Thursday, May 31, 2012

First Friday Art Walk (2)

Welcome to my second First Friday Art Walk.

Art comes in many forms and is not only found hanging on walls. I collect old plates. The plate rack which borders my entire kitchen is filled. This plate is one of my favorites. A Gibson Girl. It was given to me by a dear friend many years ago.

This was my Mother's Day gift from one of my sons and DIL last year. I've been a Steeler fan for... Well, let's just say a long time.

I fell in love with this gourd in Knoxville, Tennessee. I was there for the Smokey Mountain Romance Writers conference. Knoxville is a great city and the ladies of SMRW are awesome.

I love going to estate sales and I usually come home with art, such as this washboard and iron frying pan. In my house, it works.

My grandson has an eye for art too. He's constantly drawing and is quite a storyteller. I wouldn't be surprise if one day he'll publish a book.

Thank you for stopping by and checking out my art. A few of my friends are also opening thier doors to you. Click the links below and check them out.

Diana Layne

Anne Marie Becker

Rita Henuber

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

.99 Digital Copies Are Flying Off The Cyber-shelf

Summer is here, atleast it is in my world. To celebrate I'm offering my Golden Leaf Winner, HIS WITNESS TO EVIL, in e-format for only .99 at Amazon. Last day. Tomorrow is back to regular price, so act quick.

Here’s the link to Amazon:

A blurb for ‘His Witness To Evil’.

Inspired by true events, awarding-winning author Autumn Jordon has penned a thrilling romantic suspense set in the backwoods and small towns of the Appalachian Mountains.

Stephanie Boyd’s ordinary world changes forever when she and her children witness a blood bath. To escape the wrath of the Russian Mafia, she has no choice but to help the FBI uncover the mafia’s mole inside the U.S. Treasury. While on the run with the handsome agent who is willing to die for them, Stephanie learns the meaning of self-sacrifice and love.

Agent John Dolton’s only break in solving the case that cost him everything is a couple of kids and a beautiful widow. But keeping them safe seems impossible when their every move is foreseen by their enemy. Within weeks, Stephanie and her children soften the loner’s heart and John allows himself to let go of his all-consuming sorrow. This time John vows not to fail to protect the family he comes to love.

True events?

I see your eyebrows raised. Yes, true events. Life is stranger than fiction.

The idea for the book came when a trailer containing US funds went missing from the lot of the trucking company I had worked for. It was stolen, just missed directed for an hour. Tractor-trailers are stolen every day, for the product being hauled.

Another element also true and has been verified by the FBI director of the branch office near my home. I can’t tell you what that is, because I would be giving away part of the suspense plot. You’ll just have to read ‘His Witness To Evil’ and try to figure it out.

Remember the sale is only for a short. Please pass on the information. Follow me on twitter as Ajordon for daily updates. Thank you. AJ

Saturday, May 26, 2012

Remembering Our Fallen Heroes.

Cursor… Cursor… Cursor…

I remember lying in the hospital, looking around at the ward full of beds, occupied by only a few and wondering if the Army really thought there were so many pregnant women. I was young and naïve. Two years prior we'd seen the end of the Vietnam War.
My husband was on assignment. I was a thousand miles away from home and family. Not a long distance now days, but in the seventies I might’ve well been across the globe. There was no instant communications. No pictures sent across cyber-space or I-phones. No I love you, miss you, take care messages coming back at me. I had just had my first child, a boy, and I felt so alone.

The walls were not decorated with funny characters, but were clean, stark. There were no televisions in the ward. No radios. My meals were not served to me in bed, but rather placed on a long table in the center of the room where my trio of fellow new-mothers gathered to eat whatever everyone else was served in the mess hall that day. Strangely, I felt comfortable. I was an ARMY BRAT. My son was now an ARMY BRAT—born into the 101st Airborne.

With nothing but time to heal, I scanned at the empty beds and wondered how many men had been treated here? My pain was nothing compared to what they must felt. Some had died in this very room. In that defining moment, I grew. A sense of pride like I’d never felt before welled through me as the sorrowful notes of taps floated across the base. I still get choke-up every time I hear the woeful tune.

The nurse handed my baby. I stared at his innocence while his tiny fingers curled around mine, and I thanked all the souls that had given so much so that my son would know freedom like no other in the world.

Please take a few moments this holiday weekend and remember the women and men who gave so much of themselves for your way of life, for your children and for you.

Ps: I’d be proud to have you list the branch and division of any family heroes who’ve

served or are serving listed in your post.

Monday, May 14, 2012

Door Open Or Door Close?

Who loves a good love scene? I do too, but lately while reading, I find myself flipping pages and skipping over them. Why? And why are there books on my shelves that will fall open to the love scenes?

I pass over some love scenes and devour others because of the characters. It’s that simple. The author whose books fall open to those yummy page made me love the characters. I became invested in their lives and their dreams. I would refer to them by name instead of the heroine and hero when telling others about the story.

I wanted the woman to find the man of her dreams because, damn it, she deserved a good man. And I wanted the man to realize she was the piece of his heart he’d been searching for all his life. I wanted the perfect-for-each-other couple to come together as one. (excuse the pun)

The thing about love scenes, when the author has written remarkably real characters and has me totally invested, I don’t need the total physical description of mating for me to enjoy the story. A scene leading up to a hungry first kiss with the door closing shortly afterwards will leave me just as satisfied. In fact, leaving the details of the physical connection to my own imagination is sometimes much better. I hate slot A into slot B writing.

That is my take on love scenes. So what is your opinion? What makes a good love scene for you? And do you prefer the door to remain open?


She waited for his move.

His gaze drifted over her, stopping briefly on the bruise coloring her upper arm.

Her blood rushed, warming her, making her ready for him. She shifted her weight, parting her legs.

His tongue crossed his lips. “Steph, I…”

“I know you don’t have the answers, John. I don’t either. Right now, I don’t want to think about tomorrow or the next day. I just need to know how you feel.”

Steph reached down and grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head.

Desire grew in his eyes as his gaze fluttered over her bare breasts.

“Don’t say anything, just show me,” she said.

In two quick strides, he stood before her. He gathered her in his arms. As their kiss deepened, she melted against him. His right hand palmed her ribs before...



Sunday, May 13, 2012

Happy Mother's Day

Our first steps were probably hard to take. Remember that moment. We clung to a stable element. We looked out into a world where thousands of new adventures waited for us. Our hearts fluttered with exhilaration like a Hummingbird’s wings. Our knees trembled. We hesitated. Our feet felt like they weighed more than our entire bodies.

A quest as old as mankind called again.

We drew a breath and let go of the safe haven. The first shaky step made us hesitate, but we didn’t stop. We sat our jaws, focused and took another—more stable this time. With each step our confidence grew and showed in our smiles. We started our journey. We made one of our dreams come true and we’ve been working at others ever since.

Whatever your dream has been, remember one of the people who played a huge part in encouraging you to step onto the path.

Happy Mother’s Day.

Friday, May 4, 2012

First Friday Art Walk

The goal of any artist is to touch the soul of another with their work. I'm happy to share the works of the artists that have touched me. I hope you enjoy them too.

Now, it might not be much to many, but this picture means a lot to me. It hung in my grandmother's living room. I remember as a child, during sleepovers, my grandmother and I would stay up to the wee hours and watch the Late Show and then the Late, Late Show. She'd make real cooked chocolate pudding between the two shows. Yum. Looking at this picture, invokes many feelings and really, isn't that what art is suppose to do?

On another wall hangs my Great-Grandfather's confirmation certificate--dated 1857. The document starts many conversations. Again, isn't that what art should do?

This quilt was commission by grandmother and quilted by the women of my church during the 1940s. She gave it to me on my 16th birthday because I loved it so much. No. I was not 16 in the 1940s. LOL Silly.

These plates were made by my mother. She knows I love butterflies.

Want to see more art today? Check at my friends' sites.


Liz Talley/Diana Layne_

Cynthia Justlin_

Anne Marie

Stop back next Friday to view more of my art.

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

Some days

If you're taking a peek, thank you. Happy May. Some consider today the first day of summer. Looking around, I have to agree.

Today, this my office. I wouldn't change a thing.

The scent from these lilacs are heavenly. I think I'll cut a bunch and put them in my bedroom.

My assistant is loving the views too.

Days like this I just want to lay in the hammock and read or watch the clouds drift by, but I'm working on getting the next book polished and out to my readers. I do love my job.

Stop by this Friday as I and a few friends will be sharing art.
And if you'd like to follow my tweets on tweeter, look for me as AJordon. WINK