What If

Where in the world do you get your ideas? That is the number one question I get from readers. My answer is simple. Life.

If you’ve read any of my published works, you’re probably saying yeah right. That really happened to you? My answer is, “Well, not all of it, but the catalyst for the story really did happen to me, or to someone close to me.”

Example, in ‘Obsessed By WildFire’ the heroine is a barrel racer. I was a barrel racer and have a few ribbons to prove it. My family’s barn burned at the hands of an arson. These memories among others were the sparks for the story.

In ‘His Witness to Evil, a tractor-trailer is stolen. My family is and has been in the trucking industry going on seventy years. I remember going with my father to the New York City Markets as a young girl and seeing the drivers sleeping in their cabs with their feet hanging out the window. Very few trucks had bunks then. You wouldn’t take a child into the markets today and you certainly wouldn’t sleep with your windows open. Heists occur.

‘In The Presence Of Evil’ deals with bank wire transfers being intercepted and sent to criminal accounts. Yes. It happened. How? It’s in the hands of the FBI to find out. Today, criminals don’t need to pick your home’s lock in order to rob you.

Catalysts for stories are everywhere and all I need to do is ask what if and my imagination takes off. It's as simple as that.

I haven’t shared info or an excerpt for Obsessed By Wildfire in a while, so here you go. OBW is a fun, sexy, contemporary with just a bit of suspense set in the heart of Texas. If you'd like a free digital download of Obsessed By Wildfire just join my newsletter.

Enjoy

Autumn



******
Isobel Trinidad is her own woman. She vows no man will rope her into the humdrum life of a housewife and take away her dreams of becoming the National Barrel Champion like her father had done to her mother. Her mind is set, until a handsome Yankee comes to town and upsets everything she has believed.

Arson brings State Fire Marshal Warner Keyson to Mule Post, but a wildfire of a woman stops him in his tracks. Intrigued by Issy’s fire, he contrives ways to keep her close while conducting his investigation. What they create, which neither of them bargained for, is the blaze of a lifetime.
::::::

Chapter One of 'Obsessed By Wildfire'

The sun had set.

Mini dust tornados swirled off the tires of Isobel Trinidad’s seen-better-days Chevy pickup. She maneuvered through the Blue Bug Saloon’s crammed lot at a less than safe speed, nearly taking the fender off of Suzie’s prized classic Mustang. Suz would scalp her next time she went into the Hair Crazy Salon to get the dead ends trimmed from her waist length hair. And she was partial to her raven locks.

A couple of orange cones flew as she reached her destination and slammed on the brakes. The pickup skidded to a stop in the no parking area in front of the double doors. She jammed her truck into park and shouldered the door open before the four-by-four’s engine stopped its final whine.

The neon light above the Blue Bug’s entry turned her white tank top a beautiful, light shade of sapphire and glazed her bare arms with an indigo tint.
Why hadn’t Chicky used blue? Blue was comforting. But no, he’d used gut-wrenching yellow. The town’s handyman knew she hated yellow. Why he’d even helped her spray paint her yellow taxi purple. The man didn’t listen. She hated men who thought they knew what was best for a woman when they had no clue.

Chicky left her no choice. She had to kill him.

She reached over the side of the truck, into the bed, and grabbed her lunge whip. It was the Thursday night before a holiday weekend and Mule Post’s hot spot was packed. Did she care? No. It just meant there would be a whole herd of witnesses to watch Chicky cower his way back to her spread and fix what he’d done while she’d been off checking out a promising two-year old stallion.

Her fingers curled around the leather strap in her hand. In the morning, she wanted to walk out on her front porch—the one that still needed a dozen or so floorboards replaced—look out over the hundred fifty-seven point eight acres she’d inherited from her Gran, sip her morning cup of tea and see anything but yellow wood siding. There still was no promise of rain in the forecast and a brilliant full moon hung over Mule Post. Chicky could paint in the dark.

White would be good.

She kicked up small puffs of dust as she rounded the truck’s front end.
Prickly pear green would be good.

“You know, you should be more careful.”

The late-night-radio voice stopped Isobel’s right heel from stomping the Blue Bug’s step. She turned. If it wasn’t for the fact her blood pressure was already at a dangerous level, it would’ve shot there staring into the cornflower blue eyes of this stranger. He was a good six inches taller than her five foot eight, broad at the shoulders and chest, trim at the waist and hips and from what she could tell by the stretch of his jeans, his package was where he got the gumption to face off with her while she was in a hellish ass-kicking mood.

There was no doubt he was a Yankee. He wore sneakers. No Texan would wear running shoes to go dancing. And his scent wasn’t leather, hay or old horse. She lifted her chin a notch, just a little, to let him know what he was about to take on. “Who are you?”

“Warner Keyson. You?” He folded his arms across his chest. His muscles bulged from beneath the rolled back sleeves of his white dress shirt. She’d seen bigger forearms—on a few NFL players.

“Isobel Trinidad.”

“Well, Ms. Trinidad, you could’ve caused some damage or killed someone the way you barreled in here.”

“The last time I heard, Raleigh was Mule Post’s chief and you’re not one of his officers. Besides everyone’s inside.”

“There could be a couple or two in the backseat of those cars. You know, enjoying the night.”

Warner Keyson’s warm caramel gaze drifted over her and Isobel’s legs buckled a degree before she roped off her reaction. Refusing to look away, she wrestled the urge to step closer and touch the cute dark lock that curled behind Mr. Keyson’s right ear. “Were you peeking in windows?”

“Nah, not peeking.” His full lips pulled up the tiniest bit.

Looking pass him, she scanned the cars. Had he been in the backseat of one of them? Had one of the local girls already run him down and claimed him?

“So what do you have in mind with that whip?” He broke her musing.

“Whip?” She’d forgotten she still had it in her grasp, and the reason why.
Chicky. Her fire to kill the devil with a paintbrush had taken a new direction. This blaze was much more alluring, but she had a ton and half of chores to do this weekend, starting with thrashing Chicky. She couldn’t be distracted by a weekend fling, not this weekend.

“I’m going to use it on a man who doesn’t listen. So if you don’t mind—”

He chuckled. “Not at all. You’ve got business to tend to and so do I.”

He took a step back and Isobel’s psyche tickled with disappointment. Was his business a half-naked woman waiting in his car? Longing for his strong arms to pull her close, feel his large hands travel over her body and help to unwrap his package?

“Goodnight, Isobel Trinidad.”

He’d said her name again, like he meant to remember it.

The Yankee smiled, turned and walked back through the dozens of cars. He had a damn fine flank side.

What brought Warner Keyson to Mule Post? Certainly wasn’t the rodeo. There wasn’t a bit of hayseed scent about the man.



Please note all material on this site is copyright protected by Autumn Jordon.

$100.00 PRIZE - Enter Today.

Would you love to be the owner of this Sweet Grass Basket and a $100.00 Amazon gift card? You could be. All you need to do is join my newsletter. The contest will run from NOW until December 15, 2015. On December 16, 2015, I will announce the winner in a special Holiday newsletter. All members of my newsletter on December 15 will be eligible. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been a member. The only restrictions I have are you must be 18 years of age (by signing up for my newsletter you’re confirming that you are) and you must be a USA resident. So sign up NOW and enjoy the perks of being one of my followers! (click NOW)

If you haven't read PERFECT, shame on you. To understand how special this basket is to Darcy, you need to.

PERFECT'S blurb.


Dylan Kincaid totally screwed up Thanksgiving and now he’s faced with Christmas. Thrown into the frightening role of both mother and father while his brother and sister-in-law are off serving their country, all Dylan wants is to make Christmas perfect for his two nieces. But time is running out.

Down on her luck Charleston, S.C. restaurateur, Darcy Witherspoon is licking a wounded ego when she arrives in Black Moose, VT and meets the handsome Maple tree farmer. Wanting a happy holiday herself, she teams up with Dylan to make a perfect Christmas.

Neither is interested in a holiday affair, but the magic of Christmas has something more everlasting in store for the couple. An absolutely perfect love!


Perfect is also available at:

Kobo
B&N
APPLE



REVIEWS:

A happy little Christmas love story! A quick read with little antagonism, it was a cute book that made me smile. ~ December Kindle reader

It was a nice warm and fuzzy book. Just wish I knew what will happen next.
Love at first sight!!!! ~ December Kindle reader

Christmas romance at its best! Loved ever minute of it! Looking to read more from this author.~ November Kindle Reader

Enjoyed this book very much. Even though I dislike winter it made me warm and cozy.~October Kindle Reader

I really liked this story. It made me feel good. I liked the characters and loved that happy ending. If you want a short book that gives you a warm fuzzy feeling, this will fit the bill. ~ Sept. Kindle Reader

Hundreds more...

It's gone. It's done. I'm moving on.

Time. We all wished we had more stashed away somewhere so on those occasions when we really do need to be cloned three times over we could open the proverbial bottle and dump time over our heads. But, the concept of time and how to capture it remains a mystery to even the greatest minds.

So what is our alternative? How about organization?

We all know how to organize? Well, maybe 75% of us do. Mankind has been organizing things since day one. They kept their food in one area of the cave and their fossil fuels in another and slept in another. They organized hunting parties to gather or capture their food. We know herbalist have been around since, well, day one. I’m sure they kept their ginkgo separated from their dandelion. (To learn more about herbs and their uses visit http://www.age-oldherbs.com/ailmentherb.php ) But how do we organize to save or make the best use of our time?

First, thing that comes to my mind is to get rid of clutter. Over the last year or so, I’ve been tossing, recycling, and giving things away that I don't use any longer, and I still have a truck load that needs to go. I watched a newscast a few months ago on the new minimalist movement. One man had less than one-hundred items, excluding food, underwear and socks in that count, but every other article of clothing, cooking and eating utensils and everything else he owned was included. The show really made me think about what I actually need in my life and how much having a ton of stuff can blog me down. Out the door became my new motto. Well, except for my books. I mean let's be honest. Books are treasure.

Second, when getting organized, I think of lists. The days I make a list are the days I get so much more done. I know some of you have heard the old story about the woman who goes out to get her newspaper and sees her flowers need water so she goes to get the watering can and notices her car windows are open. She drops the can and goes inside to get her keys and picks up her husband’s socks from the floor and carries them to the hamper only to realize it’s full and she needs to start the laundry. Etc, etc, etc. Until the end of the story she is exhausted and never gets anything done. (I’m raising my hand here.) That is so me on some days-days that I don’t make a list, prioritize the items and stay focus on accomplishing the tasks. The world is filled with many disractions bidding for our attention. Without super human powers, we can’t do it all.

One more. (This blog is getting too long. I hate long blogs. I don’t have time to read everything. I’m sure you don’t either) Choose what is important to you and do it first. If gardening is your love, make it your priority and the first thing you do in the morning, or on your off time. If exercise is your game, do it. If it’s writing, sit down and knock out a page or two. Do what you truly love first and your step will be lighter doing the rest of the items on your I’ve-got-to-get-done list.

Thank you for visiting. Take your time looking around and please visit again. AJ

Things Are Poppin'

Welcome to my world. This morning was beautiful, so I thought I'd shared some of the sights I saw while I walked.













The Dogwood tree is blooming.








And the apple trees.









This is one of my favorite places to write.


There is magic in storytelling. L. Allende


The Johnnie Jump-ups are jumpin'.








The wild carneys (Yellow Finch)are back.







Thanks for stopping by. Have a great weekend!

Where Did You Read?

Before B&N, before Borders, before Walden Books, before chain stores had a book section, people went to the library to pick out a book to enjoy for an afternoon or two weeks. A hardcover book. Only the wealthy had shelves of books.

I’m not wealthy, but I do have shelves of books. I have enough books to keep me reading non-stop for years. I have so many because 1) I’m an avid reader. 2) I can afford a mass-market book now and then. 3) I’m a writer and I’ve received many books from writer friends and conferences. And, I need to research the market so book purchases are sometimes necessary. I’m lucky.

However, there is nothing like walking into the library, smelling the volumes of paper, running my hands over the bindings and rejoicing that so many stories are there for my taking. It’s a high, I tell you.

It saddens me that there are those who cannot afford to purchase a book, much less an electronic device to download a free book. Books are essential for education of our youth, ourselves. The library is very important to them. Who knows, a future president or a future doctor who cures cancer, or someone who might marry your child, could be one of the masses that use the library today. Education is important to the well-being of our society and that is why it’s important for us to support our libraries.

Because of the poor economy, governmental funding for our libraries is stagnant, while operational costs are increasing. Yes, I know, what you are thinking. I can’t afford to give to another charity. But could you pack a lunch a few days this week and donate some of the money you saved to your library? Or could you take a few of those books on your shelf and donate them to your library. Is your library planning a fund raiser, maybe a bake sale or basket raffle? Could you donate items? Do you have an hour each week to donate your time? A lot of little aids add up to huge supports.

This week is National Library Week. April 8-14. Please consider helping them to help others.

Happy Easter

Happy Holiday everyone! I'm taking the weekend off to be with family. I hope you enjoy your weekend. Be safe. AJ



PS: remember the sale on His Witness To Evil ends soon. Check blog below for links.

His Witness To Evil is on SALE!

To celebrate the release of my Golden Leaf Winner, HIS WITNESS TO EVIL, I'm offering it in e-format for only .99 at Amazon & B&N. The sale will be for a short time only.




Here’s the link to Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/His-Witness-To-Evil-ebook/dp/B007MBA1O0/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1332340994&sr=1-1

Here's the link to B&N:http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/His-Witness-To-Evil?keyword=His+Witness+To+Evil&store=allproducts

A blurb for ‘His Witness To Evil’.

Based on 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 is also true and has been verified by the FBI director of the branch FBI 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. Thank you. AJ

What Is Blooming My Way

The morning begins in northeast PA.





The crocus open to greet the day.






A cardinal calls, "It's breakfast."











It's time to plant May's flowers.









Warm winds brought spring early this year and much is already in bloom.























The moon rises among the stars.




Visit my friends' blogs to see what is blooming in their backyards.




Florida Rita Henuber ritahenuber.com

Texas Diana Layne blog.dianalayne.com/

Arizona Cynthia Justlin http://cynthiajustlin.com/blog

His Witness To Evil

April 5, 2012

Welcome to my blog. I'm so excited to share I've released His Witness To Evil. I just love the cover, don't you? It's available on Amazon and B&N this week at a sale price of .99.

When I began to write romantic suspense, I tossed out several reams of paper. Why? Because no matter how I tried I couldn’t keep my villain hidden. He kept voicing his POV and writing his own chapters. I nearly ripped my hair out by the roots fighting with him to stay silent. Then I read a wonderful book, How To Write Killer Fiction by Carolyn Wheat. Ms.Wheat set me straight and confirmed what my villain was telling me all along.

Is there a Who-dun-it in suspense? Of course there is. It’s when the villain will be revealed that makes the two different, among a few other elements. In a mystery, an act of violence begins the story, but most times the action is set off stage. The reader is invited into the dilemma and introduced to an already seasoned hero who solves the crime logically and through scientific methods. There is a small circle of suspects, clues and red herrings. Information is withheld from the reader and the said reader is kept in the dark two steps behind. The hero grows very little during the story. The story is all about who killed X? The villain is not exposed until the last scene and the end result for the reader is an intellectual satisfaction.

A suspense novel starts on even keel, showing the everyday life our hero or heroine. Then BAM a nightmare occurs. The hero and/or heroine are not necessarily seasoned investigators. This is where your character arc comes in to play. The hero and/or heroine will grow throughout the story.

Excerpt from His Witness To Evil:

Stephanie masked her sigh of exertion while lifting the Coleman cooler she’d borrowed for their trip. She lugged the container to her old SUV. She knew how her son felt. She wished she had the money to take them away on exciting excursions like their friends had this summer. To places like Disney World, but she couldn’t even afford a day trip to Hershey Park, America’s chocolate capital. Em’s special diet, because of her allergies, took up a third of her take-home pay. After paying the mortgage, utilities, car insurance and miscellaneous expenses, she was lucky to save a few dollars a week.

She chewed on her bottom lip. Hopefully, next week Bobby and his friends would be off on new adventures, their summer vacations a distant memory.
The howl of a diesel engine jerked Stephanie from her musing. The squeal of brakes, crushing metal and shattering glass made her spin around.
***

Other basics of a suspense: All action is on stage. The protagonists’ world expansions. There are surprises. The villain can be revealed to the reader immediately and he or she can have a POV.

Yeah! This made my villain happy.

Information is given to the reader but withheld from the heroes. In other words, we know what could happen if the wrong path is taken by our hero or heroine. The reader sits on the edge of her seat, screaming at the heroine and hero not to go there.

Excerpt from His Witness To Evil:

“I don’t want to kill no kids, Victor.” Mac danced in place ready to dodge Victor’s wrath.

“You will do as I say,” Victor snapped.

She looked at the dead driver. His lifeless stare pleaded to her for justice.

“Don’t trust her,” Sheriff Morse ordered, turning his gun on her.

Stephanie refused to flinch under Morse’s scrutiny.

Gene moved in front of her. “Frank, what the hell are you doing? You’ve known Stephanie all her life.”

“There is too much at stake, Gene. She saw me kill that guy. I’m not going to jail.”

Morse’s tongue skimmed his lips. “Why the hell are you trying to protect her anyway? You two have been fightin’ like junkyard dogs for years. You complain every day she’s milking you dry. This is your chance to be rid of your mistakes.”

“Steph was never a mistake to me,” Gene’s voice rose in response. Then it softened. “I was hers.”

Tears threatened to blur her vision and she blinked them away. She squeezed Gene’s arm and glanced at her ex-husband’s profile. He remained focused.

“Touching,” Victor said. “But, sorry, no. They must die here.”
***

The suspense story is all about the hero or heroine prevailing. Emotional satisfaction is what the reader gets from a suspense novel. And since I write romantic suspense, ever lasting love must also be found.

Excerpt from His Witness To Evil:

After a week, her touch was familiar. His heart melted. He grabbed her hand, holding her in place as he turned and smiled down on her. Her nipples pushed against her white T-shirt. He gently brushed a knuckle across one peak. “No. It was hell without you.”

“Mmmm. Same here.” She pulled back and lifted his arm around her, curling into him. Looking out over the lake, she sighed. “I could stay here forever, if you’d let me.”

“I wish we could.” He gathered her closer and kissed the top of her head. “But eventually Bobby and Em would have to go to school.”

“I could home school.” Her chuckle was strained.

He felt her pain. He smiled while his heart wrenched. He would like nothing more than to forget about the world and stay here with her and the kids. But they couldn’t. “Sooner or later Ben will call. We’ll have to go back.”

“I know.”

Steph moved away. A cold void took her place.

She drifted to the other porch column. Leaning against it, she folded her arms across her chest. Her lips pressed together as if she was forming the right words behind them. “I know I said that our time together here was going to be enough to last me a lifetime, but—” Tears brimmed her lids. “I was wrong. A lifetime won’t be enough.”

John stepped toward her. “I don’t know what—”

“I know, you don’t know how we can be together. So, Ben will call. We’ll go back, and I’ll identify Victor. You’ll toss him in jail and throw away the key. You’ll drive off in pursuit of the next bad guy and me…Well, I’ll go home and wonder where you are. Wonder if what I felt was love.”

The woman knew how to make a guy feel like a heel.

John pulled her into his arms. She buried her head in his chest and cried softly against him. He kissed her head and smoothed her hair. “Steph, I didn’t think I’d ever love again,” he whispered softly, cupping her chin and tilting her face up until she looked at him. “Like a bomb, you dropped into my life. Every defense I’d put up to protect myself from ever being hurt again came tumbling down. You opened up my heart. As much as you don’t want to live without me, I don’t want to live without you. I love you.”

He kissed her gently. Her arms wrapped around him and held on. “Somehow, we’ll figure this out. I promise.”

I hope you enjoyed!
Visit me at www.autumnjordon.com

If you would like to host me at your blog contact me at autumnjordon@yahoo.com

All material contained within this post may not be used without expressed permission from author. Copyright© By Autumn Jordon

What Women Really Want

Valentine’s Day is right around the corner and most guys are probably rolling their eyes and moaning, “I just got through Christmas” or “Man, I screwed up with my last gift. I really need to give her something great. It’s too cold to sleep in the doghouse.”

Relax guys. I’ll tell you want woman. Romance.

Romance is not something you can buy in a store. It doesn’t cost a cent. The expensive flowers are great, and so are the chocolate and jewelry. They’re appreciated, but they’re not romance. And if they’re presented in a less than a romantic way, you’re dog meat.

Romance is when a guy shows the woman in his life how much he cares for her. Like, placing his hand on the small of her back as they walk side by side, brushing her hair back from her face, or leaving for work and rushing back in the door, again, for another kiss. Make her a cup of tea or rub her shoulders. Or surprise her with a candle lit bath.

I think the most romantic thing my DH has ever done for me is send me a postcard telling me he really loves me for no reason of all—not my birthday, not Valentine’s Day, not an any anniversary . It really doesn’t take much to make her hearts swell.

So, for the ladies reading this blog, do you want to help the guys out and share what you’d consider romantic?



Valentine's Day Wayback Style
OBSESSED BY WILDFIRE
By Autumn Jordon


Isobel slipped out of Warner’s truck and was immediately trapped by his hard body. Her shawl fell from her shoulders and Warner’s warm lips caressed her exposed bare skin. The man’s maleness wrapped around her senses, crushing her defenses into dust. Her knees buckled as tingles followed his assault over her dress’s thin strap, up the cord of her neck to the sensitive area under her lobe.

Tilting her head toward the snow moon, Isobel’s eyes drifted close. “We’re together six months and you still can’t wait until we get inside?”

“Remember our first date?” He mumbled against her ear.

“I’ll never forget. You wanted me so bad.”

He pulled back and chuckled. “I wanted you. You ripped my shirt off before I made it up the porch steps.”

“I think all the smoke you’ve inhaled while investigating fires has affected your memory, Yankee.” With her hands splayed on his hard chest, she pushed him back. “Why don’t we head in and I’ll show exactly how you assaulted me.” She entwined her fingers with his and started toward the house only to be yanked back.

“I need to show you something first.” Grabbing both her hands, Warner backpedaled toward the barn.

“No. I’m not dressed for the loft.”

“Trust me.”

Isobel laughed. “I’m in trouble if I do that.”

Warner rolled back the barn door and hit the light switch.

Lizzy whinnied.

Isobel took a moment to give the mare now completely blind in her right eye a treat of winter apple. As the horse’s soft muzzle tickled her palm, Isobel wished she’d find another horse as great as Lizzy was at the barrels and as pretty as the Appaloosa she’d seen at auction last week.

“Come on.” Warner’s hot breath brushed her ear.

Her new dress would smell of straw and beast if Warner had his way. The gravel floor crunched as Isobel dug her FMN cowgirl boot heels into its firmness. “No way I’m going to make out—”

A nicker drew Isobel’s attention to a stall that should be empty. “What was that?

She peered through the bars at the handsome Appaloosa colt she’d lost to a higher bidder at the auction. Her heart thumped under her breast. “I don’t understand. How?”

Warner’s eyes danced with wicked joy. “I knew how much you wanted him. Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.”

Isobel laced her fingers around Warner’s neck and pulled him closer. “Yankee, you’re going to get your shirt ripped off again.”

Keeping That Poinsetta

It’s soon time to start my seedlings.

I know what you’re thinking. It’s January. Are you nuts?

No. I love flowers and want to enjoy them as soon as possible and as for all as possible, so I start my seeds in early February and transplant them outside in early May. But since I have a few weeks before I start, I decided to take on another plant project--my Poinsettia.

My DH and I received this poinsettia as a gift from the Cancer center of which he is a patient. I’ve never had one this big. It is absolutely gorgeous and I want to keep it year around, and hopefully enjoy it again next holiday season, so I did a little research.

Poinsettias (euphorbia pulcherrima) are actually desert plants and are native to Mexico and Central America. The Aztecs called them cuetlaxochitl. Poinsettias were introduced in the United States in 1825 by Joel Poinsett, the first U.S. ambassador to Mexico, and quickly caught on as a popular Christmas plant.

Poinsettias are not poisonous. However, the sap is a little caustic and may cause skin irritation, and certainly can cause indigestion if digested. So if you’re handling the plant, it would be a good idea to wear gloves.

You can keep your poinsettia in full foliage well into February if you place it where it will get at least six hours of bright indirect light and where it is out of drafts, both hot and cold—not near windows or heaters. The flower of the poinsettia is actually the yellow centers. The red or white are actually leaves. After the flowers start to drop off, gradually decrease watering the plant until the bracts all drop, then allow the plant to dry out completely (the poinsettia is a desert plant). Now, store the plant somewhere with a cooler temperature around 50 degrees. Remember we are trying to recreate a Mexican Winter, so a 50 degree basement or garage makes a fine location.

When the temperature in your area warms, around 50 degrees overnight, you should repot your plant, using the same pot with fresh soil and start to gradually water again. Remember, gradually is how you stopped watering. Also, start to fertilize every three weeks.

In mid-August, cut the plant back. Cutting back to three to five stems will produce a bushy plant with big flowers. Don’t prune your plant any later than September, if you wish it to bloom for the holidays. Bring plant inside when temperatures become too cool.

To get a poinsettia to reflower you have to keep it in total darkness at least 14 hours a day for eight to ten weeks in a cool place (55-65 degrees). If you start this procedure around October 1st, color should return to the bracts by mid-December. IMPORTANT; Any exposure to light will prevent flowering. Cover the plant using a light-proof bag or place it in a closet. Night time temperatures above 70-75°can decay the plant or prevent flowering.

Here are some tips for making your poinsettia last during the holiday season.

• Place the poinsettia in a sunny window.
• Do not let any part of plant touch cold window panes.
• Indoor temperatures, from 60 to 70°F, are ideal for long plant life.
• High temperatures will shorten the life of the colorful bracts.
• Water only when the soil is dry.
• Placing your poinsettia in a cool room 55 to 60°F at night, will extend blooming time.
• Do not fertilize when plant is in bloom.
• Avoid temperature fluctuations and warm or cold drafts.

There you have it, all that I’ve learned. Now, to put it to practice. We’ll see if I have the same beautiful poinsettia next Christmas season.

In My World

In My World

Winter. I love this time of year. I always have. Why?
My answer; why not?

I know many look at the winter as being gloomy, filled with empty trees limbs, often cloudy skies and bone chilling weather. I see those things, and more, in a different light.


I mean look at this tree. It stands in my front yard. I love studying its bones. How they reach up to the sky. How they bend and give away to a northern gust. You can’t see those bones in the summer.



And here is a picture of an early morning sky (same tree). Magnificent! It’s like royalty waking.


I love throwing on my huge, cuddly sweater and taking a hike on mornings like this…..
…. and on mornings like this, with the snow falling, filling the branches of the pines. There’s nothing like walking, feeling the brisk air kissing your skin.


I love watching nature enjoying the winter scene too. My Irish Setter loves to dig his nose deep into a snow drift and sniff out what is underneath.


And the birds surround my feeders like it’s a banquet.

And the quiet. There is nothing as peaceful as a crisp morning or evening. Most times, the only sound I hear is the crunch of the snow beneath my feet or only my breaths.

And there is nothing like coming inside and warming yourself up with a cup of hot chocolate by a fire. Especially, if your sharing that fire with someone.

I love winter and I guess that is why many of my stories are set in the season. In The Presence Of Evil is. Let me share an excerpt with you. I hope you enjoy.

AJ

EXCERPT FROM 'IN THE PRESENCE OF EVIL'
Copyright protected by Autumn Jordon

Rusty left the same moment they had, hopefully drawing the attention of anyone watching the house.

Under the cover of a blinding snow squall, Gina and Cole crossed the open field which stretched for several acres behind the house. Cole kept his gaze sharp. Even though they’d slipped from the house without incident by way of the backdoor, he wished he had more weapons other than the ski poles in his hands and his Glock with two clips.

He looked over his shoulder, checking on Gina. She was off to his left, a hair behind him. So as not to deepen their tracks, her ski imprints banked his.

She saw him looking back and did the same.

Through the driving snow, he saw the faint glimmer of the oil lamp they’d left lit on the kitchen table. A soft glow cast against several of the windows. It would extinguish on its own in approximately thirty minutes, making it appear they’d gone to bed. Anyone watching the home would see Gina’s car in the garage and his snow-covered jeep still parked outside. They’d naturally assume they were still in the house.

In the morning, when they didn’t appear at the very least to clean off his jeep and for Gina to prepare to go about her normal routine, their enemy would enter. Cole had no doubt they would, and they’d find them gone. By then the wind and snow would cover the tracks left by their ski blades.

As they neared the wood line, Gina sprinted next to him. “Let me take the lead. I know the path. We’ll make better time.”

Cole hesitated a moment, not liking the idea, before he nodded. She was right. They had limited time, and it was ticking away. “Go ahead.”

Cold air burned his lungs as they skied through the forest. He flexed his fingers around the metal poles. Because of his injuries, he hadn’t come to Mountain Pine prepared for outdoor activities. The only pair of gloves Gina had that would fit his hands was an old pair of gardening gloves. They provided little protection against the frigid air, but he’d endured worse.

The black markings of the birch trees reminded him of hidden faces and made him second-guess more than once his judgment to let Gina take the lead. The forest was filled with dark murky shadows anyone of which could be David’s killer who had turned his sights on Gina.

Cole stared ahead of her. He should be shielding Gina.

His senses remained on high alert watching, waiting for an attack to come.
Within fifteen minutes, the snow squall capped the mountain to the east, and the moon threw their shadows onto the snow in front of them as they topped a ridge.
Cole pulled up alongside of her.

With a finger, Gina tugged the scarf covering the lower half of her cheeks and pointed down into the valley below. “There it is.” Her breath spiraled off on a gust.
The two-story log cabin built in the late forties, right after World War II, was flanked on all sides by fifty acres of perfectly coned evergreens ranking in size on the hillside. A barn, which had seen its better days a long time ago, stood off to the home’s rear. A few small buildings, which Cole took as a tool shed, a chicken coop and possibily an out house dotted the white landscape. A road snaked among the trees to the south and disappeared from view over the mountain side. Snow drifted across the lane at places, and provided a good sign no one had been here in the last few days or would have easy access to it now.

This was the place Rusty wanted him to buy. A place where he could find peace. His gaze drifted to Gina. A place where he could raise a family.

www.autumnjordon.com

How Did I Do?

This time of year always gets to me, in a good way. It’s a whole season of excitement filled with family and friends and even strangers wishing you a wonderful life. I’m grateful for each and every one of them. Even though 2011 has been a challenging year for my family, in many ways, it has been a year of renewed strength, shared wisdom and open embraces. I will never forget this year. And now, that the time has pushed us to the end of the calendar where we say goodbye to 2011 and hello to 2012, I have the same itch coursing through my veins that I get ever year at this time. It’s time to set my New Year’s goals.


Yup, I’m a goal setter. I actually make a list (not more than ten goals). They range from personal growth, health improvement, to professional objectives, and even reading a classic novel I’ve never read before. I think hard about them before committing them to an index card which I insert into the sleeve of my Day-Timer and carry with me. It’s funny at the times when I thought I didn’t have another minute or energy to spare, I’d find that list and it made me realize the promise I made to myself and somehow I’d find the time to do fulfill the vow.


Looking back on my list, I’m satisfied that given the additional commitments I’ve shouldered in 2011, I did pretty darn good in meeting my goals. Could I have done better? Probably. I know at times, I’ve left life upset me to the point I didn’t feel like pushing myself, but, that is a lesson learned. So with 2012 staring me in the face and armed with new-found wisdom, I’m making my goal list for 2012 tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll kiss this year goodbye and start on a new leg of the journey called life. WINK

Does Cole Get His Answer?

If you love action, suspense and romance all rolled in one then you will truly love, In the Presence of Evil. Enjoy reading all the twists in this story and see if Gina and Cole were able to forget the past and seek the future in each others embrace.
Happily Ever After Reviews 4 1/2 cups




Good news for you. My publisher is offering 25% off e copies of 'In The Presence Of Evil' and 'Evil's Witness', but you have to hurry. The discount code ( 17a6baaeb8 ) is only good until September 30th. All you need to do is enter this discount code ( 17a6baaeb8 ) when checking out. Here's the link to my page;
http://tinyurl.com/5wrer6o


I'd like to share another excerpt from 'In The Presence Of Evil'. Enjoy!

Cole’s sixth sense kicked in. A tall, slim shadow grew larger on the wall he faced.


Gina slept the last time he’d checked on her, and Rusty wouldn’t creep.

Had someone gotten past Rusty? Was Gina okay? He fought the urge to bulldoze the guy over and race to her side.

Rule one; self-preservation. He couldn’t be distracted by the image of Rusty or Gina injured or dead. Rule two; take out the intruder. Rule three; find Gina and Rusty, and get them medical help if—

He wouldn’t think the worse.

He had to follow the rules.


Cole concentrated on keeping his breathing normal and waited for the right moment to make his move. The hairs on the nape of his neck prickled as if the cold finger of death toyed with him.

He nuzzled his cheek into the pillow and felt the butt of his gun. His muscles tensed. Under his breath he silently counted one, two, three, and then in a fluid motion, he grabbed his weapon and spiraled off the bed toward his predator, hoping to catch him off guard.

Cole wrapped his arm around legs and dropped the body to the floor, surprised by the light weight.

A high-pitched yelp cut through the night.

“Cole, stop. It’s me.”

“Jesus, Gina.” He halted slamming his gun into her head by a fiction of an inch and braced himself on his elbows.

Her soft body moved under him, and he went hard all over.

A shard of moonlight beamed through the window above them and cut across her shocked expression. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I was just checking on you.”

Her voice shook, and Cole’s heart hammered his sternum. “You almost got yourself killed. Do you know that?”

“I do now.”

Gina’s nails bit into his forearms. The rapid rise and fall of her breasts tickled his chest hair. The satin fabric of her nightgown brushed against his stomach. He recalled the red nightie he’d seen thrown across her bed the night before, and his blood pulsed to areas south of his boxer’s waistband imagining her wearing it now.
He took in the feel of her, recording each soft curve to memory for those nights when he needed to remember a happier time.

Cole’s nostrils flared. Gina’s sweet scent surrounded him like a London fog. The silky strands of her hair lay beneath his hand, tangled in his fingers, and he couldn’t resist the urge to play with the curls, relish their feel. Why was she here?

“What do you want, Gina?”


“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me. There is something. I can feel it.”

Welcome Rachael Brimble

Thursday September 22, 2011

Woohoo! Today, I welcome back the fabulous Rachael Brimble. That's her with Jodi Picoult. Cool, huh.

Rachael doesn't know it but we have so much in common--beside being Wild Rose authors. We both live near Bath, except her Bath is richer in history and is across 'the pond.' We both love big dogs. She has a Labrador named Max and I have an Irish Setter named Mac. And we both love taking walks in the country side (while dreaming of our next books) followed by a good glass of wine.

So let's learn more about Rachael and what she's been up to..


Rachael, you recently had a new release. Could you tell us a little about it?

Paying The Piper is my sixth full-length novel. It is different than anything I’ve written before and I absolutely love it. Hope my readers do too! Here’s the blurb:

Nightclub manager Grace Butler is on a mission to buy the pub where her
mother's ashes are scattered but the owner wants to sell to anyone but her. And that owner happens to be her father...who has a secret she will do anything to discover.


Social worker and all around good guy Jimmy Betts needs funds to buy a house for three special kids before their care home closes. Time is running out and he's desperate for cash. He agrees to a one-time 'job' for bad-man Karl Butler. But in a sudden turn of events, Jimmy finds himself employed by Karl's beautiful, funny and incredibly sexy daughter, Grace. Their lives couldn't be more different, yet one thread binds them: they're both trying to escape the bonds of their fathers. Maybe the only way they'll be free is by being together, instead of alone.

Sounds like a great read. You have an amazing backlist. Would you like to tell us a little about it?

Thank you! I enjoy writing across the sub-genres of romance so my backlist is varied. My list of published books so far is:

Searching For Sophie – romantic suspense with The Wild Rose Press
Reluctant Witness – romantic suspense with The Wild Rose Press
The Sharp Points of a Triangle – romantic comedy with Eternal Press
The Arrival of Lily Curtis – Victorian romance with The Wild Rose Press
Transatlantic Loving (Class of ’85 series) – contemporary romance novella with The Wild Rose Press
Getting It Right This Time – contemporary romance with Lyrical Press.

What is the worst advice you’ve heard, to you or an author?

“If you want to write romance start with Mills & Boon (UK arm of Harlequin). They are so easy to write, you could manage at least four a year.” Say no more…Lol..

I've never heard that. Just the opposite matter of fact.

So, what kind of books do you read, before the glass of wine?

I read anything and everything! I usually have three books on the go at any one time. One hardback novel, one paperback novel and a biography. The novels are usually romantic suspense, women’s fiction or crime. Biographies tend to be about past kings and queens – The Tudors and Elizabeth I are my favourite reads.

I read several books at a time too. That's another thing we have in common. Cool.

I'm a goal setter. Are you?

Absolutely! I set daily and yearly goals. The daily goals are set in the morning but are usually made up of 2,000 words and two blogs or interviews. I am lucky enough to be able to write full-time at the moment…until the kids get home!
Yearly goals for this year were – get an agent, Done! Two books published, Done! And two novellas…not done, lol!

That's amazing. Kudos to you.

Tell us, how can readers contact you?

I am always available to chat and love hearing from my readers:
Email: rachelbrimble@googlemail.com
Twitter: www.twitter.com/rachelbrimble
Facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=86573019143

Very good. Now, will you share a excerpt from your new release, 'Paying The Piper'?

Absolutely! Here you go, and I've decided to give away a prize today to one reader who leaves a comment.

A prize?

Yes. An e-copy of Paying The Piper or one of my backlist novels. Winner's choice.

Very cool. Thanks, Rachael! You can post the winner anytime your ready. Now let's read the excerpt. Enjoy, everyone.

Paying The Piper excerpt:

She sat bolt upright. “Where are you going?”

“To the soup kitchen. Four of my kids have been helping out down there today, so if you don’t need me ‘til seven--”

“Can I come?”

“What?”

“What?” Gerald echoed.

Jimmy stared at her. Was she serious? But knew he wouldn’t refuse her when her eyes were wide with that damn innocent doe-eyed look again and her cheeks flushed pink. He swallowed, clenched his hands into fists inside his pockets.

“You want to come to the soup kitchen?” he asked, hoping against hope he’d gotten the wrong end of the proverbial stick.

She winked, and it had as much the same effect as if she’d wrapped her hand around his penis. “Why not?”

He opened his mouth. Shut it. Opened it, took a breath, but still nothing came out. Her smile widened. “Cat got your tongue, Jimmy Boy?”

Just a few short days ago at her mother’s pub, he’d wanted to ravish her, possess her, let her know what she did to him. And now the same desire coursed through his veins again. She never stopped surprising him and it just added more fuel to the already burning fire.

“And why would you want to do that?” he asked.

“Beats going into the club early,” she said, brushing past him.

She wandered across the room. Her slender body sashaying around the furniture and then her piece de resistance was to snake all five feet nine inches of it across the oblong dining table to grab her bag--the sight of her perfect ass and even better legs sent Jimmy’s senses skyrocketing. His nostrils flared. Grace by name, Grace by nature. She was beautiful, sexy, funny, and he didn’t doubt for one minute she knew exactly what the sight of her did to him.

She turned around and hitched the bag onto her shoulder. “My life is sad. I’ve got nothing else planned for the afternoon. Come on, Jimmy, help me show my father I have a life away from him. Even if it is a complete lie, for now.”

He threw his hands in the air. “Fine.”

A Long Weekend Needs Something, Right?

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With the holiday weekend starting in like hours, I thought I'd share an excerpt of my new release, In The Presence Of Evil. This book was inspired by an incident that got me question by the FBI. Of course, I asked questions of my own. WINK

In this scene things really begin to heat up between Gina and Cole. They've had a hard time fighting their feelings for each other and the walls begin to crumple.

In The Presence Of Evil is availble on Amazon and B&N and many other e-book sites, including my publisher's TWRP (which I earn more royalties through--WINK), so you can download it now and read this weekend.

Enjoy!


The fire in his eyes was meant to make her back off, but she held her position.

Cole stood and stretched his arms out and above his head.

Gina couldn’t help but stare at his magnificent male form. As her gaze trailed up over him, their eyes locked, and Gina quickly looked down at the papers in front of her. She didn’t want to be attracted to Cole, but there was no denying she was very attracted to him.

Her heart fluttered in her chest. The air in the office grew warmer each second, and Cole’s scent was a clear distraction. She had to insist he get out of her sight before he confused her more.

She stood. “Be reasonable. No one is going to come here with guns blazing and try to take me out.”

“You haven’t changed.”

She dropped her pen. “What do you mean by that?”

“You’re as stubborn as a mule.”

She splayed her hand on her chest. “Me, stubborn?”

“Yes. You always were.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I know so.” He chuckled. “We’ll continue this conversation tonight when Rusty is with us.”

“We will not.”

“Are you afraid your boyfriend will find out who you really are?”

“Leo knows who I am.”

“Does he?”

Somehow they both had moved to the middle of the room where they stood face to face.

The dancing sparkle in his dark eyes warmed her insides like hot cocoa on a blistery night. Her gaze dropped to his full lips, and she wondered if he still tasted like a sweet plum.

“You haven’t changed inside, Gina,” he said in a hoarse whisper as he stepped closer. “Neither have I.”

His hand slipped around her waist.

“Cole.”

He drew her to him. Their bodies aligned as they always had, fitting perfectly against one another. Her skin tingled under his touch as he caressed her collarbone and then slid his hand under her hair around the nape of her neck.

Only for a moment did he search her soul before his lips feathered across hers with the promise of love.

This was wrong and she knew it, but at this very moment she didn’t care.

Buy Links:

TWRP www.thewildrosepress.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=137&products_id=4531"

Amazon: www.amazon.com/Presence-Evil-ebook/dp/B00563GGLS/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2

B&N
www.barnesandnoble.com/w/in-the-presence-of-evil-autumn-jordon/1103789115?ean=2940012867070&itm=1&usri=in%2bthe%2bpresence%2bof%2bevil

Friday's Friend

August 26, 2011


I’m thrilled to have my good friend Rita Henuber with me today. Her debut release, ‘Under Fire’, is now out from Carina Press. Guaranteed lovers of romantic suspense and strong, smart heroines and really hot action heroes will love this fast pace read. I’ve asked Rita to share an blurb and excerpts. Check them out. And while I continue to fill the flutes with cyber-champagne and pass the chocolate strawberries, Rita will answer your questions.

Hi, Rita! Congrats on your debut release! Why don’t you start by sharing a blurb for Under Fire?

Rita: Sure. I’d love to.

Coast Guard helicopter pilot Olivia Carver is on a personal mission. Her twin brother, an undercover officer, was murdered by a drug cartel and she won’t stop until she finds the person responsible for his death.

In the course of her own investigation, Olivia meets informant Rico Cortes. He’s mysterious and sexy, and despite her reservations, the two share a night of passion. But Rico turns out to be more than a one-night stand. He’s a DEA agent, deep undercover in Miami’s drug world, and possibly the one person who can help Olivia find the justice she seeks. When Rico realizes his cover is compromised, he isn’t sure whether it was someone in the cartel or an inside agent. Olivia is the only one he can trust and together they venture on a dangerous, rogue mission to infiltrate a drug lord’s inner circle…with Olivia as bait.


Authors have favorite parts in a book and this week it’s been fun seeing that reviewers like some of my favorites. So I thought I’d share a few.


(Olivia) “I’m stopping at the next exit for gas. I’ll get rid of the scrubs. You get out and walk around or by the time we get to Miami you’ll be too stiff to move.”
“Don’t worry, when I get stiff I move very well,” he muttered as he turned away.
“I heard that.”

He (Rico) moved to look at the speedometer.
“Come on, Olivia. The speed limit is 70. You’re doing 95, and this car is ticket bait. I don’t want to risk getting stopped.”
“I’m traveling with the flow. This is I-95. If I go the speed limit I’ll stand out.”
He scowled.
“Okay.”She slowed the Corvette.
“Thanks,” he muttered. “You always drive like this?”
“Yep, I grew up in Texas. Speed limits there are only a suggestion.”

AJ: She is such a clip. I love Olivia!

Excerpt #2

(Olivia) “What is all of this, your James Bond room?”
“You could say that. It’s my backup.” He opened cabinets, took out a pill bottle and downed a Percocet. “In here I have weapons, computers, transportation, medical supplies, money and anything else I might need for my survival. Things we’ll need to complete this job.”
Olivia ran her fingers across several of the weapons on the counter and shelf. “Where’s your toothbrush radio and exploding briefcase?”

Excerpt#3
AJ: Readers, I absolutely loved this scene. Seriously. You need to read the whole thing.

They (Olivia and Rico)lay entwined and silent, watching the sky, listening to the faint sounds of the city.
“Olivia?” She loved the way her name sounded when he said it.
“Umm?”
Rico lightly ran his fingers along her spine. “The night we met, why did you leave the bar with me?”
“Are you complaining?”
“I’m serious.”
She pressed away and angled her head to look into his face. “I wanted to be with you.”
“Just like that?”
“It wasn’t just like that. I needed to let go. My life is about control. You were…”
“What made you decide?”
“Why are you asking me this?”
“Humor me and answer the question.”
She sighed deeply and tucked her cheek against his chest. “It’s all very cliché.” Another sigh. “There was a chemistry. Your smile. You made me laugh, I felt comfortable with you.” She could go on and on - his scent, the taste of him, the feel of his hard body—but she didn’t.

Authors also know there will be some scenes edited from each book. We love those scenes but understand it’s better for pacing or the story. Some reviewers have commented how they enjoyed how close Olivia and her team are and it got me thinking of a scene that explained it in detail. The scene was condensed to five sentences. And, it worked very well, but I still like the big picture version . 


Senior Chief Bill Defoe sat in the small room watching Crenshaw pacing. He glanced at Turner who stood still, staring out the room’s only window.
“Lieutenant, if you aren’t sure about this, now is the time to leave. Once we get in the Captain’s office there won’t be any going back.” He looked over at Turner. “Same with you.”
“I owe her, Senior Chief. I’m in.” Turner said
“Lieutenant?”
“What do you mean Turner?” Crenshaw ignored Defoe’s question.
Turner walked to the door and pulled it closed. “She got me out of a jam. I owe her.”
Crenshaw and Defoe said nothing, waiting for Turner to tell his story.
“Cree-rist. She made me promise I would never tell anyone.”
Defoe stood and walked to Turner. “Talk.” He ordered.
“My brother was killed in Iraq. I went a little crazy. Drinking, fighting, wrapped my car around a pole. Was in the hospital and jail. She paid the hospital bill and all the damages so no one here would find out. Bailed me out of jail and talked a judge into letting her handle me.” Turner took a deep breath and rubbed his forehead. “She refused to let me pay her back. Said all I need to do is stay out of trouble and make my life count for me and my brother.” He looked at Defoe, then Crenshaw. “I owe her.”
“You, Senior Chief?” Crenshaw said.
“Nothing like that, but I owe her too. She was straight out of flight school the first time I flew with her. She never failed to write commendations for her crews. A lot of pilots won’t, saying we get paid to be good. Those commendations helped me get promoted faster.
“There’s gotta be more than that,” Crenshaw said.
“Yeah.” Defoe stood with his hands locked behind head, his elbows sticking out. “The second time we were stationed together, my wife and I were having--you know, problems.” He dropped his arms to his side. “The crew was out having a few beers and I...eh...I was coming on to this broad. We left together and Commander Carver, stopped me. We exchanged a few words in the parking lot. She cold-cocked me. Came to in her car. She ripped me a new one and said I would get my ass to counseling or she’d take it on as a personal mission to make the rest of my life miserable.” Defoe blew out a loud breath. “Saved my marriage.”
Turner and Defoe stared at Crenshaw. “Lieutenant, we have reasons to be doing this, you don’t. You’ve got your whole career ahead of you. You might want--”
“I owe her.” Crenshaw swallowed hard. “This is my third duty station out of school. My first two pilots requested I be transferred. Said I’m too nervous.” Crenshaw hung his head, seemingly examining the tile floor. “We were at one of those Homeland training things. She came up to me and asked if I wanted to second-seat the Dolphin with her. I thought she was joking. Everyone there talked about her, how great she is.” Crenshaw straightened. “We talked for awhile. She asked a few questions. Don’t know how or why, but two days later I had transfer papers. A month later I was sitting next to her in the Dolphin.”


Check out the video to see what kind of helicopter Olivia flies. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9CjQ3yex9lE

I hope you enjoy reading Under Fire as much as I enjoyed writing it.

I'm sure they will, Rita. I loved it.

Where can readers learn about you and your books?
http://ritahenuber.com

AC Here We Come

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Four-thirty a.m. As a child, once a year I’d rise to the sound of my parents alarm clock buzzing at the early hour and would shoot from between the sheets as if they were on fire . The alarm went off other mornings, but it’s ringing never meant there was an adventure in store for me. My sister and I would scramble to use the bathroom before our three brothers were shaken from their beds by dad and chased after by mom. Afterwards we’d rip into the outfits we meticulously chosen the night before, grab our suitcases and head to the car. The sky’s center was always as black as the well in the hollow. One star always dangled on the canvas and sky’s lower edge burned with the rising sun.

This event occurred the first weekend of August every year for fifteen years. It was always a Friday, Saturday and Sunday and we called it our summer vacation to ATLANTIC CITY, even though it was the only vacation we ever took.

Within the hour, my two uncles and aunts, and my twelve cousins filled the two cars who met us at the edge of the drive. We, the older cousins, were truly filled with excitement. We had worked doing odd jobs all summer and saved in anticipation of spending our earnings anyway we wanted. I always came home with a ceramic horse.
We never had reservations. While my dad and my two uncles would go inside the hotel and acquire rooms for all twenty-three of us, we’d sit in the car. Our necks grew damp as the morning sun rose and beat down on the car, glaring off its hood. French fries, candy cotton and fish wafted in the air. The buzz of the big city, the roar of the ocean beyond the boardwalk , the call of “Watch the Tramcar, please” made our legs twitch. After a three hour ride, we wanted out.


Three days is what we had to enjoy another world. A world where hundreds of Miss America’s had strolled the boardwalk. Where a white stallion dove into a swimming pool. Three days is all it took to etch into my memory the feel of the hot sand as we hopped toward the cool foam of the waves, the laughter shared as we romped in the ocean and Uncle Lee lost his teeth, and the way my blood rushed searching for my little lost cousin George among the crowd of thousands. To this day, the Coppertone Baby signifies a carefree summer for me and the scent from the lotion will take me back to the innocent time. And, to this day, I haven’t found ice cream sandwiches as good as the ones we devoured on the AC beach, the sandwiches laced with sea salt and sand.

I think I’ll go poolside today with a good book and crack the lotion bottle.

I’d love to hear one of your summer vacation memories.

Love Scene; Love Them Or Hate Them?

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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 made me love the characters. While reading the stories 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, she deserved a good man. And I want 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.

So what is your opinion— What makes a good love scene for you? And do you prefer the door to remain open?

To Know Him Is To Love Him

Have you ever planted a seed?

What does planting a seed have to do with writing or a story called ‘IN THE PRESENCE OF EVIL’ you ask? Stay with me. I promise you’ll get it.

Planting a seed…. You take this little, tiny thing, something so small that it could be a speck of dust you normally wouldn’t even notice and carefully place it in the soil you’ve prepared and then cover it. Every day you water it and watch, waiting for the moment the seedling sprouts through the ground and turns its head toward the sun. The sense of joy you feel is hard to contain, right? Sure it is. Admit it. You what to jump up and down and shout to the world, “See what I did.” No one will think you a whuz for saying so, so go ahead and admit it.

As the sprout grows, you feed it, protect it from harm and hoe away all the nasty weeds that take away its nutrients. You watch it grow bigger and stronger until it is the prettiest thing. (Darn, I wish you could hear me say that in my mock southern twang) You can’t express how proud you feel showing off what you have created, but you show it by sticking your chest out and wearing a grin the size of the Grand Canyon. And it started all start with a tiny seed.

Writing a book mirrors the process and authors feel the same sense of pride when their books hit the cyber and hard shelves? IN THE PRESENCE OF EVIL, my new release from The Wild Rose Press, started with an idea, based on an actual personal experience. I can only tell you a bit. A request for a bank wire transfer from my work somehow got intercepted and was requested to be routed to a Russian bank account. This happened after Evil’s Witness was released, so needless to say, eyes turned toward me. “Me, come on.” I laughed until the FBI entered the investigation. I’m a country girl, born Army brat, who never wanted to be rich and bleeds red, white and blue. Please believe me.

Anyway, I wondered ‘what if’ a woman stumbles into a hornet’s nest where the Mafia is laundering money by controlling wire transfers from a small private owned bank. How would she stop them and who could she ask to help her? Okay the answers to that question is easy the FBI, CIA, or police. But we can’t have easy when writing a book. Easy is the weed that takes away from a good story. What if she didn’t know what was going on, until it was too late and her life was put into danger?

Again easy. Once she found out what the bad guys were after, our heroine being the heroine we’d all aspire to be would die for her country, thus screwing the bad guys. Yeah, Gina. So I fed the story and added in a cast of secondary characters that love Gina and who she loves, including one yummy marine hero, Cole Hanson. Yup that’s him. SIGH.

I played ‘what if again’ and asked what you do if the lives of those you love were to hang on the whether you help to commit a crime? Would you do anything asked of you? Or would you try to be a hero?

Like nurturing a seed from a dominate state into something to enjoyed, a great deal of time goes into writing a story that whisks you away to another world.



Excerpt from IN THE PRESENCE OF EVIL:

Rusty’s gaze shifted beyond Cole’s shoulder and an uneasy feeling crept up his back.

He turned. A beautiful woman walked toward them.

“I thought you had to get back to the hardware store, Rusty.” Her gaze locked with Cole’s, and she stopped cold.

Cole’s heartbeat echoed in his ears like the sharp, piercing, rapid fire that had ended his career. Those eyes. He remembered them whenever loneliness slipped past his guard and grabbed him by the throat. “Gina?”

A slight, hesitant smile formed on her face.

Rusty went up on his toes. “Look who’s here.”

“Son-of-a-bitch,” Gina said.

She took the words right out of his mouth. Cole took in every inch of her, starting at the leather boots she wore which added a few inches to her five-foot-five height, and worked his way up. Gina had changed. She wasn’t the lanky sixteen year-old girl he remembered. She had the curves of a woman.

Her rust-colored dress brought out the red highlights in her mass of long curls.

Curls he knew coiled tighter when wet after a late afternoon skinny-dip in Harvey’s Lake.

Gina crossed the short distance between them, holding his stare until she looked at Rusty. “You didn’t tell me Cole was coming.”

His name carried a quiver.

“I wanted to surprise you.” It was evident Rusty was enjoying the scene. The guy was practically hoppin’ in place.

“Well, you did that.”

Cole saw the rise of her breasts with an intake of air. Then, with the stark determination he remembered she met his gaze head on.

“So what brings you back to Mountain Pine? I know small town is not your lifestyle of choice.”

“That’s true. Rusty invited me for the holidays.”

Gina’s dark lashes did little to hide a flash of the storm seething inside her, and he wondered why she thought she had the right to be angry.

“Is that how you greet an old friend? Go ahead, hug the guy.” Rusty grabbed her elbow and urged her closer.

“Right.” She took a step and stuck out her hand. “It’s been a long time.”

From behind, Rusty gave her a swift nudge, and Gina fell against him.

Cole stiffened and fought to keep his breathing normal. At one time, they’d been friends. Close friends. First-time lovers.

“I’m going to kill him.”

Her warm whisper tickled Cole’s cheek. His eyes drifted shut as he leaned into her, wrapping her in his arms. Her hair smelled the same as it did years ago, like a summer field of wildflowers. Her body fit perfectly against his, just as it always had, and he felt the years slip away.


If you’d like to learn more about Autumn Jordon and her novels, visit www.autumnjordon.com