Broken Heat Pumps, High-Stakes Testing, and Biting Dogs

Sometimes, life gets in the way of the best of plans. When my newest book released at the beginning of this month I thought, great! I’ll get a plan together to promote it, do some book giveaways, some guest blogging and all those other fun things.

Screech…. That would be the sound of the train derailing.

Somehow, my publisher didn’t get the word that the release date for my books was right in the final week of two simultaneous graduate level courses in which I had papers due…in each class…at the same time. Hey, that was okay. I got the papers turned in…just in time to have to push hot and heavy into prepping my high school students for their End of Course Writing exams. I’ve analyzed more reasons, evidence and counterarguments in the last month than I really want to see—at least until next semester when we’ll do it all over again.

So, while I was deep in the middle of reviewing parallelism and using specific vocabulary, I woke up one morning and thought, “Gee, it’s cold in here.” However, with a terrier curled against my back, I didn’t think too much about it, until I finally stumbled into the bathroom where I could hear the outdoor portion of the heat pump running madly, but couldn’t feel any air blowing out of the vent.

Not good.

The final distraction to promoting Broken Heart came from this cute guy whose picture you see here. Sweet face, soulful eyes. In fact, this is the little cutie who likes to curl up to my back at night. He is also the dog that my son takes great pleasure in teasing. This is not a good thing. Said cute, cuddly, worshipful Jack Russell Terrier is also a former abuse case. His previous owners saw fit to toss him out a car window, which is how we ended up with him. We quickly discovered he has real fear issues with men. It took him two years to warm up to my husband. He blows hot and cold with the teenager.

Which is why I usually find myself saying: “Get out of his face. He’s going to bite you.”  I don’t even stick my face in this dog’s face, and he thinks I walk on water, dance on the moon, and need to have him lying near my feet or sitting on my lap whenever I remain motionless for any length of time.

However, teenagers being the way they are. I don’t know what I’m talking about when I say: “Get out of his face. He’s going to bite  you.”

Which is why I spent Saturday evening wiping up blood, soaking a prized T-shirt in cold water, and examining my son’s upper lip to decide if it needed stitches or not. I refrained from being the first one to say: “I told you so.” My spouse took care of that.

My teenager’s gone to school with an ice pack this week.

All I finally said was: “I’m sorry this turned into such a painful lesson son, but I hope you’ve learned it this time.”

And he said: “I have. I don’t want to repeat it.”

Which just goes to show you, teenagers can learn something.

So, where does that leave me with promoting Broken Heart, which—if I do say so myself—is a darn good story? Leave a comment and I’ll enter you in a drawing to win a copy of it. To be fair, I'll give away two copies. So I'm going to hold off and hold the drawing on November 9th.

How far would you go to help Family?

Broken Heart, book 4 in my series about the Barlow-Barrett family brings at least part of the family together. Stacey gets help from all of her brothers when she finally decides to stand up for what she wants. How families function, or don't, is a theme that runs through this series. Here they are, a family that could buy and sell most of us several times over, but few of them seem to have happy lives.

In book 2, Balancing Act, the hero and heroine are both people devoted to family. Seth has stepped up to run the family business, and Tessa will do whatever she has to in order to protect her younger brother, even if the price is her shot at love and happiness.

How far would you go to help family? Leave me a response and I'll enter you into next week's drawing for an e-book copy of Balancing Act. Remember, I'll be drawing each book in the series...10/20 will be Remember Me, and on 10/27, I'll draw two winners of the newest release, Broken Heart.

This week's winner of Bittersweet is Dawn. Congratulations!

Do You Need Money for Happiness?

When I was a kid, there were plenty of times that I thought,"Everything would be great if only we were rich." It was usually those moments when I wanted something I couldn't have, or I would have to save my money to get what I did want. As an adult, I can appreciate those lessons my parents taught me about learning to work hard for what I want in life. So thanks, Mom and Dad for making me save for six years to get that pony.

Over the years, I have met enough people with money to realize that having wealth isn't a free ticket to a life of infinite happiness. Just look at the news that hits the Internet every day, and anyone can see that. Sure, that person pulling in millions might not be wondering if there will be enough money to put gas in the car until the next paycheck, or if they have enough food in the freezer to cover what they can't buy fresh in groceries, but there are some problems that transcend a family's net worth.

The four books (so far) in the Barlow Barretts' series touch on some of those issues. Anna, in Bittersweet, struggled with the issue of never feeling as though she fit in. Seth, in Balancing Act, struggles with living up to his role as the eldest son--when  his heart's in a different place. In Remember Me, Brandon discovers how life in the limelight can turn ugly, and in this latest book, Stacey faces some of the biggest challenges of all. She's done her best to be the perfect Barlow-Barrett, but it's not enough. Even worse, she faces domestic violence in a marriage that's unraveling.

Broken Heart was a tough book to write, but as I started exploring exactly what kind of story Stacey might have to tell, it occurred to me that the way she'd led her life was simply too good to be true. Nobody had a life as perfect as hers seemed to be, unless they were a Barbie and Ken doll in one of my childhood games.Since I pretty much write by the seat of my pants, it surprised me what issues began to emerge in Stacey's life.

I have to thank my editor, Dianne, for making me go back and rewrite Jace, Stacey's husband. He's not a likable character, and there are people who will feel he doesn't get all that he deserves, but he has a story not unlike Stacey's. Like her, Jace's life has been all about keeping up appearances. It's his reaction when he can no longer do that that becomes the problem.

You know, I'd like everyone to have a chance to get in on this series from the beginning, so this week I'm offering readers a chance to get a copy of Bittersweet, book 1 in the series. All you have to do is leave a comment on whether you think having money makes life hard or easier. I'll draw a winner and announce it next Sunday when I'll do the same with book two, and so on. Pass the word.

Summer Reading Sale

In that other universe in which I teach English at an alternative high school...summer has arrived. In celebration of the fact that about 10 percent of the graduating class did so because I tutored them through their reading and writing exams during my planning period and after school, I'm putting my Guardian series on sale through the end of June. The coupons are good on Smashwords. All you have to do is enter the coupon code prior to completing your checkout. Book #1: The Guardian Michel was originally $0.99 -- with the coupon code PA46R -- you can get it for free through June 30, 2012. Book #2: The Guardian Michael was originally $1.99 -- with the coupon code KE93L -- it is $0.99 through June 30, 2012. Book #3: The Guardian Gabriel was originally $2.99 -- with the coupon code KX63P -- it is $1.99 through June 30, 2012. The books are available in the e-book format of your choice at Smashwords. Happy reading!

Cue the Commercial

(Me) “Okay, I’ll say right up front, this is an unapologetic promotion for the book I have releasing today. So, if you’re looking for some sage advice it’s probably not here. And I’m sure my more market savvy colleagues would cringe at the way I’m opening this blog post. Okay so scoff…”
(Cue the TV infomercial announcer) “BUT WAIT! There’s more. Stick around through the unabashed promotion and leave a comment for your chance to win a digital copy of BITTERSWEET!”

(Me) “That’s right. Here’s the deal… all you have to do is tell me what you believe makes for a really great romance. What is it that makes you pick up a book and buy it…or in the case of ebooks…what makes you click that “Buy Now” button? Is it the cover? The blurb? The excerpt? Genre?
“Do that, and I’ll enter your name in a drawing at the end of the debut week (12/11). Make sure I have a way to contact you, so I can send you your digital copy.”
(TV infomercial announcer) And, it doesn’t stop there…because Laura has a second…yes, a second book releasing on Wednesday. Come back then for an additional chance to win!”

Ghosts? You Bet!

Ask my mother. She knows. The house where I spent most of my formative years was haunted. I don’t want to sound all woo-woo, but I believe there are some folks who are wired for the weird, and others who aren’t. My dad was in that latter category.
Parts of the house creeped me out for a long time before I even knew my mother had actually seen an apparition inside it. And that was really kind of strange because it wasn’t like it was an old house, something that just screamed haunted. We moved in when it was brand-spanking new.
The family room was at one end of the house at the end of a long hallway that extended almost to the opposite end. Sometimes, after my parents thought I was old enough, they’d leave me for the evening to visit friends down the street. My brothers, all older, would be off doing whatever, so it would be just me and the dog. Grinner liked to lie on the floor, positioned so she could see down the hall. Not me, not at night. Every now and then, she would lift her head with a jerk and just stare down that long, dark hallway.
“Stop it!” I’d whisper, huddled under a blanket on the couch and not really wanting to see if she actually did see something. The dog would give me that over the shoulder glance before she went back to glaring down the hallway. I peeked one night, and no lie, I saw something smoky and floating at the end of the hall. But did I say anything? Hell no. I still didn’t know Mom had actually seen someone sitting in a chair in our family room! Instead I cowered on the couch and hoped our ancient mutt would keep whatever away. She growled, but I was still more frightened of the teasing I’d get from my brothers than of whatever lurked at the end of the hall.
I was always relieved when my parents came home.
In addition to the long hallway, this house had a full basement. Early on, my parents had hired a guy laid off from the Ford Plant in Louisville to finish the basement. That was okay with me. I’d always been spooked by the wooden stairs where someone could reach through and grab my ankle. I figured once those stairs were closed in, like normal stairs should be, everything would be cool.
The problem was, even after the basement was finished, I still got spooked every time I had to go up or down those stairs. They might be carpeted and paneled and look like any other stairs, but I still ran up them like the hounds of hell were hot on my heels, and I never, ever went up or down unless the lights were on.
There was even a bedroom in the basement. My parents had added that so that every one of us kids could have our own room. My brother, Tom, lived there with his black lights, Jimi Hendrix and long hair. He was into a few other things as well, so when he told me he’d seen a pure white hand flash in front of his face one night when he fell asleep watching TV and then woke up, his credibility was just a bit suspect.
Nevertheless, it reinforced my basement phobia.
Most of the time I was okay if I was down there with someone else, or if I could stay on the far side of the basement near the fireplace and the sliding glass door. It was the stairs and the unfinished part of the basement that made my skin crawl.
I truly tried to get over it. I would force myself to go down there for things, make myself stay there, but every time, when it came time to go back up, I felt like someone hovered right behind me, breathing down my neck as I scrambled up the steps.
I have to admit, this went on into my teenage years…way into them. In fact, I believe it was about the time I was cleaning out my stuff in preparation for going away to college that the final incident happened. My mother was big into us periodically going through our junk and getting rid of what we no longer wanted.
There I sat, by myself, and old enough now to poo-poo that niggling shiver of unease, sorting old books, toys and games. By this time, I knew about the lady in the chair. I knew about the hand flashing in front of Tom’s face, but big deal—I was college ready with a year abroad already behind me. Sophisticated, intelligent, getting ready to take the journalistic world by storm.
Right.
That’s when I found the Ouija Board. Remember those things? Cue the dark creature feature type voice: “Use the pointer on the board to communicate with the other side.” Ooooohhhhhh! I’d gotten it for a birthday or Christmas or something years ago, played it a couple of times with my girlfriends down the street while we asked it stupid questions like, “Will I marry Johnny when I grow up?” then put it away and promptly forgot about it.
With a cynical chuckle, I pulled the board and the pointer out. Since no one but me would be operating it, I figured I could debunk the whole idea of someone else having pushed it. I wasn’t going to. I was simply going to rest my fingers lightly on both sides of the pointer as the instructions said. Sitting there cross-legged with the board in front of me and my fingertips just barely touching it, I inhaled and asked, “Is there anyone else down here with me?”
The damn thing moved. Not some little twitch to one side that could have been caused by a quiver in my finger. No. It jerked across the board to “yes.”
When I could finally make myself go back down to the basement again, I packed up the Ouija Board and gave it away. I have never touched one since then.
But I still wonder. Did the people who’ve lived in that house since we moved ever realize they weren’t really alone?

So, bottom line? As much of a realist as I like to believe I am, I absolutely do believe the souls of the departed are sometimes still walking among us. Leave a comment and let me know what you think. Not only will it help me get rid of the shivers still turning my stomach as I recall those memories, it will enter you in a drawing for a copy of any one of my books that you choose as a pdf. I'll let the winner know on November 1st.
Hey, and while you’re at it? Check out this great Halloween blog hop!