tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34910898662752890442024-03-23T03:18:09.207-07:00Love's Funny SometimesBecause if you take it too seriously, it stops feeling like love.Susan Gee Heinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05876870936432064399noreply@blogger.comBlogger35125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3491089866275289044.post-6255609251394814962023-07-25T07:35:00.000-07:002023-07-25T07:35:07.155-07:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBg2CDsSDVibUqFTr05DztDehTnqGUXs5mv6XNUqnjbMawrZ3_DKaFxkmFUNtoBUzBB2vJorwVW_Vic_8BP7aS8migxiVRroCEiyQ6CobsqMM3lzoUUSs1K5OjQ4Bgbw7bqqrdqzXOyqCtzzViVP7OpK0vvfqyOllVGxHEvNvO7re3k3tZ5-yEzLlBbaw/s2650/9781335468390_SMP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2650" data-original-width="1675" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBg2CDsSDVibUqFTr05DztDehTnqGUXs5mv6XNUqnjbMawrZ3_DKaFxkmFUNtoBUzBB2vJorwVW_Vic_8BP7aS8migxiVRroCEiyQ6CobsqMM3lzoUUSs1K5OjQ4Bgbw7bqqrdqzXOyqCtzzViVP7OpK0vvfqyOllVGxHEvNvO7re3k3tZ5-yEzLlBbaw/s320/9781335468390_SMP.jpg" width="202" /></a></div><br /><b>BURIED THREAT by Susan Gee Heino</b><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b><i>Uncovering the past can be deadly... </i><o:p></o:p></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b>When ex-con Will Viveners finds a decades-old corpse in his newly-inherited
garden, he is forced to let Police Chief Caralee Patterson dig into his dark
past. She’s smart, and a hard worker, but can he trust her? </b></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>He’s desperate to
finish remodeling the house; he needs a quick sale. With a body in the
backyard, though, Caralee puts his progress on hold. Will’s only option is to work
with her to help solve this mystery quickly or risk losing everything. But when
the truth starts to hit too close to home, Will has to decide between turning a
profit or turning back to the faith he once knew. Is he ready to let his new
feelings for Caralee set him free, or will he remain a prisoner of his past?</b><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">I had so much fun writing this! I wrote most of this book last year during the summer months, so I incorporated one of my greatest loves: gardening. What could be more fun than a spooky old secret garden, with gnarled trees and clutching weeds choking out the few scattered remains of once lovely roses and brilliant daylilies? And of course--the scattered remains of some unlucky person!</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Will and Caralee are an unlikely couple--he's an ex-con, and she's a cop. Not just a cop, but she's the Chief of Police! I thought it might be hard to actually bring these two together, but as I got to know them I discovered they aren't as different as I first thought. They want the same things in life, and they both care deeply about family and faith. As they worked together to solve the mystery, their lives and their emotions become entwined in the most heartwarming way. And did I mention there's a puppy? Yeah, a puppy invaded the story and I fell in love with him, too.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">I love a story with twisting plotlines and inter-connected characters, so that's what this is. Most of all, though, I love a story with a happy ending. Will and Caralee do finally get there, but the journey is full of bumps in the road. We wouldn't want it any other way, right?</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">You can find BURIED THREAT on bookshelves at major retailers as well as online. Check out my website for links to buy your own copy in print or digital. Then dig in! <a href="http://www.susangh.com" target="_blank">www.SusanGH.com</a></p>Susan Gee Heinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05876870936432064399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3491089866275289044.post-328579375935015102022-04-05T17:51:00.010-07:002022-04-05T17:57:15.167-07:00Love Him or Lock Him Up? The March Murderer, Part 2<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center; text-decoration-line: underline;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSqUkcKWSvwTRKbAZ0yQ0jiOI4EME_37rnB2oR-unt385hGQk6IhTvklysCD5MJ_ZPpYvgTvp0UQVaUCehV8fJjzCs8H5ubfjvWqmj_ojx7IrZay_ZZ7dbYw_5nnIB3nB6eKB-UUuSKIdoGuYnYQclbD6VJbj5qDqqC_82mL3reo8sWx3tMC23XtQr/s2103/Joy%20as%20Lauren%20Order%206.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2103" data-original-width="1700" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSqUkcKWSvwTRKbAZ0yQ0jiOI4EME_37rnB2oR-unt385hGQk6IhTvklysCD5MJ_ZPpYvgTvp0UQVaUCehV8fJjzCs8H5ubfjvWqmj_ojx7IrZay_ZZ7dbYw_5nnIB3nB6eKB-UUuSKIdoGuYnYQclbD6VJbj5qDqqC_82mL3reo8sWx3tMC23XtQr/s320/Joy%20as%20Lauren%20Order%206.jpg" width="259" /></a></span></div><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 200%;">When we last left our fearless sleuth, Det. Lauren Order was on the scene of a brutal murder and had just fingered the culprit. But was it Joe or was it Byron? How did Lauren know? To find out who she will love and who she'll lock up, here is Part 2 of "The March Murderer." (To read Part 1, just scroll down to my previous blog entry.)</span></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.25in;"><u><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 200%;">The March Murderer, Part Two<o:p></o:p></span></u></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 200%;">Byron Corpus gasped when Lauren singled him out. “How can
you accuse me of such a thing, Lauren? I thought we were friends!”</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 200%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHkYKmcDHawwL42K8ed_3RDrH3irdOW_B6Ie9n0XN4udYNPcV1SwP0IdSlumwSVHGxLWA0CSqG0fdOJ6QBftHLYVLeFgcGN0AM0PD7uPVAtDQsqPbX0-8YIOCottA4eOSAiPYp1ATjza0rGnpzhNSRhr21YnTenIJpAhQOrR6S_sPcCW5bOU-S1Ue6/s846/L%20or%20LU%20March%201%20crop.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="846" data-original-width="528" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHkYKmcDHawwL42K8ed_3RDrH3irdOW_B6Ie9n0XN4udYNPcV1SwP0IdSlumwSVHGxLWA0CSqG0fdOJ6QBftHLYVLeFgcGN0AM0PD7uPVAtDQsqPbX0-8YIOCottA4eOSAiPYp1ATjza0rGnpzhNSRhr21YnTenIJpAhQOrR6S_sPcCW5bOU-S1Ue6/s320/L%20or%20LU%20March%201%20crop.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 200%;"><br /><o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 200%;">Mrs. Biddy clearly took his side. “It can’t be him!
No, look at his boots, they’re clean as a whistle. Mr. Maraschino’s though, they
prove his guilt. Look at all that mud, just like the prints he left on the back
porch.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 200%;">“I got this mud on my boots when I worked here two
days ago!” Joe insisted. “I haven’t set foot in this house since then, not
until just this morning.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 200%;">“I believe you, Joe,” Lauren said. “It was too cold
last night for anyone to get mud on their boots—the ground was frozen solid.
Obviously, those tracks outside were made long before Carrie was murdered.
Besides, the way that dry mud is flaking off your boots, Joe, you would have
left a trail of it all through the house if you’d been here. Carrie cleaned up
after you left two days ago, and her kitchen floor is still spotless… well,
most of it is. Besides, it’s obvious Byron had the better motive and
opportunity to murder his sister.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 200%;">“Why would I kill her?” Byron cried. “Our parents are
gone; she was all I have left!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 200%;">“Exactly, and now that she’s gone, this house is all
yours.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 200%;">“But I didn’t want the house! I can show you the
agreement we drew up. Lauren was keeping the house and she was paying me for
half of it. That’s the arrangement I wanted.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 200%;">“It might be what you wanted at first, then you
realized your share would be a lot less than what your sister would get. She
was doing all the renovations so she could sell the house for much more than
the agreed-upon appraisal, wasn’t she?” Lauren questioned. “You would get half the
old amount, but she’d get everything else. Isn’t that true?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 200%;">Byron’s gaze darted about anxiously. Officer Bell
moved into the doorway, blocking any route of escape.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 200%;">“What do I care about that? I didn’t kill her; she was
my sister!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 200%;">“And she was cheating you. She didn’t even hire you do
the remodeling, did she?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 200%;">He gave an angry snort. “She hired this ex-con to do
the work that I could have done. Can you believe it? Her own brother, and she
made me grovel and beg for crumbs that should have already been mine.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 200%;">“That’s why you killed her, isn’t it? She’d gone to
the bank to get money for Joe. You thought that money should have been yours.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 200%;">“It <i>was</i> my money. And she owed me a lot more
than just $2,000.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 200%;">“But she wouldn’t give it to you,” Lauren said. “So
you took it, didn’t you? She tried to stop you, so you killed her with that
wrench.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 200%;">“I’m not the ex-con here,” Byron snapped. “Why don’t
you accuse him? He threatened my sister! I saw that horrible note he wrote her.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 200%;">Joe quickly defended himself. “It’s true I warned Carrie
that she needed to pay. But it wasn’t a threat. I’ve got to have the money for
my nephew’s medical bills—it’s a matter of life and death!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 200%;">Byron tried to argue, but Lauren shushed him. “It’s
too late, you already admitted your guilt when you mentioned the money. There’s
no way you could have known the amount or seen that invoice before
yesterday—the invoice was only mailed the day before, and Carrie went to the
bank yesterday at noon. It’s obvious that you were here yesterday, Byron. You
saw Joe’s invoice and you took the money.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 200%;">“No! I told you, I couldn’t go anywhere—my car was out
of gas.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 200%;">“Then how did you show up here in your car this
morning?” Lauren asked. “You filled it up because you took that money last
night. That’s why Mrs. Biddy saw you walking away, clomping along in your
two-sizes-too-big workboots with no mud on them. You walked here, and then you
walked home… after you murdered your sister.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 200%;">Byron lunged at Lauren, but Officer Bell and Joe
jumped in to stop him. They barely held him back as he seethed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 200%;">“All right, fine. I did it!” he snarled at her. “But
you’re no goody-two-shoes, Lauren Order. You made a date with an ex-con!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 200%;">“Worse, I almost stepped out with a <i>murderer</i>,” Lauren
said, giving Joe a quick grin. “But I won’t give that ex-con the boot. Think we
could give the movies another try, Joe?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 200%;">Joe smiled back at her and gave a wink as he said,
“Yeah, I think we can do a reboot.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.25in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSdWIio75kLr600RdTNssHdjq8vIV9VajyDQ75G3Ne3nM94SvCEn5jqqf2qPrNTzvpwFAdoGFEtUynCIovD12cAp_dGYSAei_Hv7U1JU4Df4E7R0mzq0J9ItMhyWWQsQr6bffK2A3C6ALSAWu1sPwsnwFjcD3SYPbU9VenQaRqB2suVRCKxgoAvle-/s732/L%20or%20LU%20March%202%20crop.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="732" data-original-width="547" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSdWIio75kLr600RdTNssHdjq8vIV9VajyDQ75G3Ne3nM94SvCEn5jqqf2qPrNTzvpwFAdoGFEtUynCIovD12cAp_dGYSAei_Hv7U1JU4Df4E7R0mzq0J9ItMhyWWQsQr6bffK2A3C6ALSAWu1sPwsnwFjcD3SYPbU9VenQaRqB2suVRCKxgoAvle-/s320/L%20or%20LU%20March%202%20crop.jpg" width="239" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; text-indent: 0.25in;"><b>So how did you do? Did you figure out who gets the love and who gets locked up?</b> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; text-indent: 0.25in;">If you don't want to miss out on any up-coming installments in this FREE Read series, go to my website and sign up for my Reader List. You can continue to play along, and you might just get a chance to win something fun! <b>www.SusanGH.com</b> </span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Susan Gee Heinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05876870936432064399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3491089866275289044.post-4787633666110691082022-03-06T16:04:00.003-08:002022-04-05T17:56:47.623-07:00Love Him or Lock Him Up? "The March Murderer, Part 1"<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgYhjNHtXo8fSyk_Z4HnyI5Cxx0E-Z9Nb5tXHcBHd1-znucErGylKY5xJwM8EmRNof2Kpeqn3qdPyuEfvdagtgciITKDC8UK4PT25FIG9ibMYywnqqyA4WDKWG06OZjyYGQV34vjJMYQBet4em2DW9f59tMebyXiXU86dQ68tnPH9Py5jo_rWtJ_YoK=s705" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="705" data-original-width="538" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgYhjNHtXo8fSyk_Z4HnyI5Cxx0E-Z9Nb5tXHcBHd1-znucErGylKY5xJwM8EmRNof2Kpeqn3qdPyuEfvdagtgciITKDC8UK4PT25FIG9ibMYywnqqyA4WDKWG06OZjyYGQV34vjJMYQBet4em2DW9f59tMebyXiXU86dQ68tnPH9Py5jo_rWtJ_YoK=s320" width="244" /></a></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 16pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">Meet Detective Lauren Order. She's a small-town cop from a small town called Coppers Park. It's an ordinary small town, and Lauren is an ordinary cop. On her way to finding true love, she has to solve a few ordinary small-town mysteries such as lost cats, teenage pranks, parking infractions, and... murder.</span></div><p></p><h2 style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 16pt;">“The Case of the March Murderer”</span></b></h2><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Local real estate agent Carrie
Corpus has been murdered! Can you help Lauren sort through the clues to determine who gets her Love, and who gets Locked Up? Enjoy this short story and through the month of March you can let me know who YOU think the murderer is. If you are correct, you'll be entered into a drawing to win a copy of my newest release, a Love Inspired Cold Case, GRAVE SECRETS.</span></div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;"><br /></span></div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://susanheino.com/love-or-lock-up" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;">Click here to download printable PDF "The Case of the March Murderer"</span></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">Or you can read it here!</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: large;">The truth will be revealed in April 2022.</span></b></i></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.25in;"><u style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">Part
One</span></u></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">It
was an icy March morning when Lauren got her first call of the day. She
shivered as she drove across town, her car sliding on the frozen roadways.
Nothing short of murder would have dragged her out on such a cold day, but
that’s just what this was. A body had been discovered! Local real estate agent,
Carrie Corpus, was murdered in her own home, bludgeoned by some heavy metal
object.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">Lauren
arrived on site. Officer Bell had already secured the scene and informed Lauren
that there were three persons of interest waiting in the other room: Mrs.
Biddy, the victim’s next-door neighbor, and two men, Byron Corpus, the victim’s
brother; and Joe Maraschino, her contractor. Lauren must have shown her
surprise when Officer Bell mentioned their names.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“You
know these people?” he asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">Lauren
nodded. “Two of them, Byron and Joe.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“Close
friends of yours?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“Not
yet,” Lauren said.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEizRfNuNQv9WPh3G5_x4_EFEsuhAEuebKtX-7r5u5VesGEUpYw_8yjJ2XQyxVPwu8KwxFzW0qu68Lekw4kbbePuiNTnIpSRTF1LGcC2BW2rQRhu9REIn5xnemBxgSvPDLEorPBPiC7gBu89W64nmevytRFCFz_6buxhyBMvE-J1yj9_eKxwxYsBMuQX=s1264" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1093" data-original-width="1264" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEizRfNuNQv9WPh3G5_x4_EFEsuhAEuebKtX-7r5u5VesGEUpYw_8yjJ2XQyxVPwu8KwxFzW0qu68Lekw4kbbePuiNTnIpSRTF1LGcC2BW2rQRhu9REIn5xnemBxgSvPDLEorPBPiC7gBu89W64nmevytRFCFz_6buxhyBMvE-J1yj9_eKxwxYsBMuQX=s320" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 16pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">She’d
been hoping to change that, though. She met Byron when he was hired to do a
construction project at the police station. They hit it off and finally scheduled
a date for last night. It was just after noon when he called to cancel, so
she’d asked someone else to go out with her.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">Joe
was a friend from the dog park. His Labradoodle liked play-dates with Lauren’s Weimaraner.
When Byron cancelled, Lauren invited Joe to join her instead. He’d told her he
would, but in the end he never showed. She spent her evening alone, sitting at
the movies with one extra ticket. To make it even worse, she hadn’t realized
this cold front was moving in, so she’d only brought a light jacket.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">This
was not going to be a pleasant investigation.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“Let’s
look at the body first,” she suggested.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">Officer
Bell ushered her to the kitchen.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg99bMohvKeyJqN3fDQTayOxysCgcnWQ0YOKhifHRZIX6hqud_iMgQbpwsMmiJdf-m8JvdlayLkCr2GlszXFoEk106A4UOdpn-w5PQWcyTkEur5PqcHVjBjvuexTXIHzvxY7sFjINywsxM7xYJarFd9NO3fHdWxyoYL9d_Sw_BGvTFu0X4dkWbzmFIj=s1600" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg99bMohvKeyJqN3fDQTayOxysCgcnWQ0YOKhifHRZIX6hqud_iMgQbpwsMmiJdf-m8JvdlayLkCr2GlszXFoEk106A4UOdpn-w5PQWcyTkEur5PqcHVjBjvuexTXIHzvxY7sFjINywsxM7xYJarFd9NO3fHdWxyoYL9d_Sw_BGvTFu0X4dkWbzmFIj=w176-h265" width="176" /></a></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">Carrie
Corpus was lying there, her head crushed by one powerful blow. A dark pool of
blood surrounded her, stark and ominous against the brand-new tile. A mop and
broom leaned in the corner, their recent work negated by the grisly aftermath
of violence.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">Lauren
could easily see that the house was being extensively remodeled. Appliances had
been moved, walls were unpainted, and tools were scattered about. A large pipe
wrench was in plain view.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg2Ss5oD9beTNM0BYQ6JhiUcly4ehQhMznT2GWrYP3kjVTD4fGCgx919CsxX-qk10anEOisPKJv0kuSEOxd8KUGW60NqJYglpJPuUmB2v2AJOHOoGfp20UawCwhY1SY4y4pv20uE8khy_MlxBNN4PG9CQ2a8zxWg4BgZVa_8pOWc6qnAhOVfqsR8L80=s1600" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-indent: 0.25in;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg2Ss5oD9beTNM0BYQ6JhiUcly4ehQhMznT2GWrYP3kjVTD4fGCgx919CsxX-qk10anEOisPKJv0kuSEOxd8KUGW60NqJYglpJPuUmB2v2AJOHOoGfp20UawCwhY1SY4y4pv20uE8khy_MlxBNN4PG9CQ2a8zxWg4BgZVa_8pOWc6qnAhOVfqsR8L80=w293-h194" width="293" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“Is
that the murder weapon?” she asked Officer Bell.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“It’s
got blood on it,” he confirmed. “But no fingerprints.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“Figures,”
she sighed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">Wondering
how the murderer had gained entry, Lauren inspected the back door. It was
locked securely. Turning the latch, she let herself out into the back yard. A
new deck was being built. A set of muddy footprints tracked over it, all the
way to the back door. Work boots with a distinctive star-shaped logo in the
tread. Lauren pulled out her notebook and jotted this down.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEglHmOXsuJpg67-dFKiBExmN0RolJBC_STPvE46RQAR7ek8cgCH9fu-835DM1Oc0vK3j7TfvXXLxlFCZ9zZ5XNi5s4ImrW5g8RrKne1siPDHrla6_Q71JRCXiJbunsMbinxONMEaTpQbJlBLkV41jSCFwSB2gjuaEDVjvb7zUeOJ3NoHT_1Dr6f-YsU=s1600" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEglHmOXsuJpg67-dFKiBExmN0RolJBC_STPvE46RQAR7ek8cgCH9fu-835DM1Oc0vK3j7TfvXXLxlFCZ9zZ5XNi5s4ImrW5g8RrKne1siPDHrla6_Q71JRCXiJbunsMbinxONMEaTpQbJlBLkV41jSCFwSB2gjuaEDVjvb7zUeOJ3NoHT_1Dr6f-YsU=w228-h171" width="228" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">Heading
back inside, she noted that a laptop computer sat open on the kitchen counter.
The victim’s wallet was next to it with several envelopes. Lauren checked the
wallet and found ID, credit cards, and a twenty-dollar bill. Next, she checked
out the envelopes. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">There
was an invoice mailed two days ago from Joe Maraschino for his remodeling work.
It seemed Ms. Corpus was past-due in her payments—the contractor was seriously
out of pocket and none too happy about it. There was a furious note in large,
bold handwriting: <i>“You’ve kept me waiting too long! I warned you what would
happen—it’s life or death now, Carrie. You will pay.”</i> Lauren made a quick
note of that in her book.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">The
next envelope contained legal documents regarding Carrie’s inheritance.
Apparently, this house was part of her parents’ estate. After a quick read, Lauren
learned that the house had gone to both Carrie <i>and</i> her brother. The
brother wanted money instead, so Carrie agreed to pay him half of the home’s
appraised value. Someone had taken red pen and made a brutal circle around the
amount that was listed there. From the looks of the remodeling projects, that
appraisal figure seemed rather low. Lauren also jotted that into her notebook.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">The
third envelope had no writing on it. Inside, Lauren found the bank receipt for
a $2,000 cash withdrawal, dated yesterday at noon. But there was no cash. If
Carrie had gotten $2,000 from the bank, it wasn’t there now. Lauren wasn’t sure
what to write in her notebook for that.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEga-0jm5cpO6UqG_qY2ppxp70rJ5ai792suYsPCnGBHoaDLv4RPzn-JLbEZjj0f8ZUkqp3h69Ap2rXCE9ldzuFKa_29kL9m43HbMmFcq8-6qAE6hW2xRn1Tkguxd2FruGkJDS3FWW3_MhLBVjPHfA4YQ3bmSZob7bHV2vA7dv_bi_hIoY7i8p6hnfed=s3582" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2264" data-original-width="3582" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEga-0jm5cpO6UqG_qY2ppxp70rJ5ai792suYsPCnGBHoaDLv4RPzn-JLbEZjj0f8ZUkqp3h69Ap2rXCE9ldzuFKa_29kL9m43HbMmFcq8-6qAE6hW2xRn1Tkguxd2FruGkJDS3FWW3_MhLBVjPHfA4YQ3bmSZob7bHV2vA7dv_bi_hIoY7i8p6hnfed=w430-h272" width="430" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">She
needed some answers. Hopefully, she’d find those waiting in the next room.
Signaling Officer Bell, she headed for the formal living room where everyone
was gathered.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“I’m
the one who found her,” the older woman on the sofa began. “Eleanor Biddy. I
live next door. Every morning at 7:15 I take little Buttons out for his morning
walk.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“Buttons?”
Lauren asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“My
dog,” Mrs. Biddy explained. “He’s the cutest thing! Each day, I put on my
walking shoes, dress Buttons in his sweater, and we go on our walk. Carrie
waves to us from her window. On our way back, she comes out to give Buttons a
cookie. It’s like a ritual for us! But when she wasn’t there waving at us, and
then when she didn’t come out with a cookie… I just knew something was wrong. I
was afraid something like this might happen… the sort of people she’s been
working with lately.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“What
do you mean?” Lauren asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“That
contractor!” Mrs. Biddy said, glaring daggers at Joe. “Oh yes, I’ve heard him
arguing with her about money. Well, when I didn’t see her today I went around
to peek in the back window. His footprints are all over out there! Then I saw
her. Just terrible! I called the police right away.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“Thank
you for calling it in, ma’am,” Officer Bell said. “We appreciate your
vigilance.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">Mrs.
Biddy beamed. “I don’t usually go around snooping that way, but after last
night, I guess I was worried.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“What
happened last night?” Lauren asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">Mrs.
Biddy shook her head sadly. “I took Buttons out for his nighttime potty. It was
right at 10:30—the same time, every night. That’s when I saw him.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“Saw
who?” Lauren questioned.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“A
man. A man was walking up the sidewalk, away from Carrie’s house.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhGfNNbvFimYFaC4CJDac6HzneMl8NeTO2nVTkRXXs2XGZ0HOzJDgKOJa1xfr0buzDbSNeiJ3iskdmZNBmu4PQxlJE5i6shAPl1TFpLk0Z4yjdCQE90KzQHbn-7RRDvbbEKPmblAaytX4IQmKYCDio-xeRVd-Xsu3iS74M_hFjcf8PZWMr7vV2yIVRC=s1017" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1017" data-original-width="682" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhGfNNbvFimYFaC4CJDac6HzneMl8NeTO2nVTkRXXs2XGZ0HOzJDgKOJa1xfr0buzDbSNeiJ3iskdmZNBmu4PQxlJE5i6shAPl1TFpLk0Z4yjdCQE90KzQHbn-7RRDvbbEKPmblAaytX4IQmKYCDio-xeRVd-Xsu3iS74M_hFjcf8PZWMr7vV2yIVRC=s320" width="215" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“You
saw a man leaving her house?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“Well,
I couldn’t be sure he was leaving her house. He was already on the main
sidewalk when I saw him, walking away. But where else could he have come from?
I would have seen him if he walked past my house, and there weren’t any cars on
the street.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“So
you think he came from her house,” Lauren said, noting that in her book. “And
can you describe him?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“He was walking away, so I didn’t see his face. Plus, he had his coat pulled up
tight around him. It got so cold last night, really freezing! With that heavy
coat, I couldn’t even tell if he was a hefty man or thin. But I do remember his
footsteps.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“His
footsteps?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“Yes,
he was clomping quite loudly. The man wore heavy boots—workman’s boots. He must
have been the murderer! Don’t you think?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">Officer
Bell shot a quick glance at Lauren. She nodded but didn’t comment. It was too
soon to draw any conclusions.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“I
guess we’ll find out, Mrs. Biddy,” Lauren said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">The
older woman smiled, then reached over to pat Byron’s shoulder. “I hope so, Miss
Order, for poor Byron’s sake. I’m sure this has been quite an awful shock for
him.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“I’m
sure it has,” Lauren agreed, finally facing her former date. “I’m very sorry
for your loss, Byron. Can you tell me what brought you out here this morning?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg41d9iyu0lpl9Px-kgPI6aW5PfMTVItDZVE8dvKdG1B6ynT60j4YusWVhsevQhUmniPLaGVP2oAUG7SadAWV2jQEr7WVJUdXWOlhmDBu4ZgK16KCaZBoLZ4bMeAoqYKn9WNdmzzyz31-nlG7IEDTaSUl7RaiJefVX6R-XCntu12hAF5RGi-bj1ybmc=s846" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="846" data-original-width="528" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg41d9iyu0lpl9Px-kgPI6aW5PfMTVItDZVE8dvKdG1B6ynT60j4YusWVhsevQhUmniPLaGVP2oAUG7SadAWV2jQEr7WVJUdXWOlhmDBu4ZgK16KCaZBoLZ4bMeAoqYKn9WNdmzzyz31-nlG7IEDTaSUl7RaiJefVX6R-XCntu12hAF5RGi-bj1ybmc=s320" width="200" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“Carrie
asked me to come.” His voice cracked with emotion. “I mean… yesterday she did. She
told me to come pick up my money.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“Your
money?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“She’s
buying my share of the house. Yesterday she called to say she had the first
installment for me. So, I came over this morning. The police were already here…
it’s just awful.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“Yes,
it is. Please bear with me, I have to ask a few questions to get the timeline
figured out. When did you talk to her yesterday?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“Just
after lunch. I should have come over last night, but I had other plans. I mean…
something else came up.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“So
you weren’t here yesterday? At all?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“No!
As I said, I had other plans.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“And
what were those other plans, Byron? I know the plans you <i>did</i> have, but
you cancelled those. Why?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">He
hung his head sheepishly. “I’m sorry, Lauren. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I’m
broke. My car ran out of gas so I couldn’t take you to the movies. That’s why I
had to cancel.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">Lauren
eyed him. His faded shirt and frayed jeans supported his claim of poverty. His
footwear, however, told a different story.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“It
looks like you were able to afford new boots recently,” she commented. “That’s
a good brand, and there’s not even a smudge on them.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">There
was a familiar logo, though—<i>a five-pointed star</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“These?
I found them at the thrift store just a few days ago,” Byron claimed. “They’re
two sizes too big, but I’m happy to have them. My only other pair of shoes fell
apart last week!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“I
see. But that doesn’t explain where you were last night,” she insisted.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">Byron
shrugged. “I was alone at my home, as I told you. No gas in my car.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“No
one to provide an alibi, either.” Lauren sighed, then turned to Joe. “And what
about you? Where were you last night, Joe?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiM6b5C-oJ3YlQVQHFqTaU4w9eYeW6R3fsjaowAXn-LVlzsTapmRNEhaWPE-9ECigcvKTDtf9j3xx12BxWYH-KPyPJIaRRN6oWiJHB5hTMWhzBNprRL780eUCFKrSARk93oNJ-9tWaU6N4pqdFasuaHagilB4S_iyQEz06hsLust1GE_AzQy0zVlRbF=s732" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="732" data-original-width="547" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiM6b5C-oJ3YlQVQHFqTaU4w9eYeW6R3fsjaowAXn-LVlzsTapmRNEhaWPE-9ECigcvKTDtf9j3xx12BxWYH-KPyPJIaRRN6oWiJHB5hTMWhzBNprRL780eUCFKrSARk93oNJ-9tWaU6N4pqdFasuaHagilB4S_iyQEz06hsLust1GE_AzQy0zVlRbF=s320" width="239" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">He
shifted nervously in his chair, crossing and uncrossing his legs. Lauren
couldn’t help but recognize the same star-shaped logo on his heavy work boots.
His, however, were not clean and new like Byron’s. Joe’s boots were caked with
dried mud. Clumps and dust littered the area where Joe had been sitting.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“I’m
really sorry, Lauren,” he said. “I was happy you called me. I’m not used to
having a day off so it was a nice distraction. But not even a half hour after I
talked to you, my brother called with a family emergency.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">Mrs.
Biddy clicked her tongue. “We’ve all heard about <i>your</i> family, Mr.
Maraschino. What was the emergency? Did someone need you to help rob the bank?
Make someone an offer they can’t refuse?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“I’m
not involved in that stuff!” Joe grumbled. “Not anymore. Two years in prison
straightened me out.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“What
was this family emergency, Joe?” Lauren asked, ignoring Mrs. Biddy’s sneer.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“My
brother and I run an honest business,” Joe defended. “Despite all the rumors,
we gave up the old Maraschino ways. This emergency was my ten-year-old nephew
being rushed to the hospital! He’s been sick and we’ve struggled to pay for his
treatments.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“That’s
why you missed our date?” Lauren asked. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">Joe
nodded. “I was so worried that I jumped in the car and rushed to the hospital,
leaving my phone at home. By the time I even remembered our date, Lauren, it
was too late. I didn’t have your phone number with me to call you. I’m sorry,
but my family needed me. I stayed at the hospital all night.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“Your
family can vouch for your whereabouts? You were with them all night?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“Well,
not really. My brother and his wife were in the room with my nephew. I slept in
a chair out in the lobby. Alone.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“I
see,” Lauren said, watching him closely. “So you could have left the hospital
at any time. And I assume as Carrie’s contractor, you have a key to her house?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“So
what? Her brother probably has one, too.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">Lauren
glanced over at Byron. He gave her a reticent nod. Obviously locked doors would
not be a deterrent for either of these two suspects.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“All
right, Joe,” she sighed. “Why are you here this morning?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“I
came to get my money,” he replied. “My nephew is doing better today, so I left
the hospital and went home bright and early. I checked my phone and found a
message from Carrie yesterday saying she had a payment for me and wanted me to
come finish the job. I refused to work yesterday because she hadn’t paid me, so
this was good news. I put on my work clothes and came right away. I got here at
the same time Byron drove up. I almost took off when I saw the police here, but
they told us what happened. It’s really tragic.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“It
is, but I’m glad your nephew is doing better,” Lauren said. “And I’m sorry you
both missed the movie yesterday.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“I
hope you’ll give me a raincheck,” Byron said. “I’d love to reschedule our date…
once all this has settled down, of course.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“And
I hope you’ll be willing to give me another chance, too,” Joe said quickly. “I
was really looking forward to getting to know you better, Lauren.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">Mrs.
Biddy interrupted the men with loud throat-clearing. “I say! Miss Order, how
can you even think about dating at a time like this? Poor Ms. Corpus has been
killed!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“She’s
right,” Officer Bell inserted. “Ms. Corpus is dead and there’s a high
probability that one of these three people is a murderer!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“I
am not a murderer,” Mrs. Biddy declared firmly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“Of
course you’re not, Mrs. Biddy,” Lauren assured her. “The murderer is one of my
two friends here, I’m sad to say.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">Officer
Bell seemed perplexed. “If you’re so sure it’s one of them, why are you
planning to date them?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">“Oh,
I’m only going to date one of these guys,” Lauren said with a smile. “The other
one has a date with a jail cell. Officer Bell, arrest him!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">With
a confident flourish, Lauren pointed directly at the murderer.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiagt6uwViPtbGvk6PNsN_Hnd0eF0RRT9Q9EldagugdLL9tDxt8YEy3u3fURWTY9P97gkA2zpMkydN3AvOm576KB116R79JBgyfkzIFE3zjxcHyp7bIAOZsJl1N0Ryb0SuxnTrRB7Zz4GgRRUFUQFRnhGeW9ovx-eBm52HpTz7OQkxp5Qb1y82Qu5Sw=s2103" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2103" data-original-width="1700" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiagt6uwViPtbGvk6PNsN_Hnd0eF0RRT9Q9EldagugdLL9tDxt8YEy3u3fURWTY9P97gkA2zpMkydN3AvOm576KB116R79JBgyfkzIFE3zjxcHyp7bIAOZsJl1N0Ryb0SuxnTrRB7Zz4GgRRUFUQFRnhGeW9ovx-eBm52HpTz7OQkxp5Qb1y82Qu5Sw=s320" width="259" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><b style="text-indent: 0.25in;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">Who
do YOU think Lauren will Love, and who will she Lock Up?</span></i></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 16pt; text-align: center;">Send your list of suspects to </span><a href="mailto:susan.heino@gmail.com" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">susan.heino@gmail.com</span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 16pt; text-align: center;"> . If you are
correct, you will be entered in a drawing to receive a signed copy of <i>Grave
Secrets</i> by Susan Gee Heino. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 16pt; text-align: center;">Be sure to include your name and contact
info along with who gets the Love and who gets Locked up!</span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 16pt;">Stay tuned for the exciting conclusion:</span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center;"><b style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 21.3333px;">The Case of the March Murderer: Part 2</b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 21.3333px;"><i>(If you don't want to miss Part 2, visit my website and join my Reader List if you don't already receive my infrequent emails!)</i></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 21.3333px;"><a href="http://www.SusanGH.com">www.SusanGH.com</a></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 21.3333px;"><br /></span></span></p>
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<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>Susan Gee Heinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05876870936432064399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3491089866275289044.post-32721715680853299332022-02-27T09:44:00.002-08:002022-02-27T10:31:23.465-08:00A Birthday Brag...<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj7FxDjQ1Zn7V0S9Ptmnjai-Bkzt3do-t3J9QWFtPjpIgOVIxbpHzoVUVhRBsrmvqCeFGkJjnVWiOx-xlpduG9wwJqTZPHgd7crazaGSRvGjPt4MQXZLS-ZIEprsXlizyGlih7CRjtcc3ErBWG5biUIwZDu24KxZU6fwZNW3Eon3rd_dFqdYTJ4476C=s2650" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2650" data-original-width="1675" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj7FxDjQ1Zn7V0S9Ptmnjai-Bkzt3do-t3J9QWFtPjpIgOVIxbpHzoVUVhRBsrmvqCeFGkJjnVWiOx-xlpduG9wwJqTZPHgd7crazaGSRvGjPt4MQXZLS-ZIEprsXlizyGlih7CRjtcc3ErBWG5biUIwZDu24KxZU6fwZNW3Eon3rd_dFqdYTJ4476C=s320" width="202" /></a></div><br />It’s my birthday! So I’m going to brag about my up-coming
New Release. Isn’t this cover just wonderful?<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">GRAVE SECRETS<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Available March 29, 2022<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">from Harlequin Love Inspired, Cold Case Series<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt;">The key to an unsolved mystery…</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br />
<em><span style="background: white; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Lies buried
in the past.</span></em><br />
<br />
<span style="background: white;">When the body of a missing teenager is found
buried near a small Kentucky church, Detective TJ Douglas must track down the
killer. Lawyer Carlie Fenton’s late father is the prime suspect and, determined
to clear his name, she offers to join the investigation. Can TJ trust Carlie to
help find the truth—even if digging into the past uncovers secrets powerful
enough to shatter her world?</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My readers know that I generally write books set in the
English Regency time period, the early part of the 1800s. But surprise! I’m
changing my game just a bit.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In 2022 I will have two books out with Harlequin Love
Inspired. These inspirational stories will focus on contemporary life in
America. My characters wrestle with the same things many of us do: juggling
family commitments and careers, overcoming past hurts, growing in faith, and falling
in love. On top of this, my characters have something else to worry about:
murder!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Grave Secrets introduces us to Carlie Fenton and TJ Douglas.
Carlie is a preacher’s daughter who went off to the big city and became a
lawyer. Disillusioned and questioning her faith, she returns to her small town
in hopes of re-grounding herself. When she literally stumbles onto the scene of
a decade-old murder, she finds herself sparring with the new head detective in
town. Detective Douglas is no slouch—he sets to work and right away his
investigation leads him straight to Carlie’s father. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But Carlie knows her father is innocent—how
can she prove the detective wrong? Despite her growing feelings for TJ, she’s
got to save a good man’s legacy.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">GRAVE SECRETS is available for pre-order from your favorite
booksellers. For more info about this and all my other books, head to my
website:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><a href="http://www.susanheino.com/">www.SusanHeino.com</a><span class="MsoHyperlink"> .</span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>And be on the lookout for fun stuff coming up in March
2022! I’ve got a new Free Read to offer and an exciting new Give Away contest!<o:p></o:p></b></p><br />Susan Gee Heinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05876870936432064399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3491089866275289044.post-32335444313154390002021-07-01T10:03:00.000-07:002021-07-01T10:03:26.970-07:00Best Worst Vacation Ever!<p> </p><table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="MsoNormalTable" style="background: #FAFAFA; border-collapse: collapse; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 0in 0in; mso-yfti-tbllook: 1184; width: 100%px;">
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<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.4pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-outline-level: 1; text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #202020; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 19.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 18.0pt;">Vacation season is upon us. Some
vacations go exactly as planned, and some do not. Here is the exciting
tale of one that did NOT.<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.4pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-outline-level: 1; text-align: center;"><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQqa3weFC8oV-VPUKGZ3X4TpAgqd3Fv7eZLUC0QX-JoPfneDeCSxowtzm3GNoAyt8R4hA37-8TVANuV-hzvXZiTaaWZDKuKSVphgLGThKSIuvWYcsW4sjmi90ZJwU_I5O3twOlMof613w/s2048/IMG_20180717_124123000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQqa3weFC8oV-VPUKGZ3X4TpAgqd3Fv7eZLUC0QX-JoPfneDeCSxowtzm3GNoAyt8R4hA37-8TVANuV-hzvXZiTaaWZDKuKSVphgLGThKSIuvWYcsW4sjmi90ZJwU_I5O3twOlMof613w/s320/IMG_20180717_124123000.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="color: #202020; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 19.5pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It all began on a peaceful day in July of 2018...</span></b></div></b><p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24.4pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-outline-level: 1; text-align: center;"></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Ah, </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Michigan! I was born there and have wonderful memories of summer vacations there with all my family. There are some truly beautiful places in Michigan! I thought it was high time my kids got to experience them, so I crafted a route and booked our hotels. It was going to be awesome!</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Then I realized transportation would be an issue. My car at the time was teeny tiny and my husband’s car had been acting squirrely; neither of these would work as a Family Vacation Vehicle. So we opted to drive our daughter Joy’s precious car. Her dad bought it for her three years ago when she was sixteen. It was super cool—a zoomy Dodge Charger that used to be a sheriff’s chase car! Just what every teenager needs, right? But there was a huge trunk and enough leg room for all four of us, so we christened it our road-trip wagon. Joy called it Penelope.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisyvd0a57YLeZFHLQk5_WLEE_j71iJEhmoBIWtPOXqyPZrXfKf08w3A-KmX1S4VwIeHlxKYntS821EFK8F2nkuYoes-fYfZsEfjvu9sUIFnDyxNt9yrANegpXngMdn8Cxdu-cHXR5nUcA/s907/2015-04-11+11.18.27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisyvd0a57YLeZFHLQk5_WLEE_j71iJEhmoBIWtPOXqyPZrXfKf08w3A-KmX1S4VwIeHlxKYntS821EFK8F2nkuYoes-fYfZsEfjvu9sUIFnDyxNt9yrANegpXngMdn8Cxdu-cHXR5nUcA/s907/2015-04-11+11.18.27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxY8lL0lSk7AZupg4sr95uD2dzx2s7bh9C1zenHhOXcxyfsdJ-hMhFv0_IujBPLIXM0hmIZ1frkkRaodKzo3binn-Jsuxk6CsHsJjnulGYL6RSSCWqMxpkSROcxJ_mosRb_DTzAdJ9Ko8//" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1032" data-original-width="2048" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxY8lL0lSk7AZupg4sr95uD2dzx2s7bh9C1zenHhOXcxyfsdJ-hMhFv0_IujBPLIXM0hmIZ1frkkRaodKzo3binn-Jsuxk6CsHsJjnulGYL6RSSCWqMxpkSROcxJ_mosRb_DTzAdJ9Ko8//" width="320" /></a></div></div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">We headed North. Michigan is just as beautiful as I remember! We went up to the Traverse City area and I showed the kids some of the old farms and cherry orchards that used to belong to my family. My kids got to swim in lakes that I used to swim in as a kid. We bought fruit at a roadside stand from people who recognized my maiden name and claimed to be distant relatives, and we had dinner with cousin of mine whom I haven’t seen since middle school. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZiTyYpbZ4_5Yb0l4UqGkwrcPNjSRzLssf2Met5ASW0ykgirD783Vd7ryPZI6QJoekOmKIe4M3htOM_bUgoilC3KQ67uHcFDzgR7Nnmrb8Lq-11zQTwg5L5SXVYriRw4x2lfqR96JtmnE/s2048/IMG_20180718_103927454_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZiTyYpbZ4_5Yb0l4UqGkwrcPNjSRzLssf2Met5ASW0ykgirD783Vd7ryPZI6QJoekOmKIe4M3htOM_bUgoilC3KQ67uHcFDzgR7Nnmrb8Lq-11zQTwg5L5SXVYriRw4x2lfqR96JtmnE/s320/IMG_20180718_103927454_HDR.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzgj_qMjMTQOoBgmCZ8MKATc-2QjgjPUi-JHVXa21OzHRNl4aSZrhBdIUgFaInLd6usI6Nrn60N-1uOV0Y-wdRiHMUeY1q-fzPbmZAF8H1GtMn3qPiFnbtPhsrnZvyU7EI2nqNhRQNxB4/s2048/IMG_20180718_111555098.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzgj_qMjMTQOoBgmCZ8MKATc-2QjgjPUi-JHVXa21OzHRNl4aSZrhBdIUgFaInLd6usI6Nrn60N-1uOV0Y-wdRiHMUeY1q-fzPbmZAF8H1GtMn3qPiFnbtPhsrnZvyU7EI2nqNhRQNxB4/s320/IMG_20180718_111555098.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieSACatR0iZxxFEHRToamlu5ffgwNnuEM0hIggBs6dIFA_1KtuoMiTUQ6YnYhR-ZQDGHpCxLdedILhmGbtuLjtzuMBYv_Y4SEsH3KR44FgnqNPlLCHluuT9NEHmjP9JQ_ngGLxYHriNkk/s2048/IMG_20180718_104308707.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieSACatR0iZxxFEHRToamlu5ffgwNnuEM0hIggBs6dIFA_1KtuoMiTUQ6YnYhR-ZQDGHpCxLdedILhmGbtuLjtzuMBYv_Y4SEsH3KR44FgnqNPlLCHluuT9NEHmjP9JQ_ngGLxYHriNkk/s320/IMG_20180718_104308707.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">We climbed giant sand dunes (my kids declared them “sand mountains”) and played in the water of two different Great Lakes. We hopped on the ferry and went to Mackinac Island to be fascinated by the horse carriages, the beautiful homes, the historic fort, the made-right-in-front-of-you fudge, and the exorbitant prices for everything.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTgisUiBzPzfG-Hz2c45zuU-7Wahi4Xu4XMhu1gVyWUHl9zYRHHDtk4H-tPQMQ-L75f8zsSKk1HSgKUDTESIxPR2rWMDK9OrL0VbDHPbxcYD28fSRpahOg-yPvZdAArleyxK7erfVBCgA/s2048/IMG_20180717_143632000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTgisUiBzPzfG-Hz2c45zuU-7Wahi4Xu4XMhu1gVyWUHl9zYRHHDtk4H-tPQMQ-L75f8zsSKk1HSgKUDTESIxPR2rWMDK9OrL0VbDHPbxcYD28fSRpahOg-yPvZdAArleyxK7erfVBCgA/s320/IMG_20180717_143632000.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS27OBQ_y29hKB4v5k6vFqnrDvdNq0qdLvIQGYY4lz6Vyf74yEX4ShXDyO7Cjeiqd6Orauh16uqxYdgOuVayDXDs2-4SDRslvVpuS_9pfDXcDjIzMcMji1E54UMuGkDTxRiyDkzZwaYcQ/s2048/IMG_20180717_113213809.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS27OBQ_y29hKB4v5k6vFqnrDvdNq0qdLvIQGYY4lz6Vyf74yEX4ShXDyO7Cjeiqd6Orauh16uqxYdgOuVayDXDs2-4SDRslvVpuS_9pfDXcDjIzMcMji1E54UMuGkDTxRiyDkzZwaYcQ/s320/IMG_20180717_113213809.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvkbs0w4ZOFic1sj2W4hPNso3sLDObR72XuyVi7mMnUpQBHSdZMubP2fFmWiRrhmTB6bvVKCFyWOwjExL38s1mKK0YZB161-lQi8ShLzvqq3eYRQEm6ApWQoy9AI1n_yeP9jFM7uXHWfc/s2048/IMG_20180718_122404027_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvkbs0w4ZOFic1sj2W4hPNso3sLDObR72XuyVi7mMnUpQBHSdZMubP2fFmWiRrhmTB6bvVKCFyWOwjExL38s1mKK0YZB161-lQi8ShLzvqq3eYRQEm6ApWQoy9AI1n_yeP9jFM7uXHWfc/s320/IMG_20180718_122404027_HDR.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ-FVYvRS103Zh67trJOwbLEIeRwm70MizIu6XrimgwJ3-Lbwv4N0pnqZoJeAOpq_z9YVVrpoMuA7IGPfNBp77343OeQUfR3u-0vS3YZfKEcIZC7__MQ8tL436FdY-rG9ptEme3uX0uxc/s2048/IMG_20180718_150650994.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ-FVYvRS103Zh67trJOwbLEIeRwm70MizIu6XrimgwJ3-Lbwv4N0pnqZoJeAOpq_z9YVVrpoMuA7IGPfNBp77343OeQUfR3u-0vS3YZfKEcIZC7__MQ8tL436FdY-rG9ptEme3uX0uxc/s320/IMG_20180718_150650994.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXwzjRq6ZWaQldiljrt1anEh2uUwo1dMRMZL_86RscMG4GN25N6a2wdfZokotqxWMSXYUCqd_eFA4Ymtpw9s4wTC3uVkXMJ2T4Uhh0TauJTphy12xXyqapMrSYIRCOb2LeNgdQ1VDOR6E/s2048/IMG_20180718_161637586.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXwzjRq6ZWaQldiljrt1anEh2uUwo1dMRMZL_86RscMG4GN25N6a2wdfZokotqxWMSXYUCqd_eFA4Ymtpw9s4wTC3uVkXMJ2T4Uhh0TauJTphy12xXyqapMrSYIRCOb2LeNgdQ1VDOR6E/s320/IMG_20180718_161637586.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /><div style="text-align: center;">The first days of our vacation were wonderful. I started not feeling well out on the Island and was glad that we were on the way to our last stop—a short stay at Frankenmuth with history, shopping, putt-putt golf, and the most kitschy surroundings imaginable. It was just a few hours drive there, a straight shot south on I-75. We had stuck to the schedule and would settle into our touristy Bavarian-themed hotel there right on time. I was planning to let Jack and the kids go explore on their own while I went to bed early—I assumed my headache, stomachache, and overall yuckiness was just the result of too much fudge.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">It wasn’t. And we never made it to Frankenmuth. We made it to the freeway interchange at Gaylord.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">While stopping for gas, we had a freak accident. An ill-placed embankment was cleverly hidden in shadows. We didn’t see it. The car hit the curb/wall/murderous-ledge at around 10-15 miles per hour, but it was just enough to destroy it. The car, not the ledge. The impact crushed the oil pan, punctured the radiator, and sheered off the very important bars that are supposed to hold the engine in place. We still have no idea how so much damage could be inflicted by such a minor bump, but it did. My daughter’s precious car—her darling Penelope—was dead.</div></span><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOkmMMJY5uZuMyRMPhDu7KVsQSfpqb78HvmGAbyN23DHnZ_dRn7EfNPDpvgHmvctJHB1mgvF6JTDO0qAX99vPmop8l6xQYfqOv3iKGjW51eq9DsMOholPlwcoS4hP5yLfjhiY7OGNJ_Uw/s2048/IMG_20180718_201541057_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOkmMMJY5uZuMyRMPhDu7KVsQSfpqb78HvmGAbyN23DHnZ_dRn7EfNPDpvgHmvctJHB1mgvF6JTDO0qAX99vPmop8l6xQYfqOv3iKGjW51eq9DsMOholPlwcoS4hP5yLfjhiY7OGNJ_Uw/s320/IMG_20180718_201541057_HDR.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfoV3qzcObpyCQXAc7LPA4w8m9mXR5gmPYQzd_aQZD_Xd-gZJSlb52qKO2wyTy5Bn9JINX7jeJ0UF-iKoS97a0mG5pdRH_cR-_02dT6tuEl4Owpmf_3F4syKgIF4gauMuUHcZok8DGYyo/s2048/IMG_20180718_201619538_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfoV3qzcObpyCQXAc7LPA4w8m9mXR5gmPYQzd_aQZD_Xd-gZJSlb52qKO2wyTy5Bn9JINX7jeJ0UF-iKoS97a0mG5pdRH_cR-_02dT6tuEl4Owpmf_3F4syKgIF4gauMuUHcZok8DGYyo/s320/IMG_20180718_201619538_HDR.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">My husband was devastated. He’d been driving and felt as if he’d killed our daughter’s best friend. I felt sick and miserable—after all, I’d been the one navigating as we pulled out of the service station and I should have seen the evil concrete barrier. My daughter, bless her, did her best to hide her sorrow, and my son, God love him, pretended that he never had wanted to stay at that hotel in Frankemuth with its gaming arcade and indoor water park.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: center;">And so began the epic struggle to locate a tow truck, find a mechanic—after hours on a weekend, of course—and decide what could be done. The tow driver told us he thought things looked bad, the guy who owned the garage confirmed the worst. The cost of fixing the car would be well over the value of it, and it would likely take weeks to even locate the parts that we’d need. My husband crawled under the car and did hours of his own online research into parts and repair and decided that the mechanic was honest—the car was a loss. The best we could do was sell it to the garage and let it become their problem. Our problem would be to find another way home.</div></span><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQt8C3lmBp8MT-u1oYCAvdFzxcQVYnRy-5D_gjqsorDJYzW_EUxnxeiuBL6OIt9vjUVCQ58zlytSs2sEeOz4vlEeCw7SfooK4XHPjXmX_bdhxbZjvwgukynKCH97JFPKkXKiXQeySkXug/s2048/IMG_20180718_201928533.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQt8C3lmBp8MT-u1oYCAvdFzxcQVYnRy-5D_gjqsorDJYzW_EUxnxeiuBL6OIt9vjUVCQ58zlytSs2sEeOz4vlEeCw7SfooK4XHPjXmX_bdhxbZjvwgukynKCH97JFPKkXKiXQeySkXug/s320/IMG_20180718_201928533.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I’ve been told that was an epic story of its own, but I truly don’t recall. The last thing I remember is the very pretty 18-year-old daughter of the garage owner piling us and all our worldly possessions into her daddy’s giant Ram truck and driving us around Gaylord to find the one and only hotel room that was available that night. I remember the kids ooing and ahhing over the giant hotel suite we finally found, dragging all our stuff into it, and from then on things get a bit murky. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I spent the next hours/days sicker than a dog, hugging the porcelain font, shaking with fever, and sucking ice chips to stay hydrated. We were in that hotel for more than two days and I don’t remember any of them.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd51j6yn3_otTaz6h2-ji7212s3icxCcSobeNEw3xxcXGi7sp5Yh00gS6QtW_MVhLu08RlrhzJp_vXf4ZMigYDTigLaGv39B9EQ2Xt-mJ0iIr3qgKxy4xA24wfKEaFwXtJUhfooQ2UnJc/s2048/IMG_20180718_213634098.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd51j6yn3_otTaz6h2-ji7212s3icxCcSobeNEw3xxcXGi7sp5Yh00gS6QtW_MVhLu08RlrhzJp_vXf4ZMigYDTigLaGv39B9EQ2Xt-mJ0iIr3qgKxy4xA24wfKEaFwXtJUhfooQ2UnJc/s320/IMG_20180718_213634098.jpg" /></a></div></span></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">When the fever finally broke and I "came to," my son hugged me furiously and said he’d been pretty sure I was going to die. I discovered another man in our hotel suite, too. My husband’s best buddy had come up from Ohio to drive us all home--he's the nicest guy and truly a lifesaver. No matter where my husband looked, he had failed to find a single rental car, van, truck, or horse carriage anywhere in Michigan. It was the height of vacation season and they were all rented. Of course.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Long story short (too late!) we made it home, with all of our things. Somehow our friend managed to cram us all into his SUV and he drove us back to the Buckeye state. I have vague memories of sleeping in a strange vehicle, propped up with a pillow. Or maybe they put the pillow over my head to keep me from breathing on them for the long drive. Luckily, I was well beyond the puking stage; there was nothing for me to puke that hadn’t already been puked. It took several days before I could eat or drink anything after all that. Somehow, nobody else got the least bit sick, so I still don’t know what on earth kind of illness I had. Some freakish Michigan bacteria, maybe? On the plus side, I lost nearly ten pounds and we have a Vacation-From-Hell story to talk about for years to come.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">After a couple weeks we found a new car for Joy and helped her purchase it. She opted for something cute but practical and named this one Oswald. It will never pass for a police chase car, but it’s economical on gas and she won’t have any trouble parking in the crowded lots on campus this year. I slowly recovered and got all the laundry caught up, and life got back to normal. I have a feeling that Michigan mechanic was eventually able to fix up Penelope and maybe his pretty young daughter had as much fun with her as Joy did. I’m okay with that.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVC15H8PQp4PNv9hJZHyXqg2sfO9ziMISPVsCBLU5KC08z7_zhE0FyxHY3NUGcozb3QDGRQTPfG-5DnMt3Lz2R4Og7qzNu_KMR9JAYcCnEvjdAW7c1-iCeNRZnGzF1iYaseS51y6otkyE/s1920/IMG_20180718_150241212_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVC15H8PQp4PNv9hJZHyXqg2sfO9ziMISPVsCBLU5KC08z7_zhE0FyxHY3NUGcozb3QDGRQTPfG-5DnMt3Lz2R4Og7qzNu_KMR9JAYcCnEvjdAW7c1-iCeNRZnGzF1iYaseS51y6otkyE/s320/IMG_20180718_150241212_HDR.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">This will always be a vacation that we remember, and I’m okay with that, too. The whole point of family vacations is to be with each other and make memories. We certainly accomplished that goal with this trip!</div></span><p></p><b><span style="color: #202020; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 18.0pt;"><br />
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</tbody></table>Susan Gee Heinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05876870936432064399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3491089866275289044.post-90050046835068859252018-04-12T04:42:00.000-07:002021-07-01T10:04:56.699-07:00Happenings for May 2018<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Cover Reveal!</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg06IhgUw3fXA-w6uGoOMGA_nVj-jQqGVqKp2eXGVh59bgMf9vp0Nprl7cNDHqIBt73ZHrzdDAAHYqRZNhsB_NJHGqn_z3HTHMtYbPg_kzSUTtFAyxcUJjGao-_6sbjFfyas-ebZKj-4jY/s1600/SLH-ebookDEMO2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1216" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg06IhgUw3fXA-w6uGoOMGA_nVj-jQqGVqKp2eXGVh59bgMf9vp0Nprl7cNDHqIBt73ZHrzdDAAHYqRZNhsB_NJHGqn_z3HTHMtYbPg_kzSUTtFAyxcUJjGao-_6sbjFfyas-ebZKj-4jY/s320/SLH-ebookDEMO2.jpg" width="210" /></a></div>
Sorry, you'll have to wait until September for the book, but you can join me in oooing and ahhing over the cover right now. Isn't it pretty? Rogue of the Greenwood is a sort-of Regency version of Robin Hood. Let me tell you, I've been having some fun writing this one! No spoilers, but I can't wait for you all to meet Sir Robert Locksley and his neighboring nemesis, Miss Marianne Maidland. Sparks--and arrows!--will definitely fly.<br />
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<b>Making a Public Spectacle of Myself</b><br />
On May 12, 2018, I'll be speaking at the Richwood-North Union Public Library in Richwood, Ohio. This is my home turf, so I look forward to lots of laughter and some rousing Q & A. If you are in the Central Ohio area, please come out and join us at 11:30 am! <br />
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<a href="https://www.richwoodlibrary.org/content/meet-author-susan-gee-heino">https://www.richwoodlibrary.org/content/meet-author-susan-gee-heino</a></div>
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<b>A Funny Freebie for You!</b></div>
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Here's an exclusive gift just for my subscribers! Follow this link to read a short-but-sweet story written just for you!</div>
Susan Gee Heinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05876870936432064399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3491089866275289044.post-65800253590708003372015-11-01T08:10:00.002-08:002015-11-01T08:10:57.494-08:00Fall Back in Time<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Last night we turned the clocks back an
hour here in the USA. We gained an hour of sleep, but we lose an hour of
daylight every day until daylight savings kicks in again next year. For now, though, what
do we do with all these shorter days and chilly weather? I have just the thing!
How about curling up with a soft blanket, a mug of something warm, and a
fabulous book? My preference is Historical Romance.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiupbwGrJ-gT1kXOKi55Z1WBNp6YT7g8KZDZcPtqxQYiJjCigYt4ASCi_PmCAhOrgwBEi66e18vB0TG5anhI04h2wjjJclLF6vaIa2f9PGL9PyBBgHNfWJqM9f9YaSRQfJSOLHgTQrHOb4/s1600/IMG_20151101_110011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiupbwGrJ-gT1kXOKi55Z1WBNp6YT7g8KZDZcPtqxQYiJjCigYt4ASCi_PmCAhOrgwBEi66e18vB0TG5anhI04h2wjjJclLF6vaIa2f9PGL9PyBBgHNfWJqM9f9YaSRQfJSOLHgTQrHOb4/s320/IMG_20151101_110011.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Why Historical Romance, you ask? Oh,
only about a million reasons! I love being transported back to days-gone-by. I
love the beautiful clothes and the elegant architecture. I love horses and
carriages and flickering lamplight. I love that there were no cell phones or
televisions—information had to be carried person to person. I love that social
rules were different and more complicated to navigate. And I love all the
intricate storylines that can be woven into these historical settings.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Are you curious about Historical
Romance? Here are a couple great links to check out: <a href="https://greatescapesbooks.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Great Escapes Books</a><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><a href="http://historicalromancenetwork.com/" target="_blank">Historical Romance Network</a>
.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Have you read any
Historical Romance lately? Leave a comment and tell me what you love about
historical romance and your name will be entered in a drawing! <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXFf1BxA1s-4ZTo9Kl7X3YZbwQovIY_92DGFAc2dKLoO2SF559jPJHnX9uORSMgh4LvgJ4_fuIuWUqa9WV3TspWI6iGnyC48Fj1R_uyTXRxHTeF6ZFwcYNiqWdhlUNiXOpN6hv8HBsgoQ/s1600/_20151101_110302.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXFf1BxA1s-4ZTo9Kl7X3YZbwQovIY_92DGFAc2dKLoO2SF559jPJHnX9uORSMgh4LvgJ4_fuIuWUqa9WV3TspWI6iGnyC48Fj1R_uyTXRxHTeF6ZFwcYNiqWdhlUNiXOpN6hv8HBsgoQ/s320/_20151101_110302.JPG" width="250" /></a></div>
On November 8th
I'll select a random winner who will receive a print copy of Yuletide Lies, a
Regency Christmas novel full of mystery, a motley menagerie, and the gift of
true love.</span>Susan Gee Heinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05876870936432064399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3491089866275289044.post-16461581201358249382015-10-31T11:11:00.001-07:002015-10-31T11:11:53.955-07:00A Regency Ghost Story!<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">When things go bump in the night,
there's no telling what might happen. Miss Amelie D'Arnaud isn't certain what's
worse, being trapped in the dark all alone, or having to rely on the gentleman
who once broke her heart. In a house full of secrets and specters, does true
love stand the ghost of a chance?</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEignNkArgcANTgrei2AoeYdHouYXiYZH4PwCQr1jNfqdRhjYfq1uN6pKOqUualWDeVcMRW4dexoJF0hPCzw9hnGIzKo2La0xXWmAV8aQblFs9_C353cZl5BZMDKjUGrokDkqBfNRTe3jCM/s1600/heino_ghostly_goal_600x957.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEignNkArgcANTgrei2AoeYdHouYXiYZH4PwCQr1jNfqdRhjYfq1uN6pKOqUualWDeVcMRW4dexoJF0hPCzw9hnGIzKo2La0xXWmAV8aQblFs9_C353cZl5BZMDKjUGrokDkqBfNRTe3jCM/s320/heino_ghostly_goal_600x957.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">THE
GHOSTLY GOAL OF SCARY LORD LARRY</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B014QC2ZBE" target="_blank">(view on Amazon)</a> is the first ghost story I've ever
written. I had so much fun with it! Of course, my favorite part is the love
story, but I really enjoyed putting my characters in a dark, creepy house and
then confronting them with strange noises and unexplained happenings. With
disappearances and danger all around, the threat of spooks is very real! So is
the promise of a dash of humor and the hope of a happily-ever after. (It is,
after all, a romance.)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">This story is the last in my Lord Larry
trilogy. All three stories ("<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Delicate Plot to Bury Lord Larry</i>", "<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Elegant Scheme to Marry Lord Larry</i>", and "<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Ghostly Goal of Scary Lord Larry</i>")
are available digitally on Kindle. They are also neatly bound up in a print
anthology now, too. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">THREE TEMPTING TALES
OF LORD LARRY<a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/0988617587" target="_blank">(view on Amazon)</a></i> is full of Regency mayhem, mystery, and romance.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMpB6HK7Jp1n6e6A3mS-QpsWm2dckRJTTNRojaUOc2NqWXwIN4hvAOo-W7yxPOXSqzybVSB9YWlawPHGV2O-RhCGRWluEyYnMkXYZvDTYt8i0Ic_MZleDlhr9LKisy-DxVyg7tuCQCKNM/s1600/Anthology+Cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMpB6HK7Jp1n6e6A3mS-QpsWm2dckRJTTNRojaUOc2NqWXwIN4hvAOo-W7yxPOXSqzybVSB9YWlawPHGV2O-RhCGRWluEyYnMkXYZvDTYt8i0Ic_MZleDlhr9LKisy-DxVyg7tuCQCKNM/s320/Anthology+Cover.jpg" width="210" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">With mild language and sweet subject
matter, this Regency collection is suitable for all readers. It would make a
great gift, too! </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span>Susan Gee Heinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05876870936432064399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3491089866275289044.post-58371017859416938912014-04-15T05:57:00.004-07:002014-04-15T05:57:52.036-07:00"Who's Ben Skrewd?"
<br />
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;">Who's Ben Skrewd, you ask? </span>Take
a peek behind the Red Door and find out!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
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" v:shapes="_x0000_i1025" width="160" /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I've
joined forces with some very talented romance authors and we've come up with
something I think our readers will really love. Eleven novellas, each with a
red door, and one thing in common: Ben Skrewd. </div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Who is he? Well, we can't really pin him down. He's somebody different in
each novella--as unique as the authors who created his various personas. I'll
give you a hint, though, he's been lurking on our websites.</div>
<br />
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<img height="175" 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" v:shapes="_x0000_i1026" width="312" /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On
April 15, 2014, you can check him out for yourself. Also, you can get involved
in our hunt for him and possibly win a pretty cool prize. (Seriously, it's a
very nice prize!) Visit http://www.reddoorreads.com/#!whos-ben-skrewd/c1un for
details and a complete listing of participating authors and their novellas.</div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
Also, follow us on Facebook ( www.Facebook.com/RedDoorReads ) where we'll
be doing give-aways and having a party all day! I personally will be offering a
prize at 8:00 pm, EDT. It should be fun, and you'll be able to tell all your
friends you saw who's Ben Skrewd.</div>
Susan Gee Heinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05876870936432064399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3491089866275289044.post-12627536025880202472014-04-14T08:43:00.000-07:002014-04-14T08:45:58.973-07:00Love What Gets Us Bullied
<br />
<div align="center" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I usually like to post about happy things and love.
However, I had a hard time finding much of either in an article I read
recently. It's been gnawing at me, so of course I decided to write about it.
That's what writers do. Even the ones who insist on writing sappy endings.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">When a nine year old boy in North Carolina complained
of being bullied at school his mother went to the school guidance counselor.
That's what we're supposed to do, right? And the school did what they're
supposed to do by listening and then responding with a solution.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">How did the school respond? By telling the child he
had triggered the bullying by carrying a backpack with a pony on it. The
solution, according to the story I read, was simple. The principal told
boy's mother to keep his beloved backpack at home. No more backpack,
no more bullying.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Seriously! Here's an article you can read for
yourself:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation-now/2014/03/18/my-little-pony-backpack-banned-school-north-carolina/6565425/<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'm sure there is more to the story than we
can learn here--there always is--but let's all agree there is ample credible
information for us to get the gist.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The school believes that bullies will stop bullying
when they have nothing left to pick on. When everyone is just the same and no
one stands out from the crowd, then the bullying will end. Doesn't that sound
logical? All we've got to do is be just like everyone else and society will
embrace us with love and compassion.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">What a shame, then, that NONE of us is just like
everyone else! There is no "everyone else". There is just
"everyone" and we are all a part of that: ALL of us, with all our
many flaws, talents quirks, and very obvious differences. We can no sooner
leave those at home than we can our arms and legs.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And what if the things that make us different ARE
our arms and legs? What if instead of a backpack, this little boy was being
bullied for his prosthetic leg, or a paralyzed hand? Could the principal so
glibly tell him to just leave those at home? Of course not. I'm sure there are
many days when my own son's principal would love to ask him to just "leave
his autism at home" so he can be like everyone else, but since he can't do
that we've all had to learn to live with him just as he is.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">This is what really bothers me about this story.
"Leave the backpack at home" isn't simply about a little boy inviting
youthful teasing by waving a fuzzy pony in the face of other kids, it's about
some deep-rooted human urge to avoid facing the "different" in our
midst, to avoid learning to live with uncomfortable things. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We aren't living in generations past when the
physically handicapped, the mentally challenged, the blind, the deaf, the ones
born a little bit "different" DID get left home. Or worse, they
didn't stay home but where sent away to some institution so they couldn't
bother "everyone else" with their differences. The bullies didn't
bully them, but only because they didn't see them. Those bullies never had the
benefit of learning not to bully. They just simply had to find other targets.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">This is what I fear will happen in North Carolina.
That little boy did end up staying home. He's being homeschooled now for his
own safety. He learned that society is no place for him, that he can't trust
his counselor or his principal to keep him safe, and he certainly can't trust
his peers. The only way he can be himself is to just stay home.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And what did the bullies learn? Exactly what they
believed from the start: if something outside their comfortable norm makes them
feel awkward and unsure, they can raise their perceived confidence and social
status by declaring that someone else is beneath them. Then they'll be all
right. Then they'll be "normal." They won't have to stay home.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">But now they do have to keep bullying. With no
better skills to navigate life, these kids become victims of their own
misguided efforts to "fit in". Because they haven't learned to love
other people's differences, they haven't learned to love their own. They have
to carefully manage their environment so that everything around them perfectly
suits their tastes and abilities--failure at this would mean they might not fit
in; they might seem "different". And we all know what happens to
those who are different!</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Bullying hurts everyone. That's because EVERYONE is
different. We all have things a bully might pick on, and we all have the
capacity for bullying. Both are just part of our human condition. Unfortunately,
we can't leave that condition at home. We have to sling it over our back every
day and carry it everywhere we go. Each one of us has our own very unique
backpack, not like anyone else's. We can fill it with love or intolerance, ignorance
or pride, wisdom or fear. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Our backpack's appearance is the last thing any of
us should care about. What really makes us different is everything we pack
inside. So let's all love what gets us bullied, and just hope that someday
those bullies can learn to love themselves.</span></div>
Susan Gee Heinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05876870936432064399noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3491089866275289044.post-51218916865585074572014-03-22T08:19:00.000-07:002014-03-22T08:19:05.495-07:00A Funny Thing About Love
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Love's funny sometimes. That's my tag line; my
motto. I believe it wholeheartedly.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">But don't get me wrong, there's nothing funny about
love! It's serious business. It's not always easy to love, and sometimes it's
too easy to love the wrong stuff. (Dark Chocolate Cinnamon Gelato, anyone?) Ah,
love... so many different kinds of it.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; mso-no-proof: yes;"><img alt="Miss Farrow's Feathers final FRONT.jpg" height="222" 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" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_0" width="139" /></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I write books about romantic love. Every romance writer
knows that the quickest way to put readers to sleep is to be skimpy on
conflict. The path to true love simply must be paved with all sorts of
difficult things for our characters to get over.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">In MISS FARROW'S FEATHERS my prim and proper
preacher's daughter is stuck with a foul-mouthed parrot and a handsome bird
trainer who does more than just ruffle a few feathers.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="clear: right; float: right; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; mso-no-proof: yes;"><img alt="The Earl's Passionate Plot final cover 2.jpg" height="191" 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" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_2" width="135" /></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">In
my upcoming THE EARL'S PASSIONATE PLOT, Lord Dovington is trying to evict a
very unwilling young lady who is not about to go down without a fight. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; mso-no-proof: yes;"></span><img alt="THE EARL'S INTIMATE ERROR cover.jpg" height="189" src="data:image/png;base64,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" v:shapes="Picture_x0020_1" width="126" /><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Lord
Woodleigh is having more trouble than expected finding a husband for Miss
Canton in THE EARL'S INTIMATE ERROR. He never dreamed he might want her for
himself, especially since he's already arranged to marry someone else.</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Oh, the drama! Life is full of it; sometimes it
feels like too much. But that's why love is so very important. Love keeps us
going. Even in our darkest days and greatest conflicts, if we hunt really hard,
we'll find a little bit of love.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Usually, we can find a little bit of Funny, too. The more often
we can put those two together, the better off we'll all be. I try to do that in
my books as well as in my real life. Whether it's love for a puppy, love for a
pizza, or love for the love or your life, I think it's pretty safe to say that
really "Love's funny sometimes!"</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
Susan Gee Heinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05876870936432064399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3491089866275289044.post-48949878534136248162013-12-11T17:55:00.002-08:002013-12-11T17:55:56.895-08:00Coming Soon Exclusively on Amazon Kindle!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD0TjLJZO_YkGqZ98afwzZo7ruO6cosYXnFnzK7bUdwARUMPqkyesHZ-PPrx0qK9TK1A_ezEKP1GWtOD7rHsYCD1kGRVVdb3kn9DqGnL5uPRtvUKF6LhAUmgKvcz1B5BT5dHADEItrPT8/s1600/Earls+Christmas+Delivery+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD0TjLJZO_YkGqZ98afwzZo7ruO6cosYXnFnzK7bUdwARUMPqkyesHZ-PPrx0qK9TK1A_ezEKP1GWtOD7rHsYCD1kGRVVdb3kn9DqGnL5uPRtvUKF6LhAUmgKvcz1B5BT5dHADEItrPT8/s320/Earls+Christmas+Delivery+cover.jpg" width="233" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<strong>It's A CHRISTMAS CAROL meets THE NATIVITY in Jane Austen's England!</strong></div>
<br /><br />
I had a lot of fun writing his story. Yes, I took a few liberties, but I just want you to know that I am a fervent believer in the True Meaning of Christmas. I hope that shines through in this story. If you are looking for a warm, feel-good Christmas-time romance novella, then let me introduce you to my earl, Jacob Myserleigh, and his unexpected passenger, Miss Carole Meriwether. They're about to learn that true love is definitely the greatest gift this wonderful season can offer.<br />
<br /><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><em>Jacob Myserleigh, the Earl of Bahumburgh, thinks
he's merely delivering Christmas gifts to his sister. His simple trip home
turns into a madcap journey filled with gold, frankincense, myrrh... even
bedraggled shepherds. A beautiful young woman helps show him the way and the
most unexpected thing happens--there might be no room at the inn, but he finds
space in his heart for true love.</em></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><strong>Here's an excerpt:</strong></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">He cleared his
throat loudly.</span></div>
<br /><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The young lady
inside the horse stall looked up, startled. She could not have seemed more out
of place, sitting primly on an overturned bucket while a rotund gray
pony nibbled the straw flower on her trim bonnet. How did a Mayfair miss end up
locked in this Cheapside mews with a pony? Why on earth wasn't she shouting for
help? Surely someone had noticed her.</span></div>
<br /><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">"Do you
need some help, miss?" he asked.</span></div>
<br /><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">"Er, no
thank you, sir," she replied then glanced around nervously when he
continued to stare. After a moment's silence, she spoke again. "But you appear to be confused. Do <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you</i> need some help?"</span></div>
<br /><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">"I was...
well, I think I must be in the wrong place."</span></div>
<br /><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">"Where are
you supposed to be?"</span></div>
<br /><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">He looked back
at the letter. Yes, his sister's list definitely directed him to this place.
The next gift he was to collect ought to be waiting for him here. But he'd
expected a shop of some sort, not a dirty horse stall with a captive woman
inside.</span></div>
<br /><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">"I was
given this address and instructed to meet with a man named Carl."</span></div>
<br /><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">"Carl? I
don't know any Carl, sir, and I've been tending the pony here every day for two
weeks."</span></div>
<br /><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">"You come
to tend the pony often? Dressed like this?"</span></div>
<br /><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">"No, of
course not. But today I'm supposed to meet someone so I thought I should appear
more presentable."</span></div>
<br /><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">"I see.
Well, good luck with that. I should probably continue my search for Mr.
Meriwether."</span></div>
<br /><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">"For whom,
sir?"</span></div>
<br /><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">"Meriwether.
Carl Meriwether."</span></div>
<br /><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Now she looked
as confused as he felt. Her delicate features screwed into a frown and she
chewed her lip.</span></div>
<br /><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">"I am <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Carole</i> Meriwether, sir."</span></div>
<br /><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">"Is Carl
your relative, then?"</span></div>
<br /><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">"No, sir. I
don't know who... oh, good heavens! You aren't the Earl of Bahumburgh, are you?"</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> "I most certainly am. Who the devil are you?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: HE; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></span><br /><br />
<br />Susan Gee Heinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05876870936432064399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3491089866275289044.post-42006018542986355812012-12-19T15:36:00.000-08:002012-12-19T15:40:25.341-08:00New Release -- Yuletide Lies<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix9EzY5AmYQNg1cRz_xL2Puv3AVnVWdHI2gqmOHxWSjR7iGdimpIagZZczKj-vn48Knfaxsx-XcUNt9YpViucKG-G8JFSYkGZ8cdssjJhKhvR-tQqSpj1ev6L1SIYmt7TPF2HxAfKjxro/s1600/Yuletide+Lies+cover+Update.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix9EzY5AmYQNg1cRz_xL2Puv3AVnVWdHI2gqmOHxWSjR7iGdimpIagZZczKj-vn48Knfaxsx-XcUNt9YpViucKG-G8JFSYkGZ8cdssjJhKhvR-tQqSpj1ev6L1SIYmt7TPF2HxAfKjxro/s320/Yuletide+Lies+cover+Update.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
<strong>Stay tuned!</strong> <br />
I should be able to announce availability any day now.<br />
<br />
<strong>YULETIDE LIES</strong> is a very sweet, Traditional Regency Christmas novella. Short, sweet, and full of all those things we love about Christmas time romance in Regency England.<br />
<br />
<em>Amidst mistletoe, mystery, and a motley menagerie, the greatest gift this Christmas might turn out to be Love...</em><br /><br />Victim of a horrible scheme gone wrong, Miss Cassandra Loring expected to wake up dead. Instead, she has found herself in a castle somewhere in the remote English countryside. Her rescuer, it turns out, is the irresistible Lord Braden who, oddly enough, is under the mistaken belief her name is Miss Horne. And that they are engaged to be married!<br /><br />With danger nipping close at her heels and a kidnapper still on the loose, it simply makes sense not to correct him. There are plenty worse things than to have a kind--yet mysterious--earl doting on her. She's almost positive he isn't the villain behind her abduction. Besides, she'll be gone long before their scheduled Christmas Day wedding... no matter how much she might wish to stay.<br />
<em>Available soon exclusively on Kindle. Other formats to follow.</em>Susan Gee Heinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05876870936432064399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3491089866275289044.post-40443021192100285192012-12-07T09:48:00.000-08:002012-12-07T10:00:05.900-08:00The Wonderful Gift of "Non"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Usually Christmas is a season of draining the bank account and filling the home with stuff. Stuff you don't need. Stuff you don't have room for. Stuff you feel guilty getting rid of because it was a gift.
Now don't get me wrong, I like spending money and I love getting stuff. I really love spending money and giving stuff. Trouble is, so does my best friend, Melody.
<br />
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We've spent years (and countless dollars) giving each other stuff. Stuff we loooove. Fun stuff; awesome stuff; sometimes even useful stuff.
All this time we've been hoarding and stockpiling this stuff. Sadly, it's come to the point where our families have had to move into tents in the backyard to make room for the stuff. They held an intervention. <br />
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Melody and I have had to admit our addiction and face a sad truth: human beings really can have too much kitsch. I know, I know... it's hard to believe. But it's true. So this year Melody and I have made a pact. We've decided to break the damaging cycle of seeing awesome things and then buying them for each other. <br />
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The enabling must stop. Unfortunately, we've not found a deserted island where we can live throughout this frantic season in order to avoid the temptation. <br />
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What we have done is discovered the wonder of Modern Technology. Oh, sweet Smart Phone, let me hold you in my hand and look upon my salvation! Wonderous Craigslist, E-Bay and Overstock.com! We praise thee for thy many bounties.
<br />
<br />
Melody and I have discovered a way to give free rein to our stuff-gathering instincts--the compulsion to ooo and aah over baubles, bangles and shell-covered knick-knacks--yet not feed our disease. We can seek out the unique, the shockingly tacky, the feral occurrences of creative commerce and wallow in their coolness without bowing at the altar of consumption. It's brilliant. Really, you're going to love this idea. <br />
<br />
We call it "Non."
Instead of actually buying this coolness and then paying to ship it off to each other, we will simply snap a quick photo or click on a link, then merely send that. <br />
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We give a Non-Gift! Oh, but our souls are fed, our faces have smiles, our husbands rejoice, and our offspring have closet space. The tent in the backyard may come down. No grocery money is wasted, no credit cards employed, and they've cancelled our appearance on Hoarders. We've found the true spirit of Non-Giving and it's beautiful. <br />
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This whole thing, I might add, was Melody's brilliant idea. I'm nominating her for a Nobel Peace Prize next year. She won't accept it, of course, so I'll just send her a picture.
Susan Gee Heinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05876870936432064399noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3491089866275289044.post-340241063502820472012-10-02T10:22:00.001-07:002012-10-02T10:22:06.601-07:00MISS WHEATON'S WHISKERS has been officially out for one week now. Yay! What fun it's been to make this story available. The next few weeks she's only available on Kindle, but soon she'll venture into other formats.
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For now, here is a tasty little snippet in case you're curious what the sneaky little miss is all about:
<br /><br />
"You weave an attractive packet of lies, Miss," the man said at last. <br /><br />
"You call me a liar?" <br /><br />
"A storyteller, perhaps. But it makes no difference to me. I'm happy to stomach the whole of it—drunken brother, ailing mother, destitute siblings. Certainly it is more than enough to explain your hasty engagement. And far more entertaining than whatever true reason there must be." <br /><br />
"Why should I need a reason to give my consent to any reasonable man?" she asked. "Just who are <i>you </i>to be my judge?" <br /><br />
"Ah, so now you are interested in me, are you? Perhaps I wish to keep my identity secret just as much as you do." <br /><br />
"It makes no matter to me, I assure you. I simply wondered, since you seem to think you are somebody. Are you? Do you have a name?" <br /><br />
"John," he said, after a pause. "That is my name." <br /><br />
"Ah, well that answers everything," she declared. <br /><br />
He gave her his first name and nothing more? Now what on earth was she supposed to do with that? It wasn't as if she'd go around calling him by it. Certainly not! And John was quite an ordinary name. He could still be anyone and she'd never guess it. <br /><br />
"Just John? I'm surprised. You seem to think of yourself overly high, Just John. Isn't there a Mister or a Sir with that? How should I call you?" <br /><br />
Now he turned just enough to meet her eyes with his own. They were a deep, deep blue that hinted at night time. "I am pleased to know you wish to call me at all."
Susan Gee Heinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05876870936432064399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3491089866275289044.post-20442531941840962672012-09-22T11:03:00.002-07:002012-09-22T11:26:01.320-07:00The Truth about Bamboozling <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"He is a fine fellow," said Mr. Bennet, as soon as they were out of the house, "as ever I saw. He simpers, and smirks, and makes love to us all. I am prodigiously proud of him."
<br /><br />
Mr. Bennet, of course, was not being honest. Anyone who has ever read Jane Austen's PRIDE AND PREJUDICE knows that he is speaking here of Mr. Wickham, one of the greatest liars and petty scoundrels of Regency fiction. Oh, how we love the duplicitous George Wickham and his half-truths and misinformation!
<br /><br />
But Mr. Wickham had no monopoly on lies. Language of that era is peppered with various colorful terms and phrases to refer to the wondrous art of deception. Why would I be so familiar with these words? Because I have a pretty little liar of my own in my upcoming release, MISS WHEATON'S WHISKERS.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br /><br />
And no, she's not a bearded lady. A "whisker" is Regency vernacular for "lie". Of the little white variety. And boy does Miss Wheaton tell them! All for a good cause, of course. She's really got the best of intentions, you know. But I'll blog about that on another day.
<br /><br />
Today it's all about clankers, gabble, and making May-game of some poor humbugged gull.
<br /><br />
If you were to tell a Banbury tale, you'd be bouncing or fibbing. It would hardly be enough to put you in a bumble-broth, but a simple bit of funning. Too much bibble-babble, though, would certainly get you called maggoty or even havey-cavey. To pull a chouse on the nearest gudgeon would clearly label you Jackanapes, and pulling a kickshaw rig would make you quite the saucebox. It might cause a row and you'd have to talk the hind leg off a dog to get out of a fair wigging.
<br /><br />
Now, don't go thinking all this twadle is just fimble-famble or some old mare's nest. I'm certainly no quiz, and that's not just puffing and folderol. I've no need for rodomontrade. I'd be a sharp and a sly-boots if I let you believe that diddling gammon.
<br /><br />
But let me twit you a bit with this poser: is it better to bam or to banger or outright fudge than to sham by embroidery and old Spanish coin? Plumper and rot, my good friends! Such colorful phrases are little more than piffle and flapdoodle, of course.
<br /><br />
Now that I've bemused and bedazzled you all with my literary gew-gaws, no doubt you've taken the nacky notion I must clearly be a wicked dissembler of the worst sort. Fustian, I say! Don't be up on your high ropes. Call me a peach, but I'll spill the soup on you all. I've no doubt every one of us has sprouted a few whiskers here and there.
<br /><br />
Now I dare you to cry tarradiddle!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Susan Gee Heinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05876870936432064399noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3491089866275289044.post-15150142506397749812012-02-17T08:41:00.000-08:002012-02-19T06:12:13.216-08:00Contest: Your Favorite Reading Spot<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2nXJoziz1ha_mLEqMnCagUHCgRtuHSd-UwXM5Gfd5mz72boBVKdDxqKUN3ifbybbsrtF6ZZiHtokA1h9KQvL4sraFzOB9S1t_d2dVCIpP24OpnWqyrck9uCcC2CtL1mO8eOAU4QR7vqk/s1600/PassionandPr.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 198px; height: 320px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710848596980068466" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2nXJoziz1ha_mLEqMnCagUHCgRtuHSd-UwXM5Gfd5mz72boBVKdDxqKUN3ifbybbsrtF6ZZiHtokA1h9KQvL4sraFzOB9S1t_d2dVCIpP24OpnWqyrck9uCcC2CtL1mO8eOAU4QR7vqk/s320/PassionandPr.jpg" /></a><div><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV8xjEfp1e53lyjE1XRYhlweARNopziHN6IQ67KdVpaabbW2_ttmP2B5rS669f2UeMMANEknqtk5texu5VPhPmUpwNh16HmExv3qRjd4VvYtPfpAJdWYcIwupcNWaNAdGrpygG9p-G9nk/s1600/DAMSEL+close+up.jpg"></a><div>I love books that are set in far away places. Regency England is my favorite location--it's geographically half a continent and one whole ocean away from Ohio, plus it's 200 years in the past. That's pretty far away. But gosh, do I love being whisked off to that magical land of fancy gowns, country gardens, quieter times, and gentlemen in cravats. Sigh.<div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR2QFenIgDyI1KnjYoBBgeT740rI0TEHuVt5sHs9Rsz1v6yucz1-o2cR9dIb3Y3nm2t8Sy3DkSxMBLOC2zjNC1v0J5YzZpoAvADg9AZWdWMw7yJGSjeFy6GrvuisxwoBhd2FnRzEt8gP0/s1600/DAMSEL+close+up.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 258px; height: 320px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710848778168981234" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR2QFenIgDyI1KnjYoBBgeT740rI0TEHuVt5sHs9Rsz1v6yucz1-o2cR9dIb3Y3nm2t8Sy3DkSxMBLOC2zjNC1v0J5YzZpoAvADg9AZWdWMw7yJGSjeFy6GrvuisxwoBhd2FnRzEt8gP0/s320/DAMSEL+close+up.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Yes, I have strong opinions of where I like to read about. But what about where I like to actually read? Does that make a difference?</div><div><br />I've got noisy kids, rambunctious dogs, invasive cats, and a house with a very open floor plan. So yes, I've learned that where to read a good book does indeed make a difference. Let me share with you a bit of what my efforts have uncovered:</div><div><br />Can I enjoy a book if I read it at my desk? No. Because A) this is where I know I should be working, and B) there is way too much pouncing at my desk.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK2hptEsHOOt5wmTFgimzWAPmL5mlyF0IogQY9czR2ADtliLL3ylQHvA-QvgCCv2FYDWh2ayunRsNij1rjeWavWqMqkpmGGSITiAk24581BH32U6_pcIcm2864LoIA8Y0l5Evg597h3r0/s1600/P%2526P+at+desk.jpg"><img style="width: 320px; height: 239px; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710148181890780306" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK2hptEsHOOt5wmTFgimzWAPmL5mlyF0IogQY9czR2ADtliLL3ylQHvA-QvgCCv2FYDWh2ayunRsNij1rjeWavWqMqkpmGGSITiAk24581BH32U6_pcIcm2864LoIA8Y0l5Evg597h3r0/s320/P%2526P+at+desk.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /> Can I enjoy a book if I read it in my bed? No. Because Someone (ahem, Lulu) likes to crowd me out of my spot.</div><div> </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7iCxPj2ulIf06wV9Va3apGo8Hi9HlbF9zx5Ns_rmDE-HafMH_glPoWmX_oqoiDFVcO_HwobKJpemliRQCJFZTWdYVtyZjE65jpbEe7aCe_IkVBrCZRz5Fle1s55bKbK8UP-nwf23ewlg/s1600/P%2526P+with+lulu.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; height: 239px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710149419109862514" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7iCxPj2ulIf06wV9Va3apGo8Hi9HlbF9zx5Ns_rmDE-HafMH_glPoWmX_oqoiDFVcO_HwobKJpemliRQCJFZTWdYVtyZjE65jpbEe7aCe_IkVBrCZRz5Fle1s55bKbK8UP-nwf23ewlg/s320/P%2526P+with+lulu.jpg" /></a><br />So where does a girl have to go to get some alone time?<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVICVK8Y9mJ0zZMuUQ1vXxZAdZsjrGwKcNF5K7dGxF2KkxSlkVlPuyjjzOH9sMaI5mPAjIoGJAgFVXDICtp3kmZFvZfjTHNiZh_LAaA8-QK6fDhk8Xi7EL95i9ZYK6RV7Oo9xbmUgUaB8/s1600/P%2526P+in+bathroom.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 320px; height: 239px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710151123198505794" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVICVK8Y9mJ0zZMuUQ1vXxZAdZsjrGwKcNF5K7dGxF2KkxSlkVlPuyjjzOH9sMaI5mPAjIoGJAgFVXDICtp3kmZFvZfjTHNiZh_LAaA8-QK6fDhk8Xi7EL95i9ZYK6RV7Oo9xbmUgUaB8/s320/P%2526P+in+bathroom.jpg" /></a><br /></div></div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> Okay. Not my first choice.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div>Here's where I'd rather curl up to read a good book.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkLGcWY1x3ZfBkoGL8RUUomyznaSL87nLB2KGCh2s2fbxFaNPmMfgiJ8GDCehx-kVxSGbekmTzuOYYKE-vDLS8dutkA8zu1LzwAeKIz8E7PuO5ioJSgAeLqEgC3zAhOxfvwvfN9wMEq10/s1600/P%2526P+in+chair.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 320px; height: 239px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710151633220179698" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkLGcWY1x3ZfBkoGL8RUUomyznaSL87nLB2KGCh2s2fbxFaNPmMfgiJ8GDCehx-kVxSGbekmTzuOYYKE-vDLS8dutkA8zu1LzwAeKIz8E7PuO5ioJSgAeLqEgC3zAhOxfvwvfN9wMEq10/s320/P%2526P+in+chair.jpg" /></a></div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />How about you? Do you have a favorite place to read a good book? Does where you read have anything to do with how much you enjoy the book?<br /><br /><br />I'll be doing some give-aways over the next couple weeks. In honor of this long weekend here in the US, I'm giving away four copies of my upcoming release, PASSION AND PRETENSE. If you love light-hearted Regency Romance with a little mystery, let me know where you like to read. Tell me about your favorite reading spot and I'll put your name in the drawing. On President's Day, Feb. 20th, I'll select four lucky winners. (International readers are welcome to enter!)<br /><br />Okay, now it gets better:<br />If you send me a photo of you reading one of my books in a favorite (or dreadful!) reading spot, I'll put your name in for a bigger drawing and you can win a gift card for either Barnes & Noble OR for Amazon/Kindle along with your free copy of PASSION AND PRETENSE! That winner will be announced on release day, March 6, 2012.</div><div><br />Photos can be posted to my Facebook page or emailed to susan.heino@gmail.com. The only stipulation is that you let me post your photo on my blog and/or my social media. Okay? So make sure you comb your hair!<br /><br /></div><div></div></div></div></div></div>Susan Gee Heinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05876870936432064399noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3491089866275289044.post-17019565960876406712012-02-16T09:00:00.000-08:002012-02-16T09:07:02.206-08:00PASSION AND PRETENSE<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMjCM17ZH5YzxF0ujEz-Z1X13UmohaTxWtn536wVaM00pwlpNQ5C_sOjChoTHFemMRQe7toQ55cbaoA7IhqfImBOMEQxybbKT12bqq74CDGc1iqdEtXu77IKwm6YWTOXQ4bFGEI7XqqR8/s1600/PassionandPr.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 198px; height: 320px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5709779926101026114" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMjCM17ZH5YzxF0ujEz-Z1X13UmohaTxWtn536wVaM00pwlpNQ5C_sOjChoTHFemMRQe7toQ55cbaoA7IhqfImBOMEQxybbKT12bqq74CDGc1iqdEtXu77IKwm6YWTOXQ4bFGEI7XqqR8/s320/PassionandPr.jpg" /></a><br />March 6, 2012. That's when PASSION AND PRETENSE officially releases into the wild. Well, into bookstores and e-readers, at least.<br /><br />I really love this story and I've been impatiently waiting to share it. I'm gearing up to do a blog tour and some fun give-aways, etc., but I'll just have to tease you a bit while I firm up the details. Meanwhile, keep your eyes open for more, because what begins as Pretense might have a way of ending in Passion!<br /><br />Miss Penelope Rastmoor has always been a bit of a troublemaker. Determined to thwart her brother's plans to get her properly married, she decides what she needs is the most horrible, unsuitable fiancé ever imagined. Unfortunately, she never quite imagined Lord Harry!<br /><br />Lord Harry Chesterton has his own reasons for agreeing to Penelope's scheme. A man's life hangs in the balance and Lord Harry needs what Penelope has—a mysterious Egyptian scarab. Yes, he'll pose as her unsuitable fiancé and he'll get his hands on her scarab. But will he be content with that, or will Lord Harry end up stealing something more precious?<br /><br />An excerpt:<br /><br />He held her tightly, pressing her against him to feel every inch of her tantalizing curves. His mouth took possession of hers, her sweetness and willingness fueling a desire that was wholly unexpected. He knew, of course, kissing Miss Rastmoor would be pleasurable. He never dreamed it would be so overwhelming.<br /><br />"It would appear Miss Rastmoor is good at a few things, as well," he said, coming up for air.<br /><br />She, too, was catching her breath. Her huge blue eyes blinked up at him. "Heavens, but you're even more wicked than everyone says you are!"<br /><br />"Now don't act quite so righteous, my dear. You seem to be someone who rather likes wicked."<br /><br />"But my brother doesn't. He is absolutely going to hate you."<br /><br />He didn't much care for the sound of that. "I thought you said he wasn't here?"<br /><br />"He's not, but once he finds out we've become engaged, he'll boil over like a scalded pot. Oh, he'll be furious."<br /><br />Harris shoved her away as if she'd suddenly become scalding herself. "Now wait one little minute here!"<br /><br />"No, no, it's no reason to panic," she said, shushing him as if she expected him to stand here and discuss this with her. "I'm not trying to trap you, or anything."<br /><br />"It sure as hell seems that way," he said, scanning for the quickest, darkest way out of the garden. "Damn it, woman, did you think by luring me into a few stolen kisses I'd feel compelled to drop down on my knee and offer for you?"<br /><br />She stood up very straight and jabbed her pointy little chin into the air. "I don't recall luring you at all, sir. Besides, I've heard your uncle has pulled the rug out from under your finances until you get a proper wife."<br /><br />"And you'd like to apply for the job?"<br /><br />"Heavens, no! It's just that I'm in somewhat the same situation, you see."<br /><br />He really had no idea where this was going, but damned if he wasn't intrigued. What the hell was this minx up to?<br /><br />"You need a proper wife?" he asked.<br /><br />"No. I need a proper fiancé," she replied. "Or rather, a very improper one."Susan Gee Heinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05876870936432064399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3491089866275289044.post-21373302036752280532011-07-07T16:59:00.000-07:002011-07-07T17:11:48.166-07:00Newsletter -- July 2011<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYjlW2j39J8TvudcUREXSujZEghVqE9kHbkqzHBZhRton-ogZsTCBLhisL7QcpSxyVidfussQU3FIpTvcz7Q1mf9ecu59BaRTH03EirWJAeboNerKhkYU5IQD63XjFfSn2nhctm4whL2k/s1600/Temptress+in+Training+.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 198px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYjlW2j39J8TvudcUREXSujZEghVqE9kHbkqzHBZhRton-ogZsTCBLhisL7QcpSxyVidfussQU3FIpTvcz7Q1mf9ecu59BaRTH03EirWJAeboNerKhkYU5IQD63XjFfSn2nhctm4whL2k/s320/Temptress+in+Training+.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626765762949445746" /></a><br />TEMPTRESS IN TRAINING has hit the shelves! I'm so excited to finally give Sophie Darshaw her happily ever after. And have you seen the beautiful cover? Sophie and Lindley are pretty special to me, and I hope readers love their story. Can I tempt you a bit?<br /><br />Sophie Darshaw has earned her keep in Madame Eudora's brothel by sewing unique and intimate articles for Madame's particular clients. But Sophie dreams of a better life and embarks on a scheme to make herself respectable. She ends up privy to a murder plot and in possession of a mysterious locket that may hold the key to her father’s life—or death.<br /><br />Lord Lindley lost his family when a plot by some Napoleon sympathizers went awry. It has been his life’s goal ever since to bring these men to justice. He’s been stalking one man in particular—Philip Darshaw. Lindley's determined to learn just how much of her father’s criminal past Sophie has been involved in. He'll stop at nothing to get what he wants from the secretive seamstress. Sophie's creative stitchery, however, might just unravel his plans.<br /><br />And yet another Happily Ever After!<br />Several, actually. I'm honored to have a short story in a really fun anthology put together by Fiction Flurry, a group of writers from my own hometown. It's called Tales of Summer Romance and it's full of short little stories about--you guessed it--summer romance. It's available at Smashwords and a portion of the proceeds will go to a community-based charity. Here's the link if you'd like to check it out: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/69671 <br /><br />What's next?<br />PASSION AND PRETENSE will be my next release, scheduled for April, 2011. It follows the story of Lord Rastmoor's little sister, Penelope. She's grown up a bit, but still the same unconventional mischief-maker we came to love in DAMSEL IN DISGUISE. Originally this book was to be called PARAMOUR BY PRETENSE, but the marketing department asked me to come up with something a little sexier, so I did.<br /><br />MISTRESS and DAMSEL are still out there making appearances at local booksellers. If you've missed MISTRESS BY MISTAKE or DAMSEL IN DISGUISE, check with your local bookstore, library, or look for them online at Amazon.com and the usual places.<br /><br />RWA National Conference<br />I've been making some appearances, too! I just got back from the Romance Writers of America national conference where I participated in the annual booksigning to benefit literacy. Also, my publisher held a free booksigning open only to conference attendees. What a blast to sign books and give them out for free!<br /><br />This year's conference was in exciting New York City. Wow, this was my first time in the Big Apple and I loved it! That place really doesn't sleep--and I don't think I did, either. But I came back all full of plans and ideas for what to write next so I'm raring to go. Even with all the changes in the industry, my agent and editor were very upbeat and excited.<br /><br />While there, I was privileged to be a part of two Author Workshop Panels. With authors Courtney Milan, Kris Kennedy, Susan Sey and Tiffany Clare we discussed The Seven Deadly Sins of the First Book. Great insights for new authors! With Kit Wilkinson, Lynette Eason, and Christie Craig, we discussed Riding the Contest Wave; how to make writing contests work for you. Good stuff!<br /><br />Upcoming Events<br />In August I'll be making several appearances here in Ohio. I'd love to see you if you can drop by!<br /><br />Wednesday, Aug. 3, 12:00 - 3:00 pm<br />Guest Speaker, Cambridge Writers Group<br />Crossroads Library<br />63500 Byesville Road<br />Cambridge, OH<br /><br />Saturday, Aug. 13, 2:00 - 4:00 pm<br />Booksigning (with author Donna MacMeans)<br />Barnes & Noble, Easton Town Center<br />4005 Townsfair Way<br />Columbus, OH 43219<br /><br />Saturday, Aug. 20, 11:30 am - 1:00 pm<br />"World Building for Writers" Author Panel<br />Buckeye Library<br />6625 Wolff Road<br />Medina, OH 44256Susan Gee Heinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05876870936432064399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3491089866275289044.post-15274349769647648972011-06-15T21:50:00.000-07:002011-06-15T21:57:07.075-07:00Teasing you with my Temptress!I cannot believe how quickly June is zooming by! In less than three weeks my next book, TEMPTRESS IN TRAINING, will hit the shelves. Woo hoo! I'm so excited to introduce Sophie Darshaw to readers. At last!<br /><br />Sophie is the poor, long lost cousin we heard about but never met in MISTRESS BY MISTAKE. In the opening chapters of DAMSEL IN DISGUISE she makes a brief appearance, but then mysteriously disappears. Finally now we can find out what the gal has been up to. And who she's been up to it with!<br /><br />To tease you just a bit, here's a little excerpt:<br /><br /> “Lord Lindley, please,” she began, moving toward him, then stopping just out of arms reach. “You cannot take him. Not now.”<br /> “You don’t know what he’s done, Miss Darshaw.”<br /> “But I know what will happen if he does not see a doctor right away.”<br /> “He’s wounded; nothing more. He’ll survive.”<br /> “But the blood . . . please, have some compassion.”<br /> She was so earnest it was all he could do to deny her. Her helpless, desperate eyes searched his. His resolve returned, however, as soon as he recalled another pair of helpless, desperate eyes that had begged him for rescue. Rescue he could not give. Those eyes had shut and never opened again and Lindley had finally caught the man responsible for it. Damn it, but Lindley couldn’t let himself be weak now. Four souls left in the cold ground of his family plot needed justice. They would get it.<br /> “My compassion is buried with my family, back in Kent,” he informed her.<br /> She must have recognized the icy reality of this on his face. She took a step backward, away from him. The glow from the lamp hanging near the doorway spilled out into the yard where they stood. The warm light played against the heavy shadows, making her eyes seem endlessly deep and her skin endlessly tempting. Emotion only allowed her to draw short, halting breaths. Her worn gown pulled against those unignorable curves. Hellfire, why couldn’t he forget just for these moments how beautiful the girl was?<br /> “Maybe you can’t feel compassion, but surely you can feel something,” she said, swallowed, and gave the tiniest hint of a smile. “You are, after all, a man.”<br /> Oh, he felt something, indeed. “My feelings are hardly your concern, Miss Darshaw. Go back inside and say farewell.”Susan Gee Heinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05876870936432064399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3491089866275289044.post-11795497958472009662011-06-14T16:29:00.000-07:002011-06-14T17:20:00.672-07:00Let Your Flag FlyToday is Flag Day here in the US. I had to go online and look it up when my daughter said, "Flag Day? What's that?"<br /><br />Here's what I found. In 1777, the Second Continental Congress passed a resolution adopting the flag. You know, the original Stars and Stripes with the stars in a circle instead of all jammed into off-set rows because they had a lot fewer states to recognize back then. But apparently Flag Day wasn't much of a big deal to most people.<br /><br />It sounds like throughout the 1800's various towns and communities celebrated the anniversary of the flag's adoption in a variety of ways, but it sounds like it was kind of sporatic. In 1916, President Woodrow Wilson was the first one to give it national attention by signing a proclamation that officially made today, June 14, Flag Day. It wasn't until August of 1949 that politicians gave it full attention by passing an Act of Congress to establish it.<br /><br />But why? What's the big deal about a flag? I thought I'd better look that up, too.<br />I found some conflicting stuff. I found references to stars representing the 13 original colonies, but also representing the heavens and the Divine intervention that brought our nation into being, as well as the Divine call on the people themselves to be something special. The stripes can represent rays from the sun, beaming down on the land to produce prosperity and enlightenment, or they could have something to do with the Biblical reference to Christ's "stripes", or wounds that rescue us from sin. The red could be a nod to the bloodshed of war, and probably means victory through suffering or hardship while the white is likely purity and freedom. The blue represents the heavens, and maybe justice and perseverance.<br /><br />Basically, everyone has some opinion as to what the flag stands for, and it's all pretty good stuff. None of the references I found indicated that blue stood for Greed or white meant Dirty Politics while red stripes remind us of our Trillion Dollar National Debt. No, that's not why we fly our flags.<br /><br />We choose to see the American flag as something better. It is a symbol of our hopes and our dreams, not our failures and our shortcomings. We proudly fly our flags in honor of great men and women who have sacrificed and done noble things, not for those who cheat and steal. The flag stands for military personnel, civilians, lawmakers, homemakers, first responders, the elderly, and school children who all do their part to uphold freedom, equality, kindness, creativity, independence, excellence, and justice for all. Yes, that should be all of us. The flag represents what all of us could be.<br /><br />So, now I can explain to my daughter what Flag Day is. It is a day we honor this simple piece of fabric as a symbol for some really big ideas. Some great ideas. Sure, maybe we screw up as a nation from time to time, but it doesn't mean we quit trying. Today is a good day to forgive ourselves for past failings and let ourselves think nobler thoughts for tomorrow. <br /><br />We can do better. We can be better. We can live up to this symbol, this representation of some really awesome stuff. After all, it's our symbol. We made it. It's what we truly want to be.Susan Gee Heinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05876870936432064399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3491089866275289044.post-77480157113818650972011-03-28T06:41:00.000-07:002011-03-28T06:47:02.554-07:00Golden Hearts in BloomAh, it's that season again. Last week RWA announced this year's crop of Golden Heart finalists. Gosh, what a flood of memories that brought back. Shall we wander down that lane again?<br /><br />I almost didn't get the call telling me my manuscript (titled, at that time, MISTAKEN BY MOONLIGHT) had finaled in the 2008 Golden Heart. My family was literally walking out the door to head away for vacation. We had the suitcases loaded up, the bags of food for the long car ride packed, both kids were dragging the obligatory piles of games, stuffed animals, pillows and favorite blankies, and my husband was wrestling our two anxious dogs who were not looking forward to being dropped off at the kennel/doggy resort. <br /><br />When the phone rang I stood in the doorway, debating whether to go answer it or to just let it roll over to the answering machine. After all, anyone I probably wanted to talk to already knew we were leaving town; this was most likely just a telemarketer. But by the fourth ring, my curiosity got the best of me and I put down my purse and my laptop case and the dog dishes and my husband's headache medication and ran to answer the phone. <br /> <br />Wow, was I glad that I did! I'm sure I was a blathering idiot. I know I said "Really?" about a hundred times. I hope I said "Thank you" at least once. I remembered feeling, in that moment, as if my life had changed.<br /> <br />As it turned out, I was right. From that day on it was a whirlwind of preparations to go to Nationals (my first!) and to get my manuscript ready for all the attention it was suddenly getting. I had to build a website, answer hundreds of emails, and begin to view my writing as more than just a hobby. I realized I'd somehow gotten into the big leagues and wasn't about to let this truly Golden opportunity pass me by. There would be parties and receptions and photo ops at National and I was determined not to miss any of it. I couldn't find a gown that was glitzy and glamorous enough for the big GH/RITA ceremony so I made one. There weren't enough hours in the day to meet with everyone I wanted to meet with at Nationals, so I skipped sleeping a couple days. As far as I was concerned, this was my one shot. It was terrifying, energizing, and blissful all at the same time.<br /> <br />That year I won the Golden Heart in my category. Two days later, I signed with a wonderful agent, and a few days after that we negotiated a two-book contract with Berkley Publishing. I guess they liked what they got because a few months later I signed another one. <br /><br />I was asked to change my manuscript's title, but little else. In December, 2009, MISTRESS BY MISTAKE was released. DAMSEL IN DISGUISE followed it in the summer of 2010. My third book with Berkley, TEMPTRESS IN TRAINING, comes out this July and my fourth book is scheduled for April, 2012. Life has changed a lot since I answered that Golden Heart phone call. I'm glad our family vacation had to wait a couple minutes.<br /> <br />But the biggest lesson I've learned from my Golden Heart experience (and from my wonderful Pixie Chicks sisters who were also finalists that year) is that whether you final or don't, whether you take home a necklace or not, whether you sell right away or are eligible to enter again next year, life does go on after the Golden Heart. I could put my family vacation on hold for a little while to do a happy dance after that phone call, but eventually I had to come down from Cloud Nine and get in the minivan. I could go to National and dress like a princess, drink martinis and rub elbows with Who's Who, but at the end of the week I had to come home and catch up on laundry. And then, after all that, I still had to write. Even when I was tired, or uninspired, or too busy polishing my little heart-shaped necklace.<br /> <br />Golden Hearts and martinis with editors really and truly mean nothing unless we write. My advice to this year's finalists is to keep that in mind. Yes, by all means go to National if you can afford it. Enjoy the fun and the opportunities. Take advantage of everything you can, but don't lose sight of what's really important. Keep on living your life and being who you are and, most importantly, remember what that is. You are a Writer. And writers write.Susan Gee Heinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05876870936432064399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3491089866275289044.post-83337780443863846762010-06-21T12:41:00.000-07:002010-06-21T12:50:12.676-07:00Interview with Holly Zachariah, Part 2Back in February, 2010, I was interviewed by Holly Zachariah, journalist, blogger and romance reader. Here is another excerpt from that interview:<br /><br />Holly: Why did you choose the English Regency time period for the setting of your books?<br /><br />Me: The English Regency covered the years from 1810 to 1820 when the decadent Prince of Wales (who would eventually become George IV) ruled as Regent while his father, the king, was mentally ill. Lovely family. It’s the same time period we associate with Jane Austen. So think Mr. Darcy in a starched cravat—or better yet, in a wet linen shirt—and you’ve got the Regency. I’m forever fascinated by the ways of society from that time: the devastating trauma of misspeaking oneself in public, the shame of being an old maid by age 22, or being snubbed at the most influential ball of the season simply because one of your ancestors wasn’t genteel enough. With the backdrop of the Napoleonic wars, the birth of the Industrial Revolution, and clashes between the classes, it’s the perfect setting for romance.<br /> <br />Holly: You have a degree in theater and were a playwright. Do you still foster those loves in any way? Do you participate in community theater, for example? If so, how does that help you as a writer, if at all?<br /><br />Me: I have elementary age children, so the time element hasn’t allowed for me to be as involved in community theatre as I would like. It has allowed me to be involved in children’s theatre, however, and recently I worked with a very creative group of young people writing and producing their own scripts. That was a wonderful experience. <br /> I believe a lot of what I learned in the theatre has been a great help in my fiction writing. Primarily, I think I approach my characters the way an actor approaches a role. I don’t direct my characters; I act them in my head and then somehow translate that into prose. Every author has his or her own process, and this seems to work for me.<br /> <br />Holly: Ever thought of working on screenplays? What do you think would be different about those?<br /><br />Me: That’s a completely foreign animal to me! The live stage is very different from the screen and books are their own industry altogether. I’d love to write a screenplay someday (I’ve got friends who do) so maybe one of these years I’ll dig into that. I need a fabulous idea first… how about big blue people on a planet with lots of trees?Susan Gee Heinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05876870936432064399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3491089866275289044.post-34717364280869743142010-06-05T09:14:00.000-07:002010-06-05T09:29:48.642-07:00Interview with Holly Zachariah, Part 1Back in February I was interviewed by journalist, blogger and romance reader Holly <br />Zachariah (Columbus Dispatch). She asked some really great questions so I thought it might be interesting to post some of them here:<br /><br />Holly Z: Has it been hard to be a romance writer and a pastor's wife at the same time? Let's face it, some people - whether we like it or not - call romance porn. <br /><br />Me: I’m very sensitive to the fact that different people have different levels of comfort regarding sensuality in fiction. I never want anyone to be shocked or offended by the hot, sexy love scenes I include in my books so I’m careful not to promote myself as “the pastor’s wife” in case someone might accidentally mistake my work for something inspirational or sweet. Which is not to imply that there is anything shameful in what I write! I think the themes of honesty, forgiveness, commitment and love that are the very backbone of any romance novel are exactly the themes we wish to promote in our faith. I’m conveying this in my voice to my audience, and other authors are using their voice with their audiences. And that’s okay.Susan Gee Heinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05876870936432064399noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3491089866275289044.post-72634805538037496252009-12-10T12:37:00.000-08:002009-12-10T12:40:48.455-08:00<strong>Keeping Warm Between the Covers</strong><br /><br /><em>"Dear God, it's you!" he exclaimed.<br />And it was. The very woman who had disrupted his thoughts all day long was seated there on the dusty floor, a book open on her lap. She was wearing a drab gown, the color of dead moss. Still, her fawn colored hair was not tucked under a cap, but pulled up stylishly on her head. She looked prim and proper and untouchable. And with every fiber of his being he wanted to touch her.<br />Flustered, she slammed her book shut and sent a dust cloud into the air around her head. Another sneeze, and she struggled with her skirts as she scrambled to her feet. He chuckled at the delightful sight of one perfect ankle, but reached out a hand to help her. She did not take it.<br />"What are you doing here?" she asked quickly, glancing around, probably for a way to escape.<br />"I think I should ask you the same thing. Am I interrupting your reading hour?"<br />"No, I just—" she noticed the clock on the mantle. "Oh no! I had no idea it was so late!"<br />"Don't worry. I'll see that you don't get into any trouble."<br />"Oh, I doubt that," she replied. Smart girl.</em><br /><br />That’s an excerpt from my recent Regency historical, MISTRESS BY MISTAKE. My heroine has found a book that she truly can’t quite seem to put down. (Trust me; we wouldn’t either, if we stumbled upon this little volume in our dashing host’s library.)<br />I love getting lost in a good book, don’t you? Especially when there’s a chance that, in my distraction, I might be found out by a smoldering-eyed lord with a penchant for seduction. Yeah, that’s my kind of reading hour!<br />And it’s a darn good way to keep warm as winter swings into full force here in the states. Brrr, as I type this my fingers are creaking with cold. The wind keeps knocking out my satellite connection for the internet. The dogs stand at the door with their little legs crossed saying, “No way! We are not going out in this.”<br />So, what to do that will get the blood flowing and pump up the heat index on a blustery day like today? Crawl inside the covers of a good book!Susan Gee Heinohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05876870936432064399noreply@blogger.com0