless, female heroine.

My love for Jane Austen and her romantically charged tales, which are plotted around the stringent rules in regards to class structure and expected decorum of her day, has been strong and true since the tender age of 14 when I picked up Pride and Prejudice for the first time. It most certainly was not the last time I would flip through its pages. I have read that novel countless times and with each read through it feels as though it's my first perusal. There is a magic behind Austen's writing.

It seems as though with each read the true agony I imagine to have been felt by Elizabeth Bennet during her passionate and heated exchanges with Mr. Darcy is more and more identifiable. Her yearning for him, so muddled by her confusion and misinterpretation of his intentions, leaves a young woman like myself feeling just as gutted and despairing as the adrift heroine seems to feel. The eloquent language and incredibly developed characters left me infatuated with the genius behind the work. I will forever view Austen as an icon to English literature. I must say, as a side note, that when I lived in London, England for a year, I fell head over heels for the great (x many) grandnephew of the very legend herself. Romance is in the Austen line, and this was proven to be the case as our relationship continued through the entirety of my time there. I suppose I may have been starry eyed from the get-go after being made aware of his connection to my icon.

The Brontes have also made a tremendous impact on my literary experience. Out of the three it is Charlotte's Jane Eyre which I esteem above the others. In Grade 12 English class I was asked to complete an independent study followed by a seminar presentation on this very novel. That seminar ran 30 minutes longer than allotted simply because I did not feel that only touching on the major events in the novel would do it justice. My seminar turned into ‘Story Time with Jessica’ as I verbally recounted the entire action of the plot right up to the mysterious unveiling in the final chapters. My English teacher at the time gave me an "A" even though I sorely misjudged the timing of the presentation. The "A" grade was allocated due to the enthusiasm with which I shared the extremely accurate and exact details of the plot. Jane Eyre, much like Pride and Prejudice is a novel I picked up to read and re-read many times over the years. The isolation and rejection initially experienced by a young Jane produces such compassion and sympathy. The seemingly pathetic, plain abandoned girl's journey is one of great victory in the face of uncertainty.
'I am not an angel,' I asserted; 'and I will not be one till I die: I will be myself. Mr. Rochester, you must neither expect nor exact anything celestial of me - for you will not get it, any more than I shall get it of you: which I do not at all anticipate."
-Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre

Finally, and this may seem a far cry from the two writing styles that I have previously focused on and deemed as being partly responsible for my inspiration to write my debut novel, yet Sophie Kinsella has managed to entertain and inspire me with her frivolous and witty tales involving female protagonists such as Rebecca Bloomwood. In The Secret Confessions of a Shopoholic, Becky is a hopeless wreck and not only that, she's got a keen eye for fashion. She is simply a character that I easily identified with as it was during my early-twenties that I discovered her; a time when my finances were in a dire situation, straight out of university with little to no income and still living at home with my parents. I had a love for shopping and not a spare dime to act on my impulse with. 

Kinsella made light of a horrendous situation in the life of Becky and the humour allowed me to escape from the less than perfect situation I found myself in. I continue to this day to be a hardcore Kinsella fan, ensuring to pick up a copy of her latest book as soon as it hits the shelves. Yes, Shopaholic to the Stars is next on my ‘To Read’ list!

"Ok, don't panic. Don't panic. It's only a VISA bill. It's a piece of paper; a few numbers. I mean, just how scary can a few numbers be?"-Sophie Kinsella, Confessions of a Shopaholic

I suppose the main character of my novel The Tantalizing Tale of a Bitter Sweetheart, encompasses aspects of all three female protagonists mentioned. Portia’s dream is much like that of Elizabeth's, her journey is much like that of Jane's and she is quirky, impulsive and somewhat of a mess, just like Becky Bloomwood. I love her just the same and am sure you all will too!

Excerpt from The Tantalizing Tale of a Bitter Sweetheart

“Portia!! Portia!! Get up already! You’re about a zillion minutes late for your first day. Come on you lazy imp!”

Oh, I hate being torn out of a lovely slumber when I’m in the middle of the most wonderful dream; woken up by the horrendous bellowing of none other than my meddling, unbearable roommate, Minnie. The dream was perfection, and waking to a reality that can only be described as the exact opposite of perfection, is highly undesirable, yet this similar feeling each morning as I come to, has been my lot in life.

I slowly open one eye to see a familiar, thin, curly haired red head glaring at me from my bedroom doorway. I quickly shut it and feign being back in a deep sleep. Why oh why can’t I wake up to a dark haired, charming and handsome man as opposed to this?

“I saw that, Portia Delaney!” she sounds frustrated. “Not only are you late, but you’re making me late too, because I’m doing my duty as your friend and roommate to be sure that you don’t screw this one up! Now get on with it! Up, up, up!”

At this point she has found her way to the bottom of my bed and is now dragging me by my perfectly pedicured feet, because you never know when you may end up on a date with a gentleman who is won over by a well-cared for set of tootsies, (although I haven’t been on a date with a “gentleman” in over 6 months), and has just about gotten me to the point of full on bailing off the bed when I give in.

“OK! OK! You maniac! I’m up and I can be ready in 5 minutes flat, so get your skinny rear out of my room and let me get myself together. Thank you and please be on your way now.” I quickly jump to my feet after Minnie has unhanded them, and sternly guide her out into the hall slamming the door behind her. “Have a lovely day!” I manage to say in a sharp and clearly irritated voice.

Minnie is a workaholic, freakishly organized, highly paid executive at an ad agency. Why she still wants or needs a roommate is beyond me. I suppose it’s because work is her life and any ounce of energy she has, she wants to be poured into her career, not her home life or even love life for that matter. Minnie is the power-hungry career oriented woman who honestly, no word of a lie, could not give a damn whether she ever marries or has a family of her own. Sometimes I wish I had that mindset, because I, Portia Delaney, am ever hopelessly focused on finding that one soul mate.

Now what? Dressed, yes I must choose an outfit for the first day at yet another mind-numbing, low paying office job at yet another medical office. I really want to be styling the rich and famous, not to mention designing clothes that are intended to be strutted down the runways of Paris and Milan; not to be stuck in a dead end job that has me working for pompous and self- absorbed doctors, who get to drive off in their luxury cars and head home to their glamorous trophy wives not to mention who give absolutely no notice of the front desk help. Why didn’t I listen to my heart instead of my nagging parents?

Alright, outfit, yes outfit. Well this is the most inexcusable tidbit of all. I’m here selecting an outfit for a first day at a job where my only selection can be from an assortment of various coloured scrubs, when I want to be making a selection between Gucci and Versace. Lavender it is, I suppose. With that disgruntled decision made, I reach for my terribly ordinary lavender scrubs, quickly pull them on, jet into the bathroom and whisk a brush through my hair while applying a pinch of foundation and blush. A bit of tinted lip gloss and a quick once over with the toothbrush and I’m set to go. Yes to go to my...well...bore of a career. Pay increase or not, just the thought of getting compensated to give up my dreams on a daily basis makes my stomach turn, and anxiety take over.

“But enough of this negativity Portia Delaney” I say out loud to my reflection in the hall mirror, “You are a successful, adorable, intelligent, creative and inspirational woman with amazing potential. For you nothing is impossible!” Ok, so do I actually believe this bunk...not a word. My shrink surely is trying to make me think I do, but let’s face it I’m at rock bottom with S.O.S. carved in the sand and flare guns blazing.

I suppose, however, there is nowhere to go but up.  Work is blah, love life is blah, family life is… well, is what it is. My friends are mostly amazing, but sometimes having great friends, who seem to have it all together, just help to highlight everything lacking in your own life. With that summation of my view on my life circumstance, I slip on my god awful, yet comfy crocs, grab my Mark Jacobs purse, because I must still demonstrate some good taste in my daily wardrobe, and strut out the door while working those lavender scrubs to the max.

About the author:



Jessica Ashley Dafoe resides in Toronto where she is an educator by day and a literary enthusiast and writer by night. She attained her BA in English Literature at The University of Ottawa and her B Ed at Brock and Queen’s University. 

When Jessica does not have her nose in a book or is not scribbling out her ideas for her newest tantalizing tales, she's most likely keeping busy trying out various exciting activities and delicious cuisine that the great city of Toronto has to offer or planning her next getaway to her immediate destination of choice. The traveling bug bites her often.

 A romantic comedy addict to the core, she enjoys all things silly, frivolous and emotionally endearing which is the reason she writes stories that encompass all of these qualities. 




Connect with Jessica:
Twitter | Linkedin | Goodreads | Google+

Buy the Book:
Amazon 

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Spotlight on Amanda Aksel

Author of The Man Test

About the author:

AMANDA (ah-MAHN-dah)- Latin-
Meaning lovable or worthy of love.

Fitting. I've always had an affinity for love.
​
Being born in sunny San Diego in the mid 80’s to a young military couple gave me plenty of insight into the dynamics of a romantic relationship. Somewhere between moving coasts every three years, I found myself engrossed in fairytale romances and dressing up like a bride.
​
My first real love was writing. By my sophomore year in a new high school in Virginia, I had a slew of short stories, songs, poems, and articles to my name. Writing was fun. It was a way to get the emotions, dialogue, and pictures out of my head, and create a destiny for my characters.

​I had no intention of making a career in writing, because it wasn’t what I did, it was who I was. In reality, I wanted to be an actress. Ah, to be the face of someone else’s authored story. The plan was to move in with my aunt in L.A. after graduation, but I had a change of heart. Instead, I stayed with my high school sweetheart (now husband) and attended a film school in Norfolk, Virginia. It was at this school that I discovered my love for writing screenplays and felt compelled to follow that path. But … as the practical girl I was brought up to be, I decided to go to a real university. While working full time, I completed my BA in Psychology in four and a half years. Becoming a couple’s therapist had always been my “backup” career and there I was on my way to solving love's most complicated quandaries one couple at a time.
​
With all my new free time after graduation, I decided to turn my full-length screenplay into a novel in hopes it would help my screenplay sell. I think I was in the middle of writing chapter two when I realized that everything I had ever written was to prepare me for that moment when I knew I was a novelist. Talk about the affirmation of my life. Now my plan is to solve love's most complicated quandaries one novel at a time.

Connect with Amanda:
Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

Buy the book:
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Spotlight on: Mary Marcus

About the book:

Harriet is floundering. She's in her early forties, her kids have gone to college, her marriage feels empty, her cable TV cooking show has lost its sense of inspiration, and she longs to leave the West Coast for New York. Then one day she meets Lydia, a gorgeous woman in her late twenties. Lydia reminds her so much of herself a decade or so past, and her husband, who hardly likes anything, likes Lydia as well. It slowly dawns on Harriet that Lydia could be the answer to everything that's ailing her. All she needs to do is turn Lydia into "the new me."

Reminiscent of the work of Susan Isaacs and Nora Ephron, The New Me is a witty, poignant, perceptive, and beautifully written novel about change and the price of becoming who you want to be.

Praise for Mary Marcus and The New Me:

“The New Me by Mary Marcus is a revelation. Like Joan Didion, she brings to life the nuance and emotion of a sometimes-dysfunctional family life in Southern California with a jaundiced view of Hollywood in her peripheral vision. Like Williams Carlos Williams, she knows that precise observation of details can illuminate great depth. Part baby-boom prose poem, part woman’s rebirth, The New Me is alternately hilarious and heartbreaking and ultimately hopeful. What a cool first novel!”
– Danny Goldberg, author of Bumping Into Geniuses


“The New Me is funny, poignant and deftly written. It is a relatable story that beats with a pulse of a modern marriage paradigm and provides cringe-worthy moments that simultaneously delight and distress. This book made me uncomfortable in all the best ways. I couldn’t put it down.”
– Moira Walley-Beckett, Writer/Co-Executive Producer of Breaking Bad

“So you think it’s all sun, surf and smiles. Mary Marcus shows you the dark side of the California dream. A sadly eloquent, painfully honest account of how a mystery woman intrudes on a marriage growing melancholy. Reader beware: you might find yourself in these pages.”
– Heywood Gould, author of Cocktail, Fort Apache The Bronx, Greenlight For Murder

“Mary Marcus expertly illuminates the world of a lived marriage in this inspired novel. With careful nuance and dark humor in her back pocket, she raises questions women might not dare ask themselves. The New Me will give the old you something to think about. A real treat.”
– Rachel Eddey, author of Running of the Bride

“Mary Marcus has created Healthy Harriet and her world with a sharp eye and robust humor. A great debut book parsing the complexities of love, married life, motherhood, and betrayal.”
– Alissa Torres, author of American Widow

“In The New Me, Mary Marcus tells a clever and engaging tale of the intertwined lives of transplanted modern city-dwellers, which not only illuminates surprising dimensions of our all-too-human strengths and frailties but how the path to self-discovery is seldom what we expect.”
– Bran Ferren, Founder, Chief Creative Officer, Applied Minds, LLC

“Have you ever worried you could be replaced by another woman? Have you ever secretly hoped that you might be? Is eighteen years of making dinner every night enough already? These questions haunt the irresistible chef/wife/mother Harriet Prince in Mary Marcus’s funny, heartbreaking and thriller-paced novel, The New Me. Marcus serves up the humor and sadness in a threatened empty-nest marriage and reminds us that for even the best cook, endings can be bittersweet.”
– Delphine Hirsh, author of The Girls’ Guide to Surviving a Breakup

Excerpt from The New Me:

It’s not surprising that I met Lydia at yoga. It was the only place I went regularly other than work and the farmer’s market. She put her mat down next to mine and we smiled at each other, the way yoga people do.

I took up practicing in the summer before the boys entered their senior year of high school. I heard it helped you sleep and if I hung around the house at the dinner hour cooking and serving, the boys and I would invariably start shrieking at each other. That year, Jules was working thirty miles away on some show shot on a horse ranch mostly at night. Wednesday night he was home and he generally spent it in bed with a tray and the remote control. Once in a while, he and the boys went out to this revolting Mexican restaurant they all love and I won’t go near. Otherwise, he was gone except on the weekends when he slept, being understandably exhausted from the night shoots. Three mornings a week before dawn, Jules and I would cross paths in the kitchen: me with my commuter’s mug of café au lait on my way to the cable studio for Healthy Harriet. Jules on his way to the kitchen for his Irish oatmeal before hitting the sack. (The oatmeal everybody loved was made the night before in the crockpot by Healthy Harriet.) Looking back it is remarkable how often Jules landed gigs that either sent him on location or put him in an entire other stratosphere schedule-wise from the rest of us.

Once I started yoga, I was hooked almost right away and began going into down dogs in the kitchen and soon handstands against the door that led to the laundry room. When I took the boys for their college tours, I remember Googling yoga studios in the towns we visited. Like cooking, it kept me sane. And gave me something to look forward to. And it wasn’t solitary like running. I liked the chanting. The bowing and the “Namaste”—I particularly loved the one chant we repeated three times: Loca Samasta Sukihino Bhvantu. May all beings everywhere be happy and free from suffering.

By that point I must have begun to realize subconsciously at least, that much as I loved him, I was much happier and the boys acted better when Jules wasn’t around. What a revelation! For years I had been in the habit of thinking the problem was that Jules was gone most of the time and we all missed him. Granted we did miss him, especially in those first few years in LA when they were young and I didn’t know a soul and I had to start all over again work-wise. Though I do remember sort of putting it together that the horrible pains that tightened my neck muscles and sent me to the chiropractor for adjustments only happened when Jules was at home. When he was around, I not only felt sort of queasy, I could literally feel the chords of my neck tightening like the reins of a workhorse. The Jules effect wasn’t a whole lot more salubrious on the boys. In fact Sam started having the same neck problems I did. Maybe it was his violin, maybe not. I’m not trying to say things were perfect between the boys and me. Especially Dan and me. Certainly we fought when I hung around serving them dinner and when I fussed like they were ten-year-olds. However, when I stopped doing that we were much better. I say all this because the combination – of just leaving them food and not fussing over them realizing I didn’t miss Jules, realizing they didn’t miss Jules, doing yoga and finally when they left home and the coast was clear, meeting Lydia – was like finding the essential fixings for a good stock, and the basis for what I cooked up. The spontaneous orgasm at yoga probably didn’t hurt either. A little giftie from the universe, a sort of hey, look, it can happen again, maybe not in the way you think but it can happen.

Dinnertime yoga in LA – and probably everywhere else too – is primarily practiced by single and/or divorced women. If I were a guy on the make, that’s the first place I’d go. Women who do a lot of yoga have great bodies and I even stopped shouting (except in the shower) when I got hooked. But the men at yoga are usually few and far between and often gay. That or AA. It didn’t take me long to discover not only was I one of the least limber in class, I was also the only woman there who actually lived with her husband and kids. Certainly my role at home was quite different than it had been before – the real change had come when they got their drivers licenses. However, I still considered myself a mom. And I did what moms do everywhere whether their day jobs are over or not. I planned the meals, did the shopping, cooked what they liked, ran the house, showed up at school functions and bought them things, tried to get them to talk to me . . . and now that they were older watched for signs of drugs, though I generally avoided signs of sex. A far cry from the old days when there was all this plus driving, plus organized sports, music lessons and the rest of it. Since I’m trying to tell it like it was, did I mind that I wasn’t so fucking central anymore? Not really. Sometimes I felt wistful for the early years, particularly when I looked at the lines around my face. But like a lot of women, I was dead-tired from too many years of doing too much cooking/managing/scheduling. Yoga gave me a place to go and something to get good at, though I’ll never be really good at it in the way I would have been had I started in my twenties.

Randy, who was teaching the night I met Lydia, was a mixed race hunk, twenty-four years old with blond dreadlocks, golden skin and shoulders that stretched from east to west.

“Supta Badda Konasana. Lie flat on your back. Put the soles of your feet together and let your knees relax and sink toward the floor. Good. Bring your awareness to your groin. And breathe. Breathe!”

I suspect Randy must have had that effect on others because unless you got there early and put your mat down, you couldn’t get a place. And too, after it happened to me, I figured it was probably happening at yoga centers all over the country, and was at least in part responsible for the huge surge in popularity.

It makes perfect sense, when you’re lying there, soles of the feet together, thighs spread, breathing into the sex organs that once in a while someone will get off.

OMMMMMMM!

When the class rang out with the chorus of OM, I’m almost sure I came forth with an AHHHM. Just for the record, the big O during the big OM has never happened since then, though I have gotten close a few times. And I still do yoga almost every day. And I’ll never know whether Lydia knew what was happening on the mat next to her.

“How often do you come?” she asked in her melodious English voice. Not of course what she meant, still strangely apposite for the first thing she said to me.

“Every day if I can. I’m hooked. How about you?”

“I’m a rank beginner.” I’m Lydia, by the way.

“I’m Harriet.”

We didn’t shake hands. We were schlepping our mats and navigating down the stairs and onto the street. When we hit the lit sidewalk she did a little start.

“Healthy Harriet!”

I smiled.

“You taught me to make brown rice with mung beans, carrots, ginger and ghee.”

“I’m so pleased!” I told her, and it was true. It wasn’t that she recognized my dubious status as a food network host. It’s the feeling that right away, this beautiful obviously highly intelligent creature with the gorgeous English accent seemed to approve of me and get me. And the feeling was mutual.

“Good old mung!” I replied. “I’ve got that cooking at home in the rice cooker.”

About the author:

Mary Marcus was born and raised in Louisiana but left for New York after graduating from Tulane. She worked for many years in the advertising and fashion industries for Neiman Marcus, Vogue, Lancôme, Faberge, and San Rio Toys where she worked on the Hello Kitty brand. Marcus’ short fiction has appeared in North Atlantic Review, Karamu, Fiction, Jewish Women’s Literary Journal and The New Delta Review among others. She lives in Los Angeles and the East End of Long Island.

Buy the book:
Amazon | Barnes & Noble 

Featured Author: Lori Verni-Fogarsi

Lori Verni-Fogarsi is on tour with CLP Blog Tours, and she's stopping by A Blue Million Books to tell us about her newest book, Unexpecting. Don't miss an excerpt from the book and the giveaway after the interview. Everyone who leaves a comment on Lori’s tour page will be entered to win a $20 Amazon gift card! Anyone who purchases their copy of Unexpecting before May 13 and sends their receipt to Samantha (at) ChickLitPlus (dot) com, will get five bonus entries.

About the book:

Shelley and David are a couple of almost-empty-nesters whose kids are just about all off to college. They've just ordered white furniture and are planning the vacation they've waited their entire lives to take.

Their lives are catapulted in a completely different direction when Alexandra, seventeen and pregnant, shows up at their door and announces that she’s the daughter they never knew they had!

Shelley feels like she no longer fits in anywhere and to top it off, having two teenaged girls suddenly plunged into being sisters and school mates is not exactly warm and fuzzy. When Alexandra's behavior becomes erratic, the couple is faced with even tougher decisions to make.

Interview with Lori Verni-Fogarsi

Lori, Unexpecting isn't your first book. How long have you been writing, and how did you start?

Unexpecting is my third book. I’ve also written the novel, Momnesia, which has won two awards, and Everything You Need to Know About House Training Puppies and Adult Dogs, which continues to be one of the most highly recommended in its genre since 2005.

My writing career started in an unusual way: with my Best Paw Forward newsletter, back in 1995 when I owned a dog training school! I was surprised when I began receiving writing requests from other magazines and newspapers, and things just sort of took off from there!

Do you have another job outside of writing?

In addition to being an author, I also offer small business consulting on a case-by-case basis. I build websites, design branding, establish social media connections, and coordinate both in person and online events for small businesses. I occasionally teach seminars at colleges or large conferences on Creative Marketing Outside the Box.

Is that all? You slacker! What is your writing process? Do you outline, write by the seat of your pants, or let your characters tell you what to write?

I come up with the idea for the story, then just write it. I don’t worry about formatting or editing at first. Often, the story takes turns that are different than what I’d anticipated. Then, after the whole book is finished, I create an outline of what I’ve already done, and search for things that need to be removed, expanded upon, reorganized, etc.

Sophie’s choice: Do you have a favorite of your characters?

I’m really very fond of Tiny, the dog in Unexpecting. I just love the way he’s a big, snuggly goofball! He even has his own page: www.LoriTheAuthor.com/Tiny.

What a great idea. I'll have to tell Ezzie about that. What would your main character say about you?

“Holy crap! That biatch is even more Type A than I am!”
  
LOL. I like writing characters who do and say things I never would, as well as characters who do and say things I wish I could. Do you have characters who fit into one of those categories?

Goodness! That question sounds like how I would answer an interview question! In both Momnesia and Unexpecting, the main character explores and voices emotions that many people feel, but barely dare think about in the privacy of their own minds, never mind speak out loud!

Tell us about your favorite scene in the book.

I absolutely love the scene where Claire shows up at the house to talk privately with Shelley. It was very difficult to write, but I love the way it came out, and I love Claire’s philosophy on how she handled the very difficult time in her marriage.

Where’s home for you?

I was born and raised in New York City, and I now divide my time between Raleigh, NC, and Lake Gaston, VA.
 
Do you ever get writer’s block?

Yes, for sure. And when I do, instead of panicking I just work on editing, preparing marketing materials, or something else. I find that if I just set it aside, the story will start flowing again another day and time soon.

What’s one of your favorite quotes?

“If you choose not do decide, you still have made a choice.” ~Getty Lee, from the band, Rush. (Also quoted throughout Momnesia.)

What three books have you read recently and would recommend?

So glad you asked! I’ve recently read several books of the variety that you feel compelled to run around telling people about!

Scent of Triumph, by Jan Moran.
Is This All There Is, by Patricia Mann.
The Wisdom of Hair, by Kim Boykin.

If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?

Lisbon, Portugal. It’s a beautiful, clean, and historic city with friendly people and great public transportation. It’s also close to Cascais, which has some of the most beautiful beaches in the world, as well as Sintra, which is steeped with history and beautiful castles. Plus, the wine and food are great, and the nightclubs never close!

Thank you so much for hosting me on your blog! I hope you readers have enjoyed getting to know me, and I hope to get to know them too, perhaps through comments or in other ways!

Thank you, Lori, for being here. Come back anytime!

Excerpt from Unexpecting

Chapter 1

It all started on a Tuesday morning. Shelley stood in her kitchen, pouring a cup of coffee and marveling that there was any left in the pot. The house was completely silent; no one else was home and during the busy summer season, that felt like a near miracle.

With three college-aged kids home for their break and a fourth living at home full-time, she and David would often joke that the kids and their friends were like a mathematical phenomenon: They seemed to multiply faster than amoebae, resulting in somewhere around nine teenagers at any given time. Sleeping, running around in bathing suits, asking for a ride, and eating, eating, eating...ceaselessly eating.

So when the doorbell rang, Shelley didn’t run to answer it. The UPS man, whose job brought him to their door with astonishing regularity, would ring it whenever he left a package on the porch. And since she wasn’t expecting anyone, she saw no need to go to the door in her PJs and reveal to the young-ish, good-looking courier that she was still in a state of undress even though it was after ten o’clock.

Then it rang a second time, which meant that either it was a package she had to sign for, or a neighbor stopping by for some as-yet-unknown favor to ask. Sighing, she set down her mug, still her favorite despite the chip on its rim because it said, I’m 30...it seems like I should have money by now. It had been modified with a Sharpie on its ten-year anniversary to read, I’m 40, and when she’d reached forty-five she decided not to bother updating it anymore; it was still funny.

As she approached the door she could see through its glass oval that there was a woman standing on the porch. Bracing herself to deal with whatever solicitation it might possibly be, Shelley opened the door and discovered that it wasn’t a woman at all. It was a girl-woman. And not just any older girl/younger woman, but one that was hugely pregnant, her glistening face pocked full of acne, and bright blue eyes so watery they reminded her that she’d been meaning to water the hanging flower baskets on the porch.

“Yes?”

“Is this the Morsony household?”

Shelley knew immediately that this was not someone intimately acquainted with the family: She had pronounced Morsony the way most people would, more-sewn-ee, when in fact her husband’s unusual ancestors had decided to pronounce it more-sunny.

“Yes it is. Can I help you?”

“I need to talk to David Morsony.”

“He’s not here at the moment. May I help you with something?”

The girl blinked. Her first tear fell and she fidgeted with her blonde ponytail. Shelley noticed that her hand was trembling and watched with horror as the girl’s lips began to quiver in a fashion that she knew could be a precursor to the bawling, snot-bubbling drama she was very familiar with, having raised two girls of her own.

Averting her eyes, Shelley glanced toward the driveway, noticing that there was a Ford Focus that looked as if its only opportunity to move would be via a tow truck. It was blue, with a dented front fender and two different colors of duct tape hanging off one of the headlights. The windows were open and at first glance it appeared that someone was sitting in the passenger seat. Then she realized that it was a dog; one of those gigantic brindle dogs that made her think of that 1980s movie starring Tom Hanks.

The girl was sniffling and wiping under her eyes while Shelley thought longingly—and selfishly—about her coffee, abandoned on the counter inside. She didn’t mean to seem uncaring, it was just that after raising four kids through their teen years, including all the ups and downs with friends, boyfriends, girlfriends and so on, the sight of a crying teenager on the porch seemed like yet another daily drama rather than an actual event.
At the same time, there was a niggling sense of foreboding lurking in the back of her mind. Shelley noted that she didn’t appear to be selling anything, yet she had asked for her husband, David. Strange.

Slapping at yet another mosquito and beginning to perspire, Shelley looked at the girl, waiting for her to say something. Neither the bugs nor the heat ever let up during North Carolina summers and they were both out in full-force that morning. The girl leaned up against one of the porch columns, causing Shelley to realize that since she was so uncomfortable, the pregnant young lady must be about ready to collapse.

Mentally relinquishing any hope of enjoying her quiet morning, Shelley gestured toward the rocking chairs and asked if the girl would like to sit down. But either she didn’t notice the gesture or chose to ignore it because she said, “That would be amazing,” and stepped toward the entry.

Quickly deciding that she didn’t meet the qualifications for a dangerous intruder, Shelley held the door open and the girl squeezed past with her big, tight belly leading the way. Walking straight ahead into the kitchen the way all visitors do, she sat at the counter where Shelley’s stool was already pulled out from her earlier attempt at solitude.

“Would you like some iced tea?”

“Sweet tea? That would be great!” Disproportionately appreciative, Shelley hoped she realized that this was no home-steeped, prepared-in-the-sun-all-day sweet tea. It was Crystal Light, the former New Yorker’s halfhearted attempt at Southern hospitality.

Accepting the glass and a napkin, the girl immediately started mopping the sweat that had beaded up on her forehead.

“So, can I ask why you’re wanting to speak to my husband?”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess so. So, you’re David’s wife?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

A dawning sensation swept over Shelley, bringing pinpricks to her formerly relaxed body as it occurred to her that this girl was not only similar to her own seventeen and nineteen-year-old girls, but she was also not that much younger than her twenty-two and twenty-four-year-old stepsons. And she was pregnant. Very pregnant. Her internal rosary beads started twisting as she understood that they could be in for some seriously bad news. How many times have I talked to those boys about safe sex? The anger welled up inside her even though she had no information yet. I’ll kill them!

The girl fidgeted with her napkin, twisting it into a pointy little cone, then tapping its end with her fingertip. “You’re probably going to be surprised,” she said, her eyes turned downward.

“I may not be as surprised as you think,” Shelley replied, looking pointedly at her stomach.

About the author:

Lori Verni-Fogarsi has been an author, speaker, and small business consultant since 1995. She has been featured in media including “Lifetime Women’s Network,” the “My Carolina Today Show,” and “Boston Globe Forums Live.”

Her public speaking has occurred at many prestigious venues including North Carolina State
University, Nassau Community College, and many more.

She has received two awards for her novel,
Momnesia, and her nonfiction, Everything You Need to Know About House Training Puppies and Adult Dogs, continues to be one of the most highly recommended in its genre since 2005.

Lori is a happy married mom of two, step mom of two more, and has two cats, both rotten. Originally a native New Yorker, she now divides her time between Raleigh, NC, and Lake Gaston, VA.

She is very excited about the release of Unexpecting, and looks forward to her book tour, interviews, launch parties, and other festivities!




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