Ain’t no party like a preorder part, ‘cuz a preorder party don’t stop.

Well.  I mean, for now.

So, before we launch into my “there’s no way this can go wrong” segment of the blog, I just wanted to send a massive shoutout to all of you who supported DARK FATES, especially those who snagged a copy to check out my book, MARKED.  Because:

I am NOW a USAToday Bestselling Author!!!!  AHHHH!  And so I made this.

I did a lot of jumping up and down and, honestly, I’m pretty surprised I didn’t break my ankle again trying to do a backflip or something.  It. Was. Insane.

You may notice, in-between Marked and the paranormal that started it all, With Me Now (for those who have been here a long time, it was Random Contemporary), and Haunt, there’s a new book.  Claimed.

Commence the party.  Yo.

I went through this really weird phase when I was like, nineteen, where for a good three months, I said yo a lot.  Like, “What’s up, yo?”  I know, looking back it was dumb.  Those first few months of nineteen were a weird time–this strange, “I’m almost a person” point in my life, where most people do rebellious things but I just walked around and said yo a lot.

Yeah.  And then I got married like, two years later.

I’m much more rebellious now that I’m in my thirties.

Anyway.

THE PREORDER IS LIVE!!  And it’s here!  It took me some time because doing my taxes got in the way, but I finally figured out how to load the eBook for CLAIMED onto Amazon.  During the preorder period and for the first week the book is released, you can buy it for $0.99.  YES!  Then I jack up the price because…I don’t know.  Reasons.

CLAIMED is Book Number three in The Isa Fae Collection.  It’s a stand alone, though, so (even though I highly recommend checking out my friend’s books), you don’t have to read the rest of the collection to understand what’s going on.  So, without further rambling:

The first time the world ended, she went into hiding.

The second time, she became a fugitive.

When war breaks out between the Western State and Regent’s Block, two North American political coalitions, Wren Richards is forced into hiding. Her father insists that, as witches, they have more at risk; more to hide. It is a time of division, of careful planning and preparation. They conceal themselves and their power, living on only what they can grow and create with their own hard work.

But then there is a break in the doldrums of normalcy: Wren is sent to fetch supplies in town. Her younger sister tags along—it’s a waste of time, a waste of energy.

And then the atomic bomb hits.

Everything changes.

Now Wren isn’t just a witch: she’s a survivor. A slave. A water seeker. A murderer. She and her sister are kidnapped and dragged to another dimension, a mirror of Earth, dying from nuclear winter. Energy is worth more than gold and harder to find. As witches, they’ll fetch a higher dollar at auction. Because as witches, energy can be sourced from their souls. 

The only person who can save Wren is herself.

And she’s just been sold to the highest bidder.

Check out Amazon for the preorder of CLAIMED, as well as the other books in the Isa Fae collection!  Click here.

In other news, I haven’t done a tremendous amount of anything lately, since I’ve been down in my little hobbit-hole writing.  And, doing my taxes.   Swooning over Harry Styles.  Basically everything I usually do, except I’ve been absent from social media because it’s too darn distracting.  Write the book, Heather.  Admire Harry’s pants another day.

Of course, I’d be lying if I told you that Harry Styles and his pants were not a contributing factor in the completion of CLAIMED.

I also haven’t done any running of late, mainly because of my fear of breaking my ankle again.  The Hubs and I had signed up for a race at the end of this month, but will have to bow out of it because it’s the same day as Younger Son’s first T-Ball game.  In fact, tomorrow is his first T-Ball practice and being the introvert that I am, I’m pondering if I’ll be the weirdest mom there.  My kid can fit in with anyone, but I’m weird and standoffish and quiet-until-you-get-to-know-me-then-I’m-chaos, and awkward.  It’ll be an extra deodorant/bring a book in case I get bored kind of night.

A sneak peek of MARKED: then get it FREE!

April 2, 2017: Today.  Only.

You can get my new release, MARKED, free as part of the Dark Fates Collection.  But it’s only for today.  And there are limited copies available.  I hate peddling my books like a copier salesman, but I really want you guys to read Marked.  I had so much fun writing it and, honestly, I think it’s the best I’ve ever written.  Also:

• Sebastian Stan, AKA the Winter Soldier, was the basis for the character Max.  I’d bang him like a screen door in a hurricane
• Sex, history, and, paranormal thriller/creepy goodness.  These are a few of my favorite things.
• It’s free.

For the entire box set–MARKED, plus 21 other paranormal/urban fantasy novels–just click here.  But, legit, guys.  You have to act fast.  I overslept and it’s today only.  Once they’re gone, they’re gone.

Here’s a sneak peek of MARKED.  Enjoy!

_________________________

Awake.

I opened my eyes to darkness.  My nostrils flared at the putrid stench and I scrambled upward into a sitting position.  Death.  I knew that smell: the sweet coppery smell of blood, the tangy odor of rotted flesh.

And I knew…I remembered…

Nothing.

I groped my hands around me, fumbling through the dark until my fingertips brushed against cool stone.  It was damp.  A chill ran through my body and I shivered; my body trembled so violently that I almost lost my footing.

As I stood, half-hunched over and half-slumped against the wall, my eyes were drawn to a flicker of light in across the stretch of dark in front of me.  Fading fast; dying.

Dying.

It dawned on me that I wasn’t bound or chained.  But was I alone?  How did I get here?  I had no recollection of anything; where I was, who I was.  Who I’d been.

I crept forward, edging my way across what I assumed was a room or a cell until I got closer to the light.  Wrapping my arms around my body and hugging myself I reached forward.

A candle.  It was burned down almost to a nub of off color wax and crammed into a loosely soldered tin holder.  I glanced down; it had been on a tall, wax covered stool—it seemed familiar—and next to it was an empty box.  Narrow.  Wooden.

And as I moved the candle downward to see the box better, I saw the bottom of a foot: dirty and bare, the skin calloused and flaked with dried blood.

The scream that bubbled up in my throat was choked and garbled, pain seared from my windpipe to my chest.  My knees buckled underneath me and I sank to the floor.  The candle dropped to the ground before me and rolled forward.  I cursed.

But the flame stayed lit.

I was still, immobile like a stone.  The figure never moved and, after I took a moment to gather my thoughts, I crawled forward.  As I lifted the holder, the flame danced at shimmied on what was left of the wick; I was shaking.  I couldn’t stop, I couldn’t breathe.

I lowered the candle.  The figure was slumped on the floor, dressed in a filthy blue skirt.  It was torn away somewhat at her waist and the bodice was gone, revealing a gold hued corset.  Her skin was mottled; her hair soaked with blood.

No more.  I covered my mouth and nose with my hand, gagging and the stench of rot.  God.  What was left of her face was familiar.  I’d seen her before, I knew it.  She was dead and I was alive—but that fact brought more questions than answers.

I leaned over again, prying the pistol from her death grip.  The gun was heavy, with a long barrel.  I wasn’t sure I actually knew how to shoot a gun or if this one was even loaded.  It was better than nothing.

Swinging my arm outward as I turned, I slowly moved it in an arch, from one side of my body to the other.  The candle was small and shone hardly enough light to illuminate the dead girl’s corner, but it was enough.  It looked like a cellar.  The ground was hard pressed dirt and the walls stone; other than the stool and the corpse, it was empty.

And directly across from me, was a staircase.

My body trembled.  We’d been sent down here for a reason, my brain ached to remember.  It was there, it was right at the forefront of my mind…but I couldn’t grasp it.  How long where we down here?  The girl’s body was well into decomposition, but the candle remained lit.  She must have lit it right before she pulled the trigger.

Assuming we were the only two down here.

I bristled.  I’d assumed I was alone before I found her and I assumed we were the only two now.  I could be wrong.  My stomach turned; I had a sense of being wrong before, of something happening that I—that we’d—tried to stop.  To shut out.

I still had no clue what it was.

Holding the gun out in front of me, I made my way around the cellar, from the dead girl’s corner to where I’d started from.  Whipping around, I shone the light behind me.  Nothing.  One step forward and then another, creeping; clawing my fingers into the rock wall beside me.  There was nothing.  I’d been sprawled on the ground when I woke and the girl had nothing but the stool, the gun, and the empty box.

I walked back to her, holding the candle near the body.  The flame flickered; I was running out of time.

“Who are you?”  My voice sounded foreign to my ears.  “Why was it you and not me?”

A glint of light reflected off her chest as I shifted my weight from one foot to the other.  I kneeled down and looked closer.  She was wearing an amulet, a simple oval shaped black stone in a silver setting, a strange scar across the front facet.  Something about the necklace made my heart sprint to a rapid cadence.  It was familiar; it was something we’d been looking for, something we needed.  That’s why they’d followed us…

…Healed…

I leaned over and grabbed the necklace, yanking on the chain until it pulled away from her neck.  It was important—I didn’t know why, but I wasn’t about to leave it behind.

Holding the candle out in front of me, I made my way to the staircase and slowly began my ascent.  Anything could be at the top; someone could be waiting for me to stir or, worse, they could have barricaded it.

I’d have to take my chances.  One foot and then the next: creeping, climbing.  It was like a tryst with a lover, shyly sliding up the steps in anticipation.  It ended abruptly; my skull slammed into the wood above me and I squealed.  Damn it.

Bracing my shoulders and upper back against the wood, I thrust my body upward and flipped the cellar door open.  It was easier than I expected.  The force of my movement threw me off balance; I fumbled with the candle and the gun, trying not to lose either.  It was impossible—or I was flawed.  The candlewick smashed against my forearm, extinguishing the flame.  I bit back a shriek.  I dropped to the step: it clattered, dully thudding back to the dirt floor below.

Light filtered down from the trap door.  It was muted; I realized something heavy was matted down across it.  Easing the hatch back the rest of the way, I scrambled upward and out, my body tangling up in fabric…scratchy, well worn fabric.  Sunlight, though dim, seared my ears and I squeezed my eyes closed.  A rug.  Someone had laid a rug over the cellar door.

I opened my eyes, fluttering my lids against the pierce of light into my retina.  After a moment, I pushed myself up and out of the cellar.  The room looked like a parlor or sitting room, with muted green drapes and dull lavender fabric wallpaper. There was a stained horsehair couch to one side of the room and, to the other, an open doorway.  An end table was turned over across the threshold.  The window was shattered.

Easing up to my feet, I held the pistol out in front of me.  Other than the color scheme and what appeared to be well used furniture, there was nothing personal about the room.  No pictures.  No family Bible or muck covered shoes.  I moved into the next room: the kitchen.  It was in similar disarray: the table was knocked askew and the chairs turned over.  The dry sink’s cabinets were flung open and a sack of flour was overturned, spilling out to the shelf below.  Something had happened here.  Something bad.

As I walked through the kitchen and into the next room, I stopped short.  In front of me was a girl; the skin underneath her mouth was tattooed in blue ink: five vertical lines down from her bottom lip and, from two end most lines, two, pointed horizontal lines.  She had a gun.

It took me several moments—I almost laughed.  It was a mirror.  I was looking at myself.

I walked further into the room and up to the mirror, tucking a strand of dark brown hair behind my ear.  It was like looking at a stranger.  I had high cheekbones and blue eyes, framed with thick, dark lashes.  My hair was glossy and hung loose around my shoulders; the deep brown color made my skin look paler.  I touched my fingertip to the tattoos on my chin.  It was almost like a muzzle.  The horizontal lines only extended about as far as the outer corner of my eyes, but were thick.  I was marked; I was a broken soul.  I knew horrible things had happened to me, things that could—had—killed girls who weren’t as strong as I was.  I just couldn’t remember.

Maybe that was a blessing.

I was dressed like the dead girl in the basement: a pale blue corset over a dingy chemise.  There was no skirt over my petticoat and, looking down, I saw worn leather boots on my feet.  My brow furrowed; where had she and I come from?  What had happened?

As I straightened, my eyes focused on something behind the lace edging on the chemise’s neckline.  I frowned again.  Leaning closer to the mirror, I slid the fabric down.  One word was tattooed beneath my collarbone.

Healed.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror.  Healed.  Was I?  And from what?  Nothing made sense; the more I found in the unfamiliar world, the less I understood.  Who was I?  What happened to me.

And then I saw movement.

I whirled around, thrusting the pistol out in front of me.  It shook.

A man was standing in the doorway, pointing a rifle at my chest.  “Who the fuck are you?”

Cover Reveal: Marked

Now that All I Desire is out there, being awesome, it’s time to look ahead to March 28, when my NEXT book will be available!  2017, you gorgeous gal.  Let’s do this.

MARKED.  It’s the Wild West.  It’s sex and too much bourbon and legends and paranormal madness.  And as of right now, it’s only available in a limited edition box set.  I know I say this all the time, but this might be my favorite of all the books I’ve written.  The plot is that much fun!  Feast your eyes on this:

Awake.

She has no memory of how she ended up unconscious in a cellar, dressed only in a corset and petticoats, and with nothing but a candle, a pistol.

And a dead girl.

Her only clues her own identity are the blue lines tattooed beneath her mouth and a word marked in her chest: Healed.  Now she’s on the run, pursued by man and fae alike.  They claim they know what she did, who she is—and what she was.  Her only ally is a man with a bloodstained past.  A man she’s falling in love with.

A man who might be a concoction of her own mind.

Healed doesn’t know who is telling her the truth and who is lying; what is a dream and what she did to be a woman with no name, no past.  Time is running out.  A war is coming.

The oath is broken.

Right now, you can pre-order the box set, Dark Fates, for 99 cents.  That’s less than a McDouble on the McDonald’s value menu.  Not only will get you get Marked, but you’ll also get novels by some of my closest author friends.  That sound you hear is a bonus (Please tell me someone else remembers that commercial.  What’s that?  A BONUS).

Click here to pre-order!  Do it.  I triple dog dare you.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the celebratory celebration over the release of All I Desire is still going on.  Make sure you keep your eyes peeled, because I’ve got some giveaways coming up within the next few weeks, including a chance to grab a free copy of All I Desire.  Sit tight.  Things are about to get real.

 

If you’re not a One Direction fanatic, please feel free to stop reading.

So, all this nonsense about Harry Styles’s new, upcoming 70s Rock/Queen/Rolling Stones/ovary bursting bonanza is driving me insane.  Give me a release date, people.  Please do not drop this album when I’m a) asleep or b) at work and my phone is off.  Because, legit, I need a Hazza fix.  Dunkirk is still, like, five months away and I have a milestone birthday that month (cough cough, thirty-five, cough cough) and need something to hold me over until then.  DO SOMETHING, HARRY STYLES.  You’re killing me, Smalls.

NEW RELEASE: All I Desire

Surprise!  With absolutely no build-up and basically me just jumping on the table while people are yelling about politics still, and screaming, “I’ll take the Ring to Mordor!” the sequel to WITH ME NOW is now available!  Happy release day!

*cue burst of confetti*

Despite the newsworthy events at Gettysburg, twenty-two-year-old Madison Monroe and her boyfriend, Mike Caldwell, can’t find archeology work. They’re broke—until a unique job falls in their laps: Briarcliff Lodge, a turn of the century hotel in New York. It’s rotting, life extended only to allow time for an archeological survey. The building is abandoned, and its existence is malignant.

But something inside is awake.

Haunted by visions of death, Madison realizes she’s being hunted: a spirit—a predator—bent on destruction and physical harm. Her relationship with Mike is at a boiling point, the dig is a disaster. And then they find something they shouldn’t. Something that shouldn’t exist.

The spirits are getting stronger and when the unthinkable happens, Mike and Madison find themselves tangled in a century’s old mystery. Time is running out. The Lodge is ready to take her secrets to the grave. And maybe Madison, too.

You can buy All I Desire by clicking here!

I’m so excited for you to read book two of the Lazarus Society!  Coming soon: Festivities!  More cover reveals!  Wit, sarcasm and us doing all the things.  Let’s party in style this time!

Don’t these two look fabulous together?? 

 

My career as Gollum continues

Last night, as I feverishly worked on one of three novels I wanted to have finished like, yesterday, I commented to The Hubs that movies featuring writers always portray the writer as being insane.

Other than Funny Farm.  And that’s debatable.

It’s been a horror movie extravaganza on television recently and, boy howdy, I like horror movies.  We started watching “Sinister” last night which, of course, is about a true crime writer.  The Shining: crazy writer.  The Ninth Gate: Johnny Depp as a crazy writer?  I’m sure there are more.  Honestly, I’m too lazy to do a highly scientific Google search to confirm, but all in all, The Writer seems to be a solitary creature, sustaining on caffeine and grief, who holes up in a basement/attic/spare room to write The Work which, inevitably, pushes them off the deep end.

I’m jugging writing three novels right now (see aforementioned “sustaining on coffee”) and can totally endorse this.  I can’t decide on a political candidate to endorse (do we have anyone warming up in the bullpen, America?  I mean, really.) but I know for sure that I’m getting paler and clumsier and losing my ability to be socially elegant.  I’m not positive I was particularly elegant before, but guys: I don’t wear legit pants, have my hair up in a messy bun, and only wear makeup out to the grocery store.

And I haven’t been to the grocery store in like, two weeks.  The Hubs loves grocery shopping whereas I’d rather go to the gynecologist than stroll up and down aisles of food and argue over which brand over frozen green beans is tastier because I HATE the grocery store and it angers me.

Anyway.

I’ve been really bad with social media (cough cough blogging cough cough) and that’s not good for promoting my books, but I need to buckle down and finish these books.  Here’s what my current schedule looks like, for the most part:

• 6am: Wake up
• 6:30a – 5p: Day Job
• 5p – 9p: Time with kids, some form of dinner, workout, bullet journaling
• 9p – 11:30p: write
• anywhere from 11:30 to midnight: Go to bed.

Rinse.  Repeat.

I do shower, guys, don’t worry.  I usually squeeze it in after putting the kids to bed.  I might dress like a hobo, but I don’t smell like one.

This explains the tiredness.

So, yeah, there’s not a ton of time in there to write but, it is what it is.  I’ll sleep when I’m dead.  Maybe; with my luck, I’ll be a ghost with a big long list of shit to do in the afterlife.

Since August, I’ve started bullet journaling.  I cannot draw or sketch or doodle–and thusly am really bad at Win, Lose, or Draw–but it’s helped me keep track with all the little things I need to do during the week.  Like, for example, remembering to take The Rowdy Boys to their swim class.  Or go to the post office.

Plus, I like the satisfaction of crossing things off lists.  I will purposefully add finished things to lists just to cross them off.  Also: I like pens and markers and journals and will find any reason to buy them.

Obviously, I have delusions of grandeur when it comes to how much writing I can get done in a week.  Whatev.  You should see the page I made for “Books to Read: 2016.”  Yikes.  I won’t be winning Adult Book-It anytime soon.

Note: If there is an Adult Book-It, I have the feeling the prize is something more like a bottle of wine and a 40 count bag of pizza rolls.  Now that I can endorse.

Writing in the writer’s cave: the musical!

I’ve been avoiding the Internet like the plague (drinking gold and wearing elaborate masks and such) in order to finish All I Desire.  And it’s done!  And submitted to the publisher!  Yay!  The Lazarus Society Trilogy: two down, one to go.

Now I’m stumbling around like Gollum, unfamiliar with human interaction and squinting. The light!  It burns ussssss!

So, now there’re only three books I need to finish writing this month.  Progress.  And I’m sitting here eating chips and watching Titanic instead.  Deadlines, shmedlines.  I had grand plans for this afternoon with writing, dying my hair, working on my bullet journal and getting stuff done.  The Hubs and I look the boys to the YMCA (young man!) and then I took a three hour nap.  That’s what you do when you’re old and you’re in the therapy pool for ten minutes.

Anyway.

Life is beautiful and glorious without all the drama of social media.  I have no idea what’s going on in the world or politics and I’m fine with that.  I’m partying like it’s 1989.  Nope, no idea who I’m going to vote for.  Got no current commentary on the debate or whatever the NFL is up to or the Brangelina meltdown.  Got no cares in the world.  I’m like Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music: I’m spinning around in the middle of the living room, singing One Direction songs and wearing sweatpants.  I’ve trained my whole life for this.  I’m an adult.

So, while on this random social media hiatus, I do allow myself waste time on Pinterest (a pin I recently pinned says “Time enjoyed is not time wasted” so there) and drooling over Harry Styles magazine covers (Do any of my UK friends want to snag a copy for me?  I’ll pay you.  The Internet is apparently sold out and I’m not paying 56 bucks on eBay for one.  Yet.)  I’ve also gotten into a writing routine: laptop, blanket, loud music.

My writing playlist is legit better than my running playlist.  And, in that playlist, I’ve got several songs that have become the ‘theme song’ if you will, for each book I’ve written.  And when I say ‘theme song,’ what I mean is I will put that sucker on repeat and listen to it for like, three hours.  Lesson learned kids: If you’re going to obsess, do it right.

Without further adieu, I give you the Heather Hambel Curley novel playlist OR, songs you can jam to while you read my books.  It’s all inclusive.  That means, books that aren’t available yet are listed here.  Spoiler alert!

• With Me Now — Courtesy Call, Thousand Foot Krutch
• Anything You Ask of Me–The Diary of Jane, Breaking Benjamin
• All I Desire–Bloody Angel, Avatar
• Since April–The Titanic Soundtrack
• Claimed–Radioactive, Imagine Dragons
• Under the Devil’s Sun–Centuries, Fall Out Boy
• Marked–Full Circle, Otherwise

For those keeping score, Haunt isn’t on this list.  That’s because Haunt is a reimagined version of a book I wrote in my early 20s, In the Presence of My Enemies.  I never published it (I tried, but with no luck) and with the opportunity to publish it, I rewrote it like a maniac. You know what the soundtrack was?  Panic and bourbon on the rocks.  Also, my tears.

I like loud, angry music when I write.  I don’t know why.  Maybe because I too, am loud and angry.  Haha, well, sometimes.  Other times, I’m just hilarious.

Let’s talk about goals.  My goal right now is to finish writing Claimed and Marked by the end of this month.  I’d also like to decide if I like the title Marked or if it’s going to change.  Again.  Anyway, I need to get my butt in gear and get these books done.  They’re plotted and ready to go–I just have to find time to sit down and write.  Aaaaaaaand, go.

But first.  More snacks.

 

 

New release: Historical fiction!

I’ve been watching the Olympics for like, 36 hours straight, so expect a lot of exclamation points as we move forward.  It’s like Jeopardy.  You don’t say, “This is Jeopardy.”  You scream, “This.  Is.  JEOPARDY!”

Anyway.

If you’ve been with us for awhile, you’ll probably remember the book that began it all: Anything You Ask of Me.  And now, three years later, it’s finally here.

And the world heaved a collective sigh of relief.

The short of it:

• Historical fiction-American Civil War
• Expect sex
• Expect violence
• Expect an unhealthy obsession with Jeb Stuart.

Belle.  Traitor.  Fearless.  Spy.  But not even La Belle Rebelle can outrun the war.

Although her home state of Maryland hasn’t sworn allegiance to either Union or Confederacy, twenty-two-year-old Elizabeth Archer’s life is shattered. Her father has fled North, abandoning the household. The man she loved—and who married her sister instead— is killed in battle. Elizabeth’s life of parties and societal obligations dwindles down to isolation and too many empty hours; hours to mourn the man who gave her up to chase an inheritance. She meets Confederate general Jeb Stuart by chance and, in an instant, she’s the center of his attention. As commander of the Army of Northern Virginia’s cavalry division, General Stuart doesn’t ask, he orders. The attraction seems mutual and, flattered by his affection, Elizabeth agrees to spy for the Confederacy. She’s Stuart’s La Belle Rebelle, the Beautiful Rebel; the siren of the south. She’s notorious in the Union and lauded in the Confederacy. And she’s falling in love with him. Notoriety, however, is a spy’s worst enemy. Now pursued by a Federal officer tasked to stop her at any cost, Elizabeth faces the sentence of hanging if she’s convicted of treason against the Union. Devoted to a cause she doesn’t believe in and with Federal blood on her hands, Elizabeth must save herself—or die a traitor. Time is running out. And no one, not even La Belle Rebelle, can outrun the war.

It’s available as an eBook or in paperback.  Are you ready?  Click here.

PLUS: If you’re the first to leave a review on Amazon, you’ll win an autographed poster of the cover!

 

Huge book release news!

This is not a drill.

After three long years of waiting (and that’s all I’m going to say about that), my historical fiction novel, Anything You Ask of Me is finally being released in paperback on July 26, 2016!

I know.

I am equal parts excited and terrified.  This was the first book I ever finished writing, so that in its own is a huge accomplishment.  However, this was the first book I ever finished writing and my writing has grown since then.  And I write a lot of paranormal now.

Despite my imminent panic, I’m pretty darn psyched this book will see the light of day.  The main character, Elizabeth, is flawed.  She makes bad decisions.

And she has to pay for them.

Here’s the blurb:

Although her home state of Maryland hasn’t sworn allegiance to either Union or Confederacy, twenty-two-year-old Elizabeth Archer’s life is shattered.  Her father has fled North, abandoning the household.  The man she loved―and who married her sister instead― is killed in battle.  Elizabeth’s life of parties and societal obligations dwindles down to isolation and too many empty hours; hours to mourn the man who gave her up to chase an inheritance.

She meets Confederate general Jeb Stuart by chance and, in an instant, she’s the center of his attention.

As commander of the Army of Northern Virginia’s cavalry division, General Stuart doesn’t ask, he orders.  The attraction seems mutual and, flattered by his affection, Elizabeth agrees to spy for the Confederacy.  She’s Stuart’s La Belle Rebelle, the Beautiful Rebel; the siren of the south.  She’s notorious in the Union and lauded in the Confederacy.  And she’s falling in love with him.

Notoriety, however, is a spy’s worst enemy.  Now pursued by a Federal officer tasked to stop her at any cost, Elizabeth faces the sentence of hanging if she’s convicted of treason against the Union.  Devoted to a cause she doesn’t believe in and with Federal blood on her hands, Elizabeth must save herself―or die a traitor.

Time is running out.  And no one, not even La Belle Rebelle, can outrun the war.

You can pre-order Anything You Ask of Me by clicking here.  In July, we’ll have some crazy fun book release shenanigans.

No running sign? Ha. Watch us run.

Meanwhile, back in the non-writing world, The Hubs and I flexed our 5k muscles and participated in the 2nd Annual Roller Coaster Race at Kennywood Park, outside of Pittsburgh.  It.  Was.  Amazing!

And I got a personal record!  39.24–I finished one second behind The Hubs.  I ran with some pretty cool kids: The Hubs, my friend Candy (we’ve been friends for almost twenty years!!), my friend Renee, and some cool cats I met that day.  We’re a darn good looking team.

I wasn’t actually a happy camper as we got close to the finish line because the humidity was so oppressive, it felt like I was carrying a toddler around my neck as we ran.  Then some random guy in the crowd waved his arms and yelled, “Do it for Dad!”  I know he wasn’t talking to me, but it was a pretty awesome feeling.

So I did.

After the race was over, The Hubs and I changed into our Roller Coaster Ride shirts.  Because I registered like, two seconds after I got the email about the race, we got the Ride free: Ride 5K worth of roller coaster track and get a medal.  Game on!

Unfortunately, the weather decided at that moment that now was a great time to start the monsoon season.  Have you ever ridden a roller coaster in the rain?  Going like, idk, 70 miles per hour (yeah, I’m too tired to actually Google how fast the Phantom’s Revenge goes, but it seemed fast)?  Yeah, it’s basically liked getting pelted in the face with marbles.

We rode it with our hands over our faces.  In the pouring rain.  Three times in a row.

The need for self preservation was significantly dwarfed by the need for a medal.

But, we got them!  Three rides on The Phantom’s Revenge, two on the Exterminator, one on the Racer, one on the Sky Rocket.  And then, just because it’s tradition, The Jack Rabbit.

And then before we left the park, I threw up on Garfield’s Nightmare: a slowing moving, 3D boat ride.  Classy.

That was my third 5K race of the year, which is the total number of races I ran last year.  That’s darn exciting!  Next up is the Color Run!  I’ll be running that on my birthday.  I’ve never been that old before, so we’ll see what happens.

Official Author Photo: It’s for real!

It’s happened and it’s legit: My author photo is here!  Drum roll please!

Hello.  How are you?  Won’t you tell me your name?

This was from my day as a Top Model with Dragon’s Eye Photography (woot woot!) and Strasburg Railroad for October’s Steampunk UnLimited event.  I’m planning on going to Steampunk UnLimited, by the way, and if I do, this is what I’m wearing.  Because: Yes.

And, if Harry Styles, Sebastian Stan, or Chris Evans is reading this?  The answer is also: Yes.

I digress.  I’ve been fangirling a lot these days.  Shame/no shame.

Now that we can cross “Get Author picture” off the ever-growing list of To Do (the three gentlemen above are also listed on there.  Kidding, kidding.  PS-no, I’m not), I can now try and focus on finishing up the sequel to With Me Now, titled All I Desire.  My fingers have been flying, I’ve been living in this weird, must-get-it-finished-nothing-else-matters mentality–

–and then the Pittsburgh Penguins made the playoffs.

Organized sports and I have a poor relationship.  Namely, I’m bad at them and don’t enjoy them.  I used to play church league softball.  Was I good at it?  No.  I got one hit (on my 13th birthday) and the one catch I ever made was in self defense because I was terrified of getting hit in the face.  Also: it was slow pitch softball.

I get really excited during the Super Bowl (snacks! Commercials! Go team!) and when I lived in Ohio, I had an unhealthy obsession with Omar Vizquel and the Cleveland Indians.  I remember being 13 and Omar was like, 27, and I thought, OMG, 27 is soooooooo old.  Hahahahaha, to be 27 again.  Hilarious.

But, I’m a Pittsburgh Girl.  I love Pittsburgh.  Pittsburgh is my hometown and you will NEVER be able to tell me there are cooler cities out there.  Because I won’t believe you.  And when it comes to Pittsburgh sports, I will fiercely defend them and I will cheer and jump up and down and get really, really excited and swoon over cute players.  Yes.

These playoff games have been intense.  In fact, here’s a list of the things I do during playoff games:

• Scream “MURRAY!!!” every time the other team is anywhere near Pittsburgh’s net
• Demand the Flying V as an offense maneuver
• Feign surprise when the Pens don’t actually do a Flying V
• Swoon over Carl Hagelin’s hair and general awesomeness
• Punch the couch
• Routinely forget overtime rules
• Repeat, “Where’s the ref now, huh?” anytime a penalty isn’t called against the other team
• Think Kessel, the common man’s hockey player, is awesome

In the end, I do everything but write.  I sit with the laptop on my lap, yes, but very little writing is actually accomplished.

So, I’m behind.

That’s okay, though!  It’s fine.  Actually, it’s not, because there are some pretty big things in the works (stay tuned because when it hits, it’s going to be cra-zay) and need to write like, three more books this month.  You know.  In May.

In other news, I’ve decided because I have sooooo much free time, I’m going to be a Beachbody coach.  Also: I buy Beachbody products/Shakeology anyway, so I might as well get a discount.  You can read about my fitness journey by clicking here.  It’s not too shabby.

Along those lines, irony showed her ugly face last night.  I do all this stuff getting ready to be a BB Coach and then, because it’s in the house I decided to have a piece of cheesecake.  Because who says no to cheesecake?  It’s pina colada cheesecake.  I cut myself a small, reasonably sized piece.

And then, as I turned to put the cheesecake back in the fridge, the springform pan bottom fell off and the entire cheesecake fell on the floor.

Coconut was everywhere.

I said, “Ohhhhhhhh….I.  Dropped.  The.  Cheesecake.”

Horrible.

Anyway, since my goal of finishing All I Desire was set for the end of April, I need to get to work.  Because I might be a wee little bit behind.

 

 

Me, the book signing, and the inappropriately short skirt

Unlike my first book signing, which you can read about here, the signing on April 30th was pretty darn sweet.  We laughed.  We cried.  We ate a lot of fried green beans.

My main concern going into this was, namely, what to wear.  Well, that and tripping in front of people or spilling something on myself, but that said, I wasn’t sure what to wear in anticipation for all of those things happening.  I asked The Hubs’ opinion on this and he said, “I guess you could wear pants.  Or a dress.  Or a skirt.”

So, I texted my mother the same question.

No response.

So, I took it to Facebook.  Facebook responded with:

• Multiple outfits with wardrobe changes every fifteen minutes

This is a plan I can stand behind.

Unfortunately, The Hubs limited my luggage to one bag shared between the two of us, so I packed two dress options: a black dress and a vintage, 60s dress.  It was going to be on the cold side Saturday and, since I’m perpetually cold, I decided to wear the vintage dress.  Because you can’t go wrong with vintage.

This is where things went somewhat wrong.

I had a whole team of people with me because that’s how I roll: The Hubs, The Rowdy Boys, and my mother.  May I note: my children were angels.  They also ate for three hours straight. We also picked which table to set up at, based on which had the electric plug for their tablets.

I had a snazzy vinyl sign, a poster, my books, and a mug full of chocolate.  Oh, and book marks and business cards.  My table looked decent.  Not great, but decent.  Here are things other authors had that were, in fact, great:

• A three tiered wedding cake made of spackle
• Table cloths (the library put plastic table clothes on there, but some people had cloths that went along with the book’s color scheme)
• Standup pictures of the setting of the book
• Items related to the book (Russian nesting dolls and an orthodox icon).

Why did I not know this?  I mean…looking back, it seems like I should have known this.  It makes sense.  Some of those tables were works of art!  My amazing best friend, Sara, MADE me an awesome mini-book of With Me Now and an engraved pen!  It totally dressed up my table.

And, speaking of dresses.  There was the matter of my dress.  I realized I was going to be in

trouble when I threw my messenger bag over my shoulder and it hung lower than my dress.  Uh oh.  Look, my legs from the knee up are freakishly long.  I realized this as a child, when, sitting in the church pew, my knees hit the hymn book rack and my friend Karen’s didn’t.  So, that’s fun.

The picture on the left is the lovely and sweet Meghan Gorecki, fellow writer and Gettysburg addict and on the right is long time friend and partner in crime, Candy.  Of note, I’m a behemoth next to all my friends, apparently.  And, I wore platforms.

I showed some serious leg.  I just put everything I needed on the table because there was noooooo waaaaaaay I was going to try and lean over to paw through boxes and bags to find something.

The best comment of the afternoon was when The Hubs looked at me and said, “I always thought that was a shirt.”

Nope.

Other than the battle of avoiding mooning the good patrons of the Bethel Park Library, it was a fantastic day!  Two book signings down.  This one wasn’t nearly as terrifying as the first one, so I’m hoping they get better from here?  Maybe?

I still have limited copies of Haunt available for purchase, so if you want a paperback, hit me up.

In other news: The sequel to With Me Now is a real thing now.  I’d be the happiest kid on the block if I can finish it by the end of May.  Stay tuned.