Today, Susan Muller is giving away an e-copy of her book, The Secret on Forest Bend. And to make it even better, I’m also giving the winner a copy of any of my backlist. So make sure you leave a comment to be entered to win a copy of Susan’s and any of my books. It can be my romances or my YAs.
I have a treat for you guys today. I would like to introduce you to a dear friend and another writer who’s friendship is proof of just how small our world has become. It’s also proof that when the universe wants you to meet someone, it will keep throwing you together until you finally connect.
Susan Muller is my walking buddy, who isn’t walking right now. (You’ll read more about that in her blog.) Susan and I met at my local chapter’s Romance Writers of America meeting. Well, that’s where I thought we met. Shortly later, she informed me that we’d met earlier. That we had waved and spoken while I was walking in her/my neighborhood. Cool, we lived in the same neighborhood. I had to apologize and told that when I walk, I’m in my own little world and seldom recognize anyone.
We shortly learned that she lived on the street back behind my house. However, little did we know at the time, we had other connections. I was in her backyard and peeked through her fence and said, “Damn! That’s my backyard.” We’d shared backyard fences for almost 20 years and didn’t know it. Yup, now we can put a ladder against the fence and have a conversation. We’ve actually passed manuscripts, oranges, crawfish, and fresh grown tomatoes over that fence. Ahh, but it gets even stranger. Because not too long after we started walking, she introduced me to her dog. Right then, I knew Susan’s version of how we first met was as wrong my had been. The woman, didn’t just live behind me, she’d been in my house. I’d saved her from a heartache and she didn’t even know it.
Years earlier, while I was walking, a black lap who looked just like my black lab--even had the gray snout and everything--came up to me on my walk. For a second, I thought it was my Jake. But he was a tad bigger than my ol’ boy. Nevertheless, the dog decided I was a sucker and he followed me home. Not wanting the animal to continue to the main road that had a lot of traffic, I took him into my house. I looked at Jake and the other dog side by side, and darn if other than a few extra pounds on her dog, the two dogs were identical. I called the number on the tag. The owner quickly came to pick up the dog. While I didn’t recognize Susan as the dog owner, I recognized her dog. So actually, our lives were connected even before we knew it. Who knew she was also a writer? Well, all I can say is that it’s a small world. And I’m glad after several times of having our paths cross, we finally took the message the universe was telling us and became friends. So here’s Susan, and a bit about her book.
I’ve been thinking a lot about walking lately. Mostly because I can’t. Several weeks ago I developed a stress fracture in my foot. The doctor instructed me to stay off my feet and wear a lovely black boot with Velcro straps that cost as much as a pair of Jimmy Choos. The next week was my high school reunion. Show of hands here, how many think I wore the black boot to my reunion? Of course I didn’t. Which may be why I still can’t walk without limping.
But limping isn’t my problem, walking is. For years, I’ve worked out plot holes and writers block while walking my dog around the neighborhood. Buster is a 120 pound black lab, and he was well into middle age when I found him five years ago. At first we walked about forty-five minutes, but as he aged we cut it down to thirty minutes, then fifteen. The last time I took him around the block, I had to sit on the curb and let him rest.
Luckily, on one walk about a year and a half ago, I passed Christie, walking the other way. Shortly later, we’ve walked together four or five days a week. We walk twice as long and twice as far and I’m half as tired, because Christie can tell a good story. You knew that, right? After all, she writes three to four books a year. You’ve probably heard her mattress story, and the one where her husband set the lawnmower on fire. Those are just the stories she can tell in public. We brainstorm and bounce ideas off each other and she’s improved my writing 110%. Since I’ve been sitting with my foot propped up, my writing output has slowed to a trickle. I may never get this next book finished. I miss walking with Christie.
Buster’s way too old to go for power walks these days, but he does love a ride in the car. When Buster got too old to jump in the back of our Explorer, and too fat for us to lift him, my husband bought a smaller car. Oh, he’ll tell you that he bought the car for better gas mileage, but I’ve known the man for many years, and he bought it for the dog. Even with the smaller car, we have to back up to the curb and help Buster in.
In my novel The Secrets on Forest Bend, the hero, Adam, has a yellow cat named Rover. Rover was the terror of the neighborhood when he decided to adopt Adam seven years ago. He’s bigger than most dogs and twice as mean. Lately, Rover has developed diabetes and Adam must give him a shot twice a day, something that’s not always convenient. Adam’s a big, tough police detective, and he claims Rover is just his roommate, but you read the following excerpt and tell me, if this isn’t love, what is?
The sky was still dark when Adam rose on one elbow and nuzzled Jillian’s ear. “You’re going to hate me, but I have to go.” He nibbled her shoulder and felt himself come awake again.
She turned to face him, sleepy-eyed. “Go? Can’t you leave for work from here?”
How bad would it be if Rover missed one round of medication? He lifted the sheet and gazed at her body. Damn he wanted to stay longer, but if he didn’t leave soon he wouldn’t be able to stand up. “No. I have to give my cat a shot.”
What about you? What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done for an animal?
Check out more about Susan on her Web site: www.susancmuller.com.
And here’s here back cover blurb. It’s an excellent read, guys. So make sure you snag your own copy.
Another day . . . another dead body.
When Detective Adam Campbell learns that a WWII gun is connected to several murders he’s investigating, he hopes that tracking down the killer will be as easy as tracing the gun’s history. When he meets Jillian Whitmeyer, the last known owner of the weapon, the case becomes anything but simple.
Just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it isn’t real.
Adam soon learns that people who get close to Jillian have a bad habit of turning up dead. Jillian claims that the spirit of her sister, accidentally killed with that same gun, is responsible for the deaths. She warns Adam that he is likely to become the next victim. Adam’s been a lousy judge of women in the past and this one’s obviously a nut case. Or is she? How does a just-the-facts detective deal with a ghostly serial killer and the sexy-as-hell sister she won’t set free?