A few months ago, I did a little experiment in self-publishing and released a short story called The Secrets of Dreams.

It was great fun and the story has done well, but not nearly as well as I expected. A lot of that had to do with the fact that prior to The Secrets of Dreams, I put out a free read on Smashwords and the response was overwhelming. Within a week, I had over 500 downloads and people continue to read that free story now even though it has been out since July. I just kind of assumed that the response would be somewhat the same for a 0.99 cent story, that mysterious and wonderful readers from all over the world would just materialize out of the air and buy my book.

I was very wrong.

I never fully appreciated until that moment how much my publisher does for me behind the scenes. Simply by being published with them, I am guaranteed readers because people like their brand and come back again and again to buy more books. And that’s the least of it. They have a marketing plan, a list of reviewers, hundreds of ways to get new books in front of readers.

What I didn’t realize was how much work I needed to put into the marketing and publicity. It is a huge job and it requires a plan. It is immensely time consuming and unfortunately, time is not something I have a lot of. I’m also not very fond of self-publicizing. I can’t seem to bring myself to Tweet advertisements over and over and over again. I just feel silly doing it. Though I need to get over that. No one is going to read what they don’t know about.

Knowing what I know now, I don’t know if I will undertake a self-publishing project again. It was a great experience and I did learn a lot and I LOVE the story, but I think that I’d rather have someone else do the bulk of the post- publishing work for me. That way I can concentrate on what I truly love: writing new stories.

Have any of you self-published? How was your experience? Any tips you’d like to share?

Website – Blog - Twitter – Facebook – Bookshelf

Happy New Year!

Are you one of those who marks the New Year with a bunch of resolutions? If so, do you keep those resolutions or abandon them or maybe just live up to them part way? I need to confess – I make resolutions. Actually, I make the same ones every year because I have the same ones to make every year. Lose weight. Clean the garage. Oh well, at least I’m consistent. It may be a new year, but I’m dealing with the same old stuff.

Like many of us are.

Lisa and Jack, the heroine and hero of Déjà Brew, my recently released contemporary novella from Ellora’s Cave, are dealing with so much old stuff that their relationship is at risk. But unlike the rest of us, they get the chance to revisit some key moments in their past when they sample a drink called Déjà Brew. Maybe getting another look at the past will help with the present – or maybe it will break them up.

If you had the chance to sample Déjà Brew and revisit the past, would you take the drink or run, not walk?

Here’s an excerpt to show how Jack and Lisa reacted:

——————————————————————————————–
With far greater energy than she’d demonstrated before, Dora bustled to the kitchen to fetch Déjà Brew. While Jack prepared himself to experience the product they’d been pursuing for weeks, he glanced over at his partner, who was perusing notes and frowning. God, she was still so beautiful, more beautiful than when they’d first fallen in love. With her shiny dark hair that swung like a silken curtain whenever she moved her head, her big green eyes, sculpted features and her full, kissable mouth, she personified his fantasy of a goddess. Despite her reliance on power suits to tame her curves, Lisa radiated feminine voluptuousness. As always, his cock registered her presence, and even after they’d been together seven years, the moment he saw her, he wanted her.

If only that could be enough.

If only he could convince her she had nothing more to prove to him or his family about her business prowess. When she signed with them, she’d sworn to increase their profits and grow the business in new directions. Over the past seven years, she’d more than fulfilled her promise. He’d told her, with increasing urgency, that she could ease back. Should ease back, focus on their personal life. But lately she’d become more and more obsessed, taking work home and often spending half the night in front of her laptop while Jack prowled their bedroom floor.

He didn’t want to give up on them, but if he couldn’t convince Lisa they needed to change pronto, they’d be over. He’d move out. He’d had enough of workaholism in his family. No matter how much he loved Lisa, he would not share his life with a woman whose work meant more to her than he did. He refused to be a distant second—even for her.

Dora returned with a tray bearing a creamy-white mug. “Here’s your Déjà Brew.” She handed him the cup. The dark brown liquid inside resembled strong tea and smelled like fermented trash. They’d need to do something about the unappealing aroma.

Lisa frowned at Jack and pinched her nose. The smell got to her too. “Is there anything else we should know before Jack drinks?” Good to know she was worried, though he suspected her frown came more from worry about the bottom line than concern about his welfare.

“Jack will be returning to a time in his past, one that has a strong connection with the present,” Dora said. “This may distress him, it may make him happy, or it could have any of an infinite number of effects on him. He might have a strong physical or even sexual reaction. Just as it says in the data.”

Lisa blushed, which set Jack’s cock to twitching. She rarely blushed these days—not like when they’d first gotten together. He loved how the spots of red brightened her face, making her eyes glitter. He even got a kick out of her dislike of blushing—perverse as that made him sound. “I read it. What I meant was, should Jack continue to sit? Should he lie down after he drinks? Is he at any risk, given that he hasn’t prepared.”

Dora’s eyes gleamed with some inscrutable emotion. “He’ll assume a position that’s comfortable. Don’t worry. He won’t be in any distress from the drink. The only potential problems will come about when he reacts to the memories he relives. That’s where I come in. As his guide, I’ll be able to intervene if needed.”

The older woman looked at both of them as if to ask if they had any other questions. They didn’t. Jack wanted to get moving so they could be on the other side of this experience. Not that he was nervous. Definitely curious. Maybe a tad…anxious.

Dora squeezed his hand and inclined her head encouragingly. “With this drink I give to thee,” she recited, “revisit the optimum moment and blessed be.”

Despite himself, Jack shivered and his fine hairs stood on end as if electrified. The witch’s words resonated around him, seeming to have taken on a life of their own.

Lisa leapt up from her chair and opened her mouth wide, looking determined to stop him. He took the mug in both hands and, despite a momentary vision of spouting claws and hairy palms, brought it to his lips.

“Jackson—” Lisa never called him by his full name. Determined to seal off any chance to back out, he tipped the cup and allowed the liquid to fill his mouth.
——————————————————————————————–

To find out more about what Jack and Lisa experience, please check out Déjà Brew, available from Ellora’s Cave http://www.jasminejade.com/p-9835-deja-brew.aspx. Please also visit my website http://www.MardiBallou.com.

—Mardi

Okay, so we’re a couple days into the new year now, but it’s my first FAB post of the new year so it’s my first chance to wish all of you the best for 2012. I have a bunch of writing-related goals this year; some are easy, some are challenging, and some are “yeah, I can only wish”. But hopefully I’ll meet them all.

Meanwhile, I have a few releases scheduled already for 2012, and the first one is coming up this Friday from MLR Press! You may remember me talking about my vegan werewolf, Kyle Slidell, and his pack-Alpha mate Tobias Rogan? They showed up in the MLR Press Story-a-Day holiday event, with the short story Tofurkey and Yams which released December 26. And now they’re back in Veggie Burgers to Go, the second novel in the Real Werewolves Don’t Eat Meat series.

This wasn’t an easy book to write. As far as the actual writing went, it wasn’t too bad; I had notes left from Salad on the Side, the first book in the series, and Kyle is the perfect narrator from an author’s point of view. When I write his books, I’m pretty much just taking dictation from him.

In Salad on the Side, while there’s definitely humor, there are also some dark events, including Kyle’s violent change into a werewolf when he’s attacked by one of the members of Tobias’s pack. In Veggie Burgers to Go, there’s more darkness than in the first book, and more death. And that’s all I’m going to say, because I don’t want to include spoilers.

But there are also happy times between Kyle and Tobias, some hot sex, and the love that brought them together in the first place.

According to the famous song, there’s no place like home for the holidays. Home is one of those emotionally-laden words that instantly conjures up deeply-rooted images for most of us. That said, everyone has a unique notion of home—the place where you find your family, your friends or some other combination of people and memories. For my husband and me, home for the holidays means leaving our home base in the San Francisco BayArea to fly to Yorkshire in England, where it’s cold and dark—to be with the branch of our family in that part of the world. What does home for the holidays mean to you?

For Rafe McMaster in Sherry Amor, this year, after his break-up with his fiancee, the prospect of dealing with his family’s concern and caring makes their New York home the last place he wants to be for the holidays. The notion of Christmas with his big, loving clan sends him fleeing to Spain. Home for Elena Sandoval is Seville—the only place she’d ever consider spending the holidays. Stuck in New York mere days before Christmas, she can’t wait to get on the plane. Her lover, Francisco Reyes, is going home with her—only he’s bringing along a secret he knows would shatter her holiday joy.

Here’s an excerpt from Sherry Amor.

——————————————————————————————–
On a frosty New York night less than a week before Christmas, people hungry for a break from city stress filled the trendy Café Espana. Actually, overfilled. People stuck in the long line outside glared with envy at those who lingered at tables or competed for attention at the bar.

“Let’s finish our drinks and get out of here,” Rafe McMaster muttered to his brother Nate. Though he realized the people freezing outside thought he was lucky, he knew different. Luck was a commodity in short supply.

“What’s the rush?” Nate asked. “Got any place better to be?”

Rafe scowled. “Gotta pack my gear. Early morning flight.”

“Where’re you off to this time?”

“Gig in sunny Spain. That’s why I wanted to meet here. Figured it would get me psyched.”

“Has it?”

The sour expression on Rafe’s face must have been enough answer to that stupid question. What had Rafe been thinking to drag his brother out for a drink tonight?

Nate whistled. “Working this close to Christmas? I can see how thrilled you are. Maybe you can get out of it.”

Rafe shrugged. “Client wants the filming done now. It’s an infomercial-type ad he wants me to turn into high art.”

“I thought you decided to keep away from that stuff. Devote yourself to your art.”

Rafe chose to ignore the sarcasm in his brother’s voice. “Most of the time. But I’m short on cash, which makes this deal look real good. I’ll work one day and make enough to fund my own projects for a month.”

Though Nate looked skeptical, he raised his glass. “Here’s to paying the bills—and to new starts. How’s your love life?”

“Don’t go there.” A month after Rafe and his ex-fiancée Terri had called it quits, all he wanted was to be left alone. Every member of his big Irish family, on the other hand, appeared committed to not to letting that happen.

Seductive flamenco music drowned out whatever response Nate was about to make. Rafe found himself moving to the infectious beat, a momentary distraction from the gloom that had dogged him since Terri. . .  Just then a man and a woman sprang up in a spontaneous dance. Conversations stopped. All eyes were riveted on the gorgeous couple. He had to clamp himself to his chair to keep from leaping up and joining them. If only he had his camera. . .

The music was incandescent magic, but what really grabbed him and wouldn’t let go was the woman. Tall with rounded breasts and hips his fingers ached to touch. She wore her dark chestnut hair in a traditional bun gracing her long neck. Dark eyes flashed fire and promised ecstasy and agony, full red lips, perfect nose and chin. Hell, every man in the place had to want her, had to be jealous of her partner. Bewitched, Rafe stopped thinking and gave himself up to pure sensation. He squirmed, painfully aware of an inconvenient hard-on—and the way the dancer had grabbed hold of his soul.

* * * * *

The music, always the passion of the music. The music compensated for so much that had gone wrong. When she danced, Elena Sandoval could imagine herself home, far from this cold, foreign place. Home, where she longed to be at this most beloved time of the year. She stamped her feet and threw her head back in time to the reverberating beat, reveling in each click of her heels. For the first time since arriving in New York, she felt warm and alive. Gracias a Dios, just one more night until she returned home.
She locked eyes with her dance partner, the man who’d brought her to New York, Francisco Reyes. Her partner in work and play, her lover.

So caught up in the music and the dance were they both that Elena had just about forgotten where they were until an explosion of applause burst her dream bubble. Following Francisco’s lead, she nodded to their impromptu audience and let him whisk her back to their awaiting friends at a crowded table.

“A fitting prelude for making love tonight, mi amor,” Francisco murmured so only she could hear.

She flashed a sardonic smile. “Maybe, but only because we are going home tomorrow. If we had to stay in New York any longer, you’d be sleeping with your friends’ dogs.” She sat down and turned her face from Francisco.

“Perfect. You two must dance together again.” Lorenzo, their New York business partner, toasted them both.

“Back home in Sevilla. That’s the only place we will dance.” Elena took a sip of her drink.

“Our star has grown homesick,” Francisco said.

She swallowed her sherry and cast a sour look in his direction. “Homesick would be an improvement. Ay, Dios, why didn’t you tell me how unsympathetic this place is.”

“Unsympathetic? Hardly. Look at this wonderful new bistro, opened a scarce few weeks ago, just in time to welcome you.” Lorenzo’s gesture encompassed the large room and the crowd. “And, after your dance, I wager there are plenty who would be more than happy to proffer a very personal welcome. Let’s make sure to extend that interest to Sherry Amor.”

Everyone at the table laughed before moving on to other topics. Other dancers rose to take the floor and the spotlight. The general consensus was that none came close to the perfection of Elena and Francisco.

Perfection. What a joke on him, on all of them. Francisco would pay dearly for his energetic display. He’d had to dredge up the strength and will to dance with Elena, and he’d carried it off. The triumph of modern medicine. Too bad it had such finite limits.

He didn’t want to think about this right now, tonight, when he was with Elena in this glittering place, enjoying good friends and food—pleasures he’d so often taken for granted. Pleasures like being with Elena.

In the coming days, the memory of tonight would keep him warm, bring him comfort and courage. Would that the same memory could also comfort and encourage Elena in the harsher times to come.

Basta! No more maudlin thoughts. . .

——————————————————————————————–

I hope that you’ll be home, whatever that means to you, for the holidays this year. During this busy time, if you can take a short break to curl up with a hot holiday tale, I hope you’ll choose to read Rafe, Elena and Francisco’s story. Sherry Amor is available from Ellora’s Cave  and also from Amazon.  Please take a moment to “like” my book—and to send me your thoughts about this story.

Please also visit my website MardiBallou.com and share your own holiday story.

Wishing you the warmest and happiest of holidays—
–Mardi

It just occurred to me that this will be my last post before 2011 draws
to a close, so I decided to take a look back at some of the things that have
happened in my writing life this year.

At the beginning of 2011, I had six romances, plus two short stories in
anthologies and two freebies, that had been published. I also had two young
adult novels published (the YA is under a different name). During the fall of
2010, I had gotten revise/resubmit requests on several books, and by January or
February of 2011, I’d done all the suggested revisions and had resubmitted all
the manuscripts. I had no idea whether I would end up with contracts or not.

At the beginning of 2011, my romances had been published by Excessica,
Noble Romance, Siren Publishing, and Pink Petal Books, and my young adult by
Jupiter Gardens Press. I had submitted to MLR Press, Passion in Print,
and—holding my breath and hoping my friend who recommended it was
right—Ellora’s Cave. The latter was the one I figured I was least likely to get
into. All three of those publishers sent me revise/resubmits, along with
Featherweight Press, where I had submitted a young adult novel.

I was accepted by Ellora’s Cave. And by MLR, Passion in Print, and
Featherweight.

In 2011, the rights on my first two romances, both from Excessica, were
reverted to me. Those stories sit on my hard drive currently, awaiting my
decision on what I’m going to do with them.

Since January, I’ve had another short story published in an anthology,
along with 10 stand-alone romances published. That number will go up to 11 on
December 26, when my MLR Press Christmas story “Tofurkey and Yams” is released.
I’ve also had 6 more young adult novels published.

I did a lot of promoting, a lot of guest blog posts and interviews, and
even traveled to Philadelphia to attend the Authors After Dark conference,
which was my first con and was a lot of fun.

It occurred to me in the midst of all that that I was probably doing too
much. I barely had time to promote each book as it was released, and I was
getting tired of seeing my names out there and had a feeling readers might too.

I’ve made some decisions during 2011, and some decisions were made about
me, that will change my writing life even more in 2012. In addition to working
with the publishers I name above, I’ll have releases from Cleis Press (a short
story in one of their anthologies) and MuseItUp Publishing (under my young
adult name) during 2012. I have a couple projects under submission at other
places, and a couple ideas that might lead to even bigger things.

Mostly, though, what I’ve learned in 2011 is that writing is a business,
but for me it needs to be a fun one. When I try too hard to do too much,
writing becomes work, and that defeats my entire purpose of doing it. So for
2012, the plan is to enjoy writing, celebrate my contracts and releases, and
take time to have fun with it all.

My goodness, disembodied torso, what a fabulous chest you have!I see that you’re paired with a gorgeous woman on this cover.I guess that means you’re straight.I’m also going to assume, based on the fact that you have no head, that you are driven entirely by your animal nature.If there were a wolf on this cover, I’d be convinced.But even without the wolf, I’m sure you’re a man’s man with your feelings buried deep inside, where only this woman, who is so much like me we could paste my picture over her face, can find them.Men like you are my secret desire.

…actually…they’re not.Not MINE, which puts me in the minority around the romance community.But that’s okay, I’ll just sit in my corner with my head against the wall, scribbling away about queers like me.(As a queer woman, I am allowed to say that.Don’t call in the referee just yet.)I’m a loner anyway. And maybe someday someone will discover one of my stories curled up in a bottle and find they actually like it.Maybe.Some day.

Okay, I’m being a little melodramatic here.All I really intended to write about (in a totally non-melodramatic way) was that the stuff readers love, devour, guiltlessly consume, is exactly the stuff I don’t write.So, the bestsellers, the money-makers, the man-with-the-chest books… they’re not mine.That’s not what I write.It would really help pay the rent if I did…but I don’t.

I actually have a story to accompany this confession.It’s kind of a nice story.About a month ago, I was approached by a publisher I work with often and love, love, love.They wrote to tell me the love is mutual, so much so that they wanted to commission some novellas from me for a new erotic romance line they’re looking to introduce.

Wow!That was a huge compliment.I felt all warm and fuzzy until I read the submissions guidelines for the line: hetero only, no gay content, no BDSM. Must feature a “strong Alpha Male hero” and “feisty” but loveable heroine.

So, I’m sure the majority of romance writers would crack their knuckles, lick their lips, and pound one out on the keyboard (a story, of course), but all I could do was stare at those words, “strong Alpha Male” and…okay, I admit it, I cringed a little bit.I did.Strong Alpha Males have got to be my biggest turn-off in the history of everything.Maybe it’s a “lesbian thing,” but I don’t think that’s it, not entirely.I suspect there are women out there who identify as straight and would agree with this appraisal.The grunting, salivating, dominating and domineering “man with the chest” is…yucky.Yes, I realize he is the fantasy of the many, but he is sooooo not mine.

And please don’t get me started on how much I hate hearing a woman described as “feisty”—my feminist Spidey Sense finds “feisty” an infantilizing word, in that it minimizes women who speak out against patriarchal oppressions of all kinds, including unwanted male attention…but I said I wasn’t going to start, didn’t I?So I won’t.

Anyway, I went back and forth a lot on this one.It was an honour to be asked to produce work for a new line.The publishers knew they were taking a chance, setting foot outside their normal terrain, and they asked me to come with them.I never want to end up in anybody’s bad books, and I feel like turning down work is just…not a good idea generally.But I knew in my gut what they were asking for was not consistent with the work I produce.It didn’t appeal to me, and I really didn’t feel I could make a story work if neither my heart nor my hips were invested in the project.

But I said to myself, “You’re a writer—you should be able to produce any kind of story you’re asked to.”And maybe I could…but just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should.(The KFC double down is an excellent example—you can probably afford to buy yourself bacon sandwiched between two deep-fried pieces of chicken, but does that mean it’s a good idea?)

In the end, I wrote my publisher back and politely declined the commission.It means a lot to me that I can devote my time to writing queer fiction, fiction that appeals to me and that represents who I am in this world.A lot of readers love the man with the chest, but a lot of writers write him.In fact, I’m sure the number of books of this type currently on the market far exceeds the demand for them.

And let me clarify: I don’t have anything against people who write the man with the chest, or people who read him.It’s just not to my taste, just like my transgender stories, or my lesbian stories, or my bisexual or otherwise queer stories, or my adultery stories, or my hipster stories, or my stories that are erotic without any romantic component at all…aren’t to everybody’s taste.That’s cool.

Before I hop away, I should also mention that I often hear writers stating, with the voice of absolute authority, that ALL women love the man with the chest.Some say that it’s a “natural” component of a woman’s existence to love the Strong Alpha Male, and…kids, that’s not cool. It places me, my taste, and my sexuality under erasure, and I have no desire to be erased.

If I’m writing about guys, they’re probably going to be shy or nerdy or guilt-ridden or, or, or… There are exceptions, I’m sure, and I don’t write any of this to be unpopular, but the Man with the Chest? He’s not for me. Which is okay, because if you like him…more chests for you!

Hugs,

Giselle Renarde

Canada just got hotter!

Giselle Renarde is author of:
Red Satin Christmas

What fun would a family Christmas be if everybody got along?

This is a Christmas of firsts for girlfriends Regan and Maisie. Maisie hasn’t returned to her hometown since beginning her transition from male to female. Her mother and sisters welcome her with open arms, but what about brother Jerry? Is he just going to ignore her forever? And who is this mystery woman he’s brought home for the holidays?

Regan figures she’s just along for the ride, lending her girlfriend support, until Maisie’s mother surprises her with a special dinner guest. Regan hasn’t spoken to her hard-drinking Cree father in years, and he’s the last person in the world she wants to sit across from at Christmas dinner. Can Regan finally trust the man who’s once again claimed to have changed for good?

Together, Regan and Maisie face drama beyond their wildest imaginings. Will their trials during this eventful family Christmas challenge their bond… or vanquish their limitations?

Available Now!

THE SECRETS OF DREAMS, my sexy Halloween ménage, paranormal, erotic, short story will be available on Thursday, October 20, 2011. Here is an exclusive preview:

Stephanie laughed as the current group of zombies and pirates and action heroes on her doorstep collected their treats in large, reflective orange bags. The moment the last candy bar was dropped, the children ran down her front steps, laughing wildly as they charged the next house on the block.

With an amused shake of her head, she closed the door behind them and then flopped back down on the couch. The bowl of chocolates remained on the table by the door, awaiting the next crop of ghastly and glamorous visitors. Soon, the little ones would be off to bed though and all those leftover treats would somehow find their way into her stomach over the next few days. Stephanie loved Halloween, it was her most favorite holiday, but it was seriously hazardous to her hips.

She glanced at the clock on her mantel and was surprised to discover how late it was. It was almost time for her to shut off the porch light, lock the door and begin her solitary celebration. Her altar waited upstairs, adorned with candles and spices and incense, all ready for her to begin her annual Samhain rites.

Her eyes touched on the black grimoire sitting on top of her coffee table and a tingling shiver ran down her spine.

When her grandmother passed away a little over six months ago, Stephanie had inherited everything: her grandmother’s house, her stock portfolio, and all of her old trinkets and bobbles and gems. She missed her grandmother fiercely and she had not been able to bring herself to go over to the old house. Then fall came, and the leaves changed, and it seemed to Stephanie that the time had finally come when she could deal with all the memories and grief and joy her grandmother’s possessions would inevitably evoke. She comforted herself with the knowledge that it was the perfect time to do it. The purpose of Samhain was to honor the dead after all and her grandmother deserved much honor.

Her eyes flicked once more to the grimoire and then quickly away.

Her grandmother had taught her the ways of magic and helped her nurture her innate power. She told Stephanie about their proud heritage, about the long line of glorious witches she descended from. Her grandmother showed her the old ways, secret ways, ways that had been passed down through the generations. She learned the meaning of power and the consequences and responsibilities that went along with it. Her grandmother made sure she knew all of her craft and her lore and her magic. Stephanie thought her grandmother had taught her everything there was to know about her birthright, but then she found the grimoire in the attic and she wondered.

The ancient black book contained a whole lot more than the craft she had been taught. It was a dangerous book, filled with powerful love spells, curses and hexes, ways to access forbidden, arcane knowledge.

And one of those spells claimed to call forth gods.

According to the text, the ritual was supposed to invoke twin demigods of legend, Calen and Rist. Stephanie had never heard of them before and an internet search revealed murky origins for the twins, some sites saying they were originally Celtic, while others attributed them to the Germanic tribes. It appeared that they were some sort of dream gods, but depending upon the tale, they were either benevolent spiritual guides or mischievous tricksters that tried to lead the unrighteous astray. Several sites claimed that the twins taught ‘the secrets of dreams’ to those they deemed worthy, but none explained what that actually meant.

Website – Blog – Twitter – Facebook – Bookshelf

Just for fun, I turned one of my old free reads, SPRING FEST into a free eBook on Smashwords. It was my very first ever experience with self-publishing and I gotta say it was lots of fun. Of course, I didn’t do anything complex (for me) like hyperlinking my table of contents or whatever. This is just a very simple, straightforward short story. I’m thinking about turning all my free reads into eBooks just because I think that giving them snazzy covers and having them available in all kinds of fancy downloadable formats is super cool.

Anyway, here are the first few paragraphs from SPRING FEST just to whet your appetite…

The Annual Spring Fest at McCain’s Farm was one of the biggest events of the year in Alexandria. It signaled the official end of the winter and heralded the warmer weather with music and dancing, games for the kiddies, drawings and bingo for the adults. The whole town came out for it, dressed in their pastels and linens and Easter bonnets. Everyone took the night off from the chores and TV and just kicked back with some lemonade (or perhaps something a bit stronger) and chatted with their neighbors.

This was Julia’s first Spring Fest. And hopefully, her only one. She’d been in Alexandria for about a month now and she was already bored out of her skull. Small towns were not the hotbeds of sex and murder and wildly sexy, rugged men who wore flannel and such like the TV wanted everyone to believe. Like Julia had hoped.

When the town’s only lawyer had called her to claim a ranch that had been left to her by her mother’s uncle’s cousin’s brother or some such nonsense, she had been initially excited. A whole ranch, all her own, left to her by a mysterious distant relative—it was the stuff of stories. Unfortunately, reality didn’t hold up and now she was stuck with a property she had no idea what to do with, in a town so tiny it made her claustrophobic. In fact, all the quiet, small town cheer—and nosiness—was beginning to drive her slightly insane. She couldn’t wait to get back to New York. But paperwork and things she didn’t quite understand needed to be done, and until that was all completed, she was stuck.

She twisted in front of her mirror, examining her outfit. The knee-length, wispy purple skirt was the only thing remotely festive she had packed, but it did go well with the blousy, white shirt she’d chosen. Not exactly a sex-goddess outfit, but simple and carefree and good enough for a farm dance.

Maybe Derek will be there, she thought, and a little shiver of anticipation raced down her spine. Derek Cafferty was the lawyer’s only son and from all that she had heard, he was set to take his father’s place when the elder Cafferty retired. Tall and charming and devastatingly handsome, Derek was the one thing that made the town even somewhat tolerable. And he was 100% of the reason why she was going to the Fest at all. Julia knew she probably didn’t stand a chance with him, he was waaaay out of her league, but just looking at him was such a treat, so incredibly pleasurable, she couldn’t pass up the opportunity.

If you’d like, you can download it totally free right here: SPRING FEST

Website – Blog – Twitter - Facebook – Titles From Ellora’s Cave