Tracey Clark #Egg-cerpt Exchange #Shocking Finds

During the months of February and March, I’ll be featuring excerpts and interviews from a variety of authors and characters, and in turn, I’ll be appearing on their blogs. My first guest is Tracey Clark. Welcome, Tracey!



Shocking Finds (A Finder’s Keepers Novel)

-Tracey Clark
Here are a few treats
for readers interested in Paranormal/Fantasy Romance (New Adult)
A blurb, a quick
excerpt, some links for buying options and author info… and
Lastly… a fun little
Q&A session with the main character Marin!!
Happy wordage
everyone
Blurb:
An act of rebellion, Marin doesn’t think that running into
the new store in town will hurt anything. Her aunt will never know… right?
One car wreck later, her aunt is hospitalized, Marin is forced to spend her
twenty-first birthday fighting for her life, and magic – the very thing her
aunt has always sworn to be for fools – is real. And so is the irresistible Fae
dedicated to Marin’s protection.
Kyland has searched Earth-side and all the other realms,
looking for a missing Fae child. A child his Queen prophesied would be able to
one day save the Fae people from the Danshue, as the evil Fae threat tries to
overwhelm the entire Supernatural Community. A child that would know nothing of
her blocked gifts, or her Fae heritage waiting to be claimed. A child that has
grown into a curvy, delicious morsel he would love to taste
Together Marin and Kyland will fight Fae assassins, overcome
betrayals, and if they’re lucky … they will find the Danshue responsible for
their plight. That’s if Marin doesn’t shock him to death with her erratic new
gift, and her out of control emotions.
Buy your copy today!!
Amazon:
Barns & Noble:
Kobo:
Indigo:
Smashwords:
Excerpt: (from chapter two Shocking Finds)
Marin needed answers. Like why had they been targeted? The parking
lot hadn’t exactly been lacking for vehicular violence victim contenders. There
had been a group of at least four women, standing by their cars, chatting. If
there was a target more deserving of vehicular rage, it had definitely been that
group of women. They had finished shopping, and courtesy demanded that their
parking spots were to be relinquished as soon as possible. Why not them? 
The man—and Marin was only guessing that the driver was a man—had
bypassed those without parking lot etiquette and zeroed in on Lindal. If she
had continued her slow progress through the parking lot, would Marin be in this
horrible room with its beeping monitors and bleached air instead of
Lindal. 
Staring down at her aunt’s unmoving form, Marin tried to find a
place to rest her hand. She needed to touch her. She needed to know that the
only person willing to take her in, after the death of her mother, was really
here and still alive.
“They will find him, Lindal. He won’t get away with this,” Marin
made her vow as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb Lindal’s recovery.
 Glancing up to keep tears
from falling from her eyes, Marin noticed something swinging off of Lindal’s
oxygen line. “What the…” It looked like a Barbie doll with wings, perhaps six
inches tall. The odd little creature wore a loin cloth and sported some overly
obvious male attributes. Was it wrong to be checking out the abs of someone no
larger than a child’s toy?
His arms tugged and his muscles bunched as he attempted to make a
knot in Lindal’s oxygen line. His silver skin tone went beautifully with his
tri-colored wings— a mix of light purple, maroon, and gold. The little man
didn’t seem to realize that Marin was staring at him. 
“Stop,” Marin shouted. Dammit, this was a hospital. She needed to
lower her voice. She also needed to go upstairs to the psych ward. Head trauma,
shock, or hallucinations
¼ something wasn’t right. If
she told Lindal about this, her aunt would call her every kind of fool. 
Hallucination or not, she grabbed the little man by the wings,
pulled him from Lindal’s oxygen line, and tried to speak more calmly. “What do
you think you’re doing?”
She finally had her figment’s attention. A striking, though small,
pair of lavender eyes glared at her through overly long sandy brown bangs. On
closer inspection, she could see that his hair was actually multicolored. It
seemed to go from crystal white sand to bronzed gold.
“Well, answer me. What do you think you’re doing?”
“Waiting for you, of course.”
“What are you?” She was losing it. The buzzing in her temples was
increasing. And she was now speaking to a figment of her imagination. Yep, she
needed to be medicated. 
The creature put its tiny fists on narrow hips. “A Sprite, of
course. Don’t you know anything? I have my work cut out for me.” Now she was
being insulted by her imagination. Great.
“Nope. Too Much,” Marin said and tossed the little man with wings
out of the hospital window. She needed coffee. Either that or a large dose of
Thorazine. Maybe both.




All About Tracey Clark!!
I am a country-twang gal from the bluegrass state. Kentucky is
a hot bed of horses, cave systems, and whiskey. And I love all three. With my
pugs and bossy kitty cat, I spend my days writing and working social media. I
write with the help of the voices pushing me to create worlds for them to live
in. Fantasy Romance, Contemporary Romance, and eventually some cowboys (because
cowboys live in a group all their own, yummmm)… These are the genres that I
love best. Oil paints, crafts, dealing with Multiple Sclerosis, and writing
into the dead of night… this I my life!!!
To Find out more about Tracey here are some links…
Author Page (Main):

Goodreads Author
Page:
MS Page:
Facebook Author Page:
Anddddd…. Twitter
Page:
Now… without further ado… here is Marin Yarthine…
Interviewer: You’ve had quick the introduction to the Fae
world, Marin… Can I call you Marin..
                Marin
(reddened cheeks): Uhh… sure… I mean, that’s what most people call me… Kyland
has been call me, Minzet, but I’m pretty sure that’s something just between us
since it means Sweet One… but…yeah… Marin would be best.
Interviewer (light chuckle): Great. Well, I nice to finally
get to sit down with us… and as the new Princess to the Fae people, with such
an odd upbringing… the Fae would love to know a little pit about you… Tell us a
little bit about day to day life in the royal world…
                Marin:
Pfft… Most of the time I think they have the wrong girl… I mean… I was home
schooled, and have worked at Finder’s Keepers since I turned 17… for the past
four years I have been slipping into Finder’s Trances in order to locate
everything from pets to abduction victims… from car keys to family heirlooms…
it sounds like important work but really, I mostly had to pull a bunch of
information together so that other Finder’s could go out on Mission to locate
whatever the client had misplaced…
Interviewer: That sounds like important work to me… also,
something that would take a toll on your emotions… do you have someone to
cuddle up to at night to help you get through the day???
                Marin
(Cheeks now flaming red): Kyland… he came out of nowhere and changed my life…
and he doesn’t even mind when I accidentally shock him with this new power that
has a tendency to get out of control when I’m upset…
Interview: …. (shuffles through questions) … (scoots chair
back and grits her teeth)… What goals and hardships do you face… what do you
want for the Fae?? I mean… what are your plans to keep the Fae community safe??
(scoots back a little further…)
                Marin
(head cocked to the side): I’m still learning about the Fae world.. but I would
say my goal is to keep as many people safe as I can… (fists clench) … if the
evil Fae, those Danshue ********… sorry for my language, but if they would just
stop getting in the way, I could learn a little faster… someone needs to stop
the Danshue before this community I’m just getting to know dies out…
Sparks light up on
Marin’s hands, but Interviewer merely gets a white
Knuckled grip on her
set and continues…
Interviewer: One final questions and we will let you get
back to your new duties as Princess… Can you tell us what fears you are facing
in this new chapter of your life???
                Marin:
… (Deep Breath…) Lindal… that the woman that pretended to be my only family,
that kidnapped me as a child (sparks on her fingertips) … that she will find a
way to finish what she started… (more sparks) … that she will find a way to
hurt the people I am coming to care about… that she will hurt KYLAND … (small
explosion blowing out all the lights)
Interview warily
pulls herself up out of the floor, where she dove to avoid flying glass…

Interview(voice shaky) : Alright… I think that’s all we have
time for… thanks for stopping by Princess…

Ask an Author -Open Book Blog Hop


This week on the blog hop we’re interviewing other authors who do the blog on a regular basis. Just 7 questions. I got to interview Stevie Turner.

P.J MacLayne’s 7 Questions for Stevie Turner
1.  What sort of conditions are most conducive to your productivity?
Absolute silence, and preferably with nobody else in the room.  I cannot write a word if there’s music playing in the background, or if the TV is on.  I know…I’m really anti-social when it comes to writing, but thankfully not at other times.
2.  If you had to co-author a book, who would be your ideal partner, and why?
I’ve followed the fortunes of published author Mark Edwards for some time now, who writes the kind of psychological thrillers that I like to read.  He often co-writes with Louise Voss though, so I’m not going to get a look in there!
3.  What’s your least favourite aspect of being a writer?
Up until recently I would have said that old bugbear marketing, but recently I’ve starting to look on marketing in a positive way and to view it as a challenge instead.  Now I’d say that awful time between the ending of one book and the start of another, when you wonder if you’ll ever come up with another idea again.
4.  If you could have one superpower, what would it be?
Ha ha, that’s easy.  To go back in time and return my body to how it looked and felt in my twenties, but to still retain the wisdom of my fifties!
5.  What’s your favourite food?
Salmon steaks, or plaice with new potatoes and broccoli.
6.  Tell us about one place you’ve been that you never want to go back to, and why.
At the age of 47 I went to hell in my mind when first diagnosed with cancer, and thought of nothing but dying for at least a year.  However, 11 years later I am still here and in a much better frame of mind.  I’ve learned over the years that just because you’re diagnosed with cancer, it doesn’t always mean that your life is about to end.  Instead it sometimes means that you live with a chronic illness, but then again, lots of other people suffering from different conditions do this every day as well.
7.  Out of all the characters you’ve written about, who is your favourite, and why?

That one’s easy as well.  It’s got to be poor old Frances Andrews, my main character in The Porn Detective.  I made her go through hell; much more than I suffered myself, and I’m glad she came out of the experience as well as she did!





Thanks for answering my questions, Stevie! There are one or two of them I didn’t want to answer myself. To find out who Traci Carlisle Wooden interviewed, check out her blog HERE

Don’t forget to check out her books while you’re there.

My Beauty For Your Ashes is the first book, of a Christian-fiction series, that leads you through the lives of four people striving towards different marks with unexpected connections.
Though they hail from backgrounds that are worlds apart, it only takes one fateful accident to rearrange their priorities and set them on roads that intersect, forcing them to acknowledge the relationships they can’t do without.
Elder Paige Morganson has worked hard to overcome the anger, hate, and abuse of her past; Mason Jenson is a self-made man who has been able to create his own fortune and build a home life with his wife and child void of God’s help…so he thinks,; Elder Brandon Tatum’s, new in town, has prided himself on not making a move until he’s heard God; Victoria Branchett has ruthlessly survived the death of her only daughter by fierce determination, but is the strength she has relied on enough to see her through a failing marriage and an ailing grandchild?
This novel merges colorful characters facing one untimely circumstance after another, and mixes in a serious spin on how one views God, both inside and outside of His will. Of course, this is just the beginning. More people emerge from behind the scenes; some to help and others, to hurt. With everything happening simultaneously, one would almost question if God is able to truly fix and heal everything, and the readers will see just how far each person’s faith (or lack thereof) will carry them. As they sift through the debris of past dreams and hopes left by the wayside, they are offered a lifeline and given an opportunity to receive God’s Beauty for their ashes

Feb. 1, 2016 – Seven questions.
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Backstory of my books—Open Book Blog Hop

This week we’re talking about the backstory of our books. Since I have two different series, I decided to write about the most obvious one (in my mind). The Oak Grove Mysteries.


I’ve told bits and pieces of this story before, but my book, The Marquesa’s Necklace, didn’t start off as a mystery. It was supposed to be a romance—a romance with a touch of the paranormal. The Marquesa’s Necklace wasn’t even the original title. The working title of the book was The Ghost Who Loved Me. And yes, for those of you who’ve read the book, Eli was supposed to be a ghost.

But although I always have a basic plot in mind when I start writing a book, I allow myself to listen to my characters. And Harmony, the main character of the book, was absolutely certain that Eli wasn’t a figment of her rather vivid imagination nor an other-worldly apparition.  I tried to convince her otherwise, and her friends tried telling her she was wrong, but she wasn’t listening. So I gave in and made Eli real. Which worked out nicely for the book, and for Harmony.

Once I realized that Eli wasn’t a real ghost, I considered making him a spy. That way I could keep the title. That didn’t work out wither. Eli convinced me he wasn’t a James Bond wanna-be, he was just a very skilled computer programmer with white-hat hacking skills. He didn’t want to have to run all over the world, his long-distance relationship with Harmony is tough enough as it is.

Not only did Eli fall in love with Harmony, so did I. I hadn’t planned to make the original book a series, but I knew before I got done writing the first book there would be another. Harmony was fun to write, and fun to spend time with.

So the second book, Her Ladyship’s Ring, happened. And unexpectedly, Jake happened too. He was supposed to be just a small piece of backstory. The guy who broke Harmony’s heart and almost ruined her life. But no, he tried to take over the whole book. Thankfully, Harmony is one strong lady and she put him in his place. It was her book and her story, and  if he didn’t like it, too bad.

But Harmony isn’t done with me yet. I’m writing a third book of her adventures. It’s tentatively called “The Baron’s Cufflinks.” I’m finding this book a little harder to write. Not because Harmony has stopped talking to me, but because other writing projects keep getting in the way. But I will finish it, I promise you. Harmony won’t let me rest if I don’t. And who knows, there may be a fourth book as well. I haven’t run out of jewelry to use in the title.

Oh, and the original title? The Ghost Who Loved Me? I haven’t given up on that title yet. There may still be a book by that name. But Harmony won’t be in it. At least, I don’t think she will be.

To buy the books of The Oak Grove Mysteries (if you haven’t already) check out the My Books page here on my blog. You’ll find my Free Wolves books there too, including my newest release, Wolves’ Knight.

To find out the backstory of author Nicole Sorrell’s  book, catch her post at Nicole Sorrell  She’s highlighting her book The Art of Going Home.

Maddie dreads going home to face the memories of her dead sister. But she must go back to the tiny town after a decade to attend a funeral. As it turns out, the haunting reminders of her twin are the least of her worries. . .

     Not given any details of her sister’s murder at the age of ten, Maddie is persuaded to track down the killer. Following one ominous clue after another, she learns the surrogate family she thought honestly loved her has been hiding the truth of her childhood for eighteen years. As suppressed memories of her past come crashing forward, Maddie begins to doubt everything she once believed. And everybody she thought she could trust.

     Including Zac, her high school crush. Though she can’t seem to find the strength to resist their mutual attraction, Maddie isn’t sure she’ll ever be able to forgive his betrayal. As she struggles to come to grips with her family’s past and absolve those who deceived her, can she survive the horrifying discovery of who killed her sister?

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Swearing- Open Book Blog Hop

***WARNING***
If you are easily offended by the use of rude language, bad words, and the occasional taking of God;s name in vain, please don’t read any further. You may encounter any of the above.

There is more and more swearing in television, movies, books and the like. What are your thoughts on this topic?


I was raised a good Catholic girl in a good Catholic family. My friends were all from good Catholic families. I went to a good Catholic school. Swearing wasn’t a thing. I think I was twelve or thirteen the first time I heard my father swear. And that was some fool ran a stop sign and almost collided with us. By us I mean my father who was driving, my mother, and I’m not sure how many of us kids in a station wagon. Dad managed to avoid the accident, but he did let one bad word slip out. I think it was “damn”— if I remember correctly. And my mother, very quietly, shushed him.

By the time I was in eighth grade, I was reading books well above my grade level. And yes, I’d come across an occasional swear word or two. I was sure my parents would be horrified, so I didn’t tell them. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

Then I got to college. And I didn’t go to a Catholic college. But people were, for the most part, still very polite. There wasn’t a whole lot of swearing going on, but someone would drop am occasional damn or shit. (I warned you!) It didn’t bother me.

Then I switched colleges and started mingling with a much different group of people. The school was out west, and the students came from a diverse background, including ranchers and cowboys and oil field workers and even from families of migrant farm workers. Suddenly, swearing seemed to be a part of everyday language. While I found it surprising, it didn’t shock me. So when I met my now-husband, his frequent use “improper” words only took a little getting use to. And my “vocabulary” expanded.

Eventually, as a mature woman, I started working in a field that was dominated by young males. Their “working” language defied anyone’s definition of traditional proper English. I chose to take it as a compliment that they felt safe enough in my presence to not worry about offending me. I was one of the boys.

Somewhere along the way, I figured it out. Swear words are just another combination of the 26 letters we use for everything else, and they only have the power we give them. What we in the Unites States consider a “bad” word, may not hold that same meaning or that same power in another country.

So when I’m writing my books, I listen to my characters and the situations they are in to determine if the use of swear words is appropriate. The chances of me writing a Catholic priest using swear words are slim to none. But my lone-wolf shifter who has been on the run, living on the street, moving from town to town, has been known to drop a few words my mother wouldn’t find respectable. And even my ex-librarian, while she may watch herself while in polite company, isn’t totally adverse to letting a damn or a shit slip from her mouth once in a while. She certainly gets herself into predicaments that warrant a few harsher words than that.

On the other hand, I believe the use of rough language can be overused. I recently wrote a scene where one of the characters used an excessive amount of foul language. I was cringing as i wrote it, but I didn’t see a way out of it. The character uses profanity as a way of making herself appear tougher and less vulnerable. So while it was true to the character, it wasn’t true to me and my normal writing style. In the end, I chose to write the character as she wanted to be presented. I just made that scene as short as possible as a compromise.

To find out what Nicole Sorrell has to say about swearing, visit her blog Nicole Sorrell.  Nicole is the author of “The Art of Going Home.” And feel free to share your thoughts about wearing in the comments. (just keep them moderately clean, okay?)

Maddie dreads going home to face the memories of her dead sister. But she must return to the tiny town after a decade to attend a funeral. As it turns out, the haunting reminders of her twin are the least of her worries…

Not given any details of her sister’s murder at the age of ten, Maddie is persuaded to track down the killer. Following one ominous clue after another, she learns the surrogate family she thought honestly loved her has been hiding the truth of her childhood for eighteen years. As suppressed memories of her past come crashing forward, Maddie begins to doubt everything she once believed. And everybody she thought she could trust.

Including Zac, her high school crush. Though she can’t seem to find the strength to resist their mutual attraction, Maddie isn’t sure she’ll ever be able to forgive his betrayal. As she struggles to come to grips with her family’s past and absolve those who deceived her, will she survive the horrifying discovery of who killed her sister?

With poignancy and clarity, author Nicole Sorrell spins a tale of a young woman’s personal journey as she faces her vulnerabilities and tries to accept the love of a man who may hold the key to her happiness. The story is a testament to the real meaning of family and the enduring strength of a sister’s bond.

Please note: contains mature content.

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ZOMBIES!!!—Open Book Blog Hop



ZOMBIES!

Welcome to another Monday edition of the Open Book Blog Hop. This week we’re talking about Zombies. They’re everywhere. On TV, in book and movies, and maybe even wandering your city streets in a Zombie Festival. Frankly, I’m over them.

The first zombie movie, The White Zombie, was made in 1032! It told the story of a young woman being turned into a zombie by a voodoo master.

Today’s modern zombies were developed in the 1960’s. And while I can the understand the concept of the undead controlled by drugs and puppet master, I can’t wrap my intellectual mind around the dead-but-not dead.

I mean, if zombies move so slow, why can’t humans just run away? And if they can’t think, how hard should it be to outwit them? And how do they exist without eating and drinking? After all, they do have human bodies, and in order to keep functions going—like walking around—muscles have to get energy somewhere!

And without blood, how does the body keep functioning? In the current popular show, you see zombies with no legs or no arms, still “not-alive.” My logical mind can’t comprehend how that can happen. After all, they would have bled out at some point and died-died.

And if they are mindless, why the heck don’t they attack each other? How can they possibly think well enough to recognize a fellow zombie from a human? Talk about an easy meat source and I’ve yet to hear of a zombie eating another zombie. Or would the universe as we know it implode upon itself if a zombie attacked another zombie?

So while I can see the fun in pretending to be a zombie or a zombie killer, I ‘m not a big fan of zombie movies or books. I’ve watched snippets of the current popular show, and found myself picking away at the plot and characters.

But love ’em or hate ’em, zombies are hot. Feel free to tell us what you think about zombies  in the comments.

To find out what P.J. Fiala thinks about zombies, visit her blog. HERE.  And don’t forget to check out her newest release, Danny’s War. It’s on my wish list, and is available on Amazon and at other ebook retailers.  Danny’s War


An artist, a veteran, and a motorcycle….nothing could be better.

Returning home from war a changed man is difficult for Danny Schaefer. Losing his leg and then his girlfriend made him feel like he’d never be whole again. Then he meets Tammy Davis, a vivacious beauty burdened with a secret betrayal that has left her shaken and wary. Tammy mends her wounds by painting; Danny is searching for his own way.

When they meet the sparks fly, but both desire to take it slow. Tammy’s job is uncertain, her new boss wants more than her superior work product and she finds herself torn between love and duty. As Danny discovers a way to heal, he finds himself in the fight of his life – a fight for Tammy’s heart.

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Reality TV—Open Book Blog Hop

In case you hadn’t noticed, we’ve moved! Instead of doing our hop on Wednesdays, we’re posting on Mondays. So if you made it here, welcome, and I hope you’ll remember to come back next Monday as well!

This week we’re talking about reality TV. Love it or hate it, it’s everywhere, in some shape or form.

I’ll admit it, I didn’t understand why MTV stopped playing music and start airing The Real World. Frankly, I didn’t care about a bunch of twenty-somethings and their shenanigans. When I turned to MTV, I wanted music.And if I couldn’t get it there, I’d get it somewhere else.

According to Wikipedia, shows like “The American Sportsman”  and “Candid Camera” count as reality TV. And I suppose that by strict definition, they were, but that’s not what most people think of. Geesh, according to that definition, COPS is a reality TV show.

Like most people, we think of shows like “Survivor” and “Big Brother” and even “American Idol” as reality TV. Shows where people are pitted against each other in hopes of winning a big prize.  I watched Survivor in its early seasons. I watched American Idol too, although I never voted.

But it didn’t take me long to figure out how we, the audience, were being manipulated, along with the contestants. Who was the good guy and who was the villain could easily be pre-determined by the producers. All they had to do was be selective in what clips they aired. And once I figured that out, I lost interest. Once I knew that, I knew it wasn’t really real..

And if you’ve followed this blog for very long, you know I don’t watch TV anymore. I might stop and listen to a song or two on Idol if my DH is watching, but I can’t name any of the winners for the past few years. And I watch on occasional number on “Dancing with the Stars,” but I’ve never sat through a complete show. So whatever demographics those shows are aimed at, I’m not it. I have better things to do with my time.

What would it take to bring me back and become a fan of reality TV again? I have no idea. If i could come up with a concept that hadn’t already been overdone, I’d get rich selling it to a network.

Let us know your thought on Reality TV in the comments. And to find out what Lela Markham thinks. head on over to her blog.Lela Markham  Lela is the author of Life as We Knew It and other books. 

                                                                                    Chaos changes everything!

Shane Delaney, a burned-out mercenary with a troubled past, returns home to small-town Kansas to heal his scars and quiet his demons, not planning to stay long enough for the townsfolk to reject who he has become.
He never expected the town to need his deadlier skills.

When a terrorist attack on distant cities abruptly transforms life as they knew it, the people of Emmaus must forge their own disaster plan to survive.

What would you do if the world as you know it ended today?

The people of Emmaus will find out.

Jan. 4 – Jan. 10, 2016 Reality TV – Love it or hate it and why?
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Celebrating the New Year—Open Book Blog Hop

This week on the blog hop, we’re discussing  how we celebrate the arrival of the New Year.

It’s been a long time since I’ve gone out on New Year’s Eve. Frankly, I prefer to stay home and not risk my safety by sharing the roads with people who’ve had too much to drink. I’m happy enough sitting at home with my hubby and watching the ball drop on TV or looking out the windows of our house at the fireworks being set off in the neighborhood. I may or may not stay up until midnight local time, depending upon how I feel at the moment.

Of course, I enjoy New Year’s Day because I don’t have to work. Well, I don’t have to get in the car and go to work anyway! I normally spend the day starting the task of putting away the Christmas decorations and returning the house to some resemblance of normal.

There is one thing I do almost every year—make home made ham and bean soup. We usually have ham for Christmas, and it’s a great way to use the leftovers! It’s a recipe I got from my mother, who got it from her mother. I have no idea how far back it goes, but I’m going to share it with you.

You can use either boneless or bone-in ham for this, but I prefer using bone-in ham. I think it deepens the flavor.

You’ll need
     Leftover ham
     Navy beans
     Celery (about 3 stalks for a large pot of soup)
     Carrots (again, the amount you use depends upon how large of a pot of soup you are making. I use enough to give a good amount of “color” to the soup
     Bay leaves—3 or 4. depending upon their size

Cook the peas according to package directions. I use the quick start method, which involves bringing the beans to a full boil before turning down the heat. This allows you to decrease the over-all cooking time, as well as do away with pre-soaking the beans.

Allow the beans to cook for an hour at a medium heat. While they are cooking, remove your leftover ham from the bone and cut it into bite size hunks. I use a about two or three cups in a good-sized pot. If you have extra ham, freeze or refrigerate it. After the beans have cooked for an hour, add the cut-up ham and the ham bone to the pot. You should have enough water in the pot that the ham bone is mostly covered. If not, add more. You don’t want to cook the pot dry.

Cover the pot and lower the heat to medium low, Allow the mixture to continue cooking for at least an hour. Check your heat level and water level occasionally. You want to keep the soup cooking but not at a high boil, Add water as needed (but you shouldn’t need to if the lid fits well.)

About an hour before you plan to serve the soup, chop the celery and carrots and add to the soup. Also add your bay leaves.

You’ll notice I didn’t add any seasonings other than the bay leaves to the mixture. The ham has enough salt to season the soup, so you don’t need it. (And any other seasoning you used on the ham originally will add additional flavor to the soup.)

Total cook time- 4 hours.

Before serving, remove the ham bone and bay leaves. Serve with warm bread, and you have a feast!

I have made one change to the recipe. I can occasionally find “cranberry beans.” They have purple streaks, unlike the navy beans that are white. (No, not pinto beans.) I think they add a little extra “oomph” to the soup.

Tell us what you do for the holiday in the comments below, if you want to!

To find out what Lela Markham does for the holiday, head on over to her blog. HERE.  You can find her books on Amazon. Here’s the book  description for The Willow Branch.

A healer must mend a fractured kingdom and bring two enemy races together before a greater enemy destroys them both.

Fate took Prince Maryn by surprise, leaving Celdrya to tear itself apart. A century later an army amasses against the warring remains of the kingdom as prophesy sends a half-elven healer on a journey to find the nameless True King. Padraig lacks the power to put the True King on the throne, yet compelled by forces greater than himself, Padraig contends with dark mages, Celtic goddesses, human factions and the ancient animosities of two peoples while seeking a myth. With all that distraction, a man might meet the True King and not recognize him

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Wednesday’s Blog Hop

For those of you looking for my normal Wednesday blog hop entry, sorry, I gave myself the gift of the week off. Stay tuned, I’ll be back next week. In the meantime, may the holidays you celebrate be happy.

Favorite Christmas Songs—Open Book Blog Hop

Welcome to another week of the Open Book Blog Hop. I hope you’re staying warm, or dry, or comfortable depending upon what part of the world you’re in. Here in the American West, it’s windy and snowing and I’m drinking a cup of hot chocolate as I type this. I’m not complaining—the snow helps me get in the Christmas mood.

When it comes to Christmas songs, I’m a total traditionalist. There’s something special about several hundred otherwise bad voices joining together in a large old church and singing the songs of the season. Even though I’m far away now, the music resounds in my heart.

Silent Night is probably the first Christmas song I remember singing. Sure, i couldn’t hit the high notes, but that didn’t matter. Neither could any of my sisters. As I got older, My voice got better, and the song was no longer a challenge. Now that I’ve gotten really old, my voice has lost it’s flexibility, and the song is again a challenge.

I was part of my high school chorus, and we always did special Christmas presentations. One of the hardest songs we sang was Oh, Holy Night. Our director had a hard time finding a male voice to handle the high notes. But here’s a version of the song that I think is the perfect rendition.

Another favorite of mine is Joy to the World. Such a simple sentiment, but so powerful. I know not everyone is happy at Christmastime, but I’d like everyone to find one little piece of joy on the heart. And the song just expresses joy in its melody, even without the words.

But I also like non-religious songs. Who can resist singing along with Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer or Jingle Bells?

But I think one of my favorite songs is one that’s almost impossible to sing by yourself.  Carol of the Bells can’t be done right by a solo voice.

Tell us about your favorite Christmas song in the comments.  And to find out what songs Kelly Williams likes, visit her blog HERE. You can find her books on Amazon on her author page K. Williams

Blue Honor :Blue Honor tracks four tightly twining families during the American Civil War. Each member is asked to sacrifice more than their share to see friends and loved ones through the terrible times. The only certainty they have is that nothing will be the same.

Emily Conrad is the bookish daughter of a wealthy dairy family from Vermont. Her indulgent father has educated her and bred ideas that aren’t acceptable to her more urbane mother, who thinks Emily needs to settle down with her longtime friend and town philanderer Evan Howell. The outbreak of war frees Emily from these expectations for a time, but a stranger soon arrives after the guns begin to blaze, threatening her plans more than societal conventions ever could.

Devoted to the young woman who healed her wounds, Henrietta has become part of the Conrad family, hoping that she may one day see her husband and son again. As a runaway slave, she’s been lucky enough to find this slice of peace in Vermont, but the return of Evan Howell and the man he brings with him portends great change that might see her locked back in irons, if not executed for what she’s done.

Evan isn’t as bad as his reputation has made him out to be. He knows his chum Emily will make the best doctor Vermont has ever seen, and he knows he’s not the man to marry her. With a little manipulation, he convinces his commanding officer, Lieutenant Joseph Maynard, to take leave with him and see the beauty of the north. He just doesn’t let on it’s not hillsides and streams he’s setting the man up for.

Joseph has both power and privilege as the son of a Baltimore lawyer, but neither can guarantee him the things he wants in life. His commission in the army is likely to lead to death, a sacrifice he was willing to make to end slavery in the States—that was until he saw Emily Conrad. Torn between duty and desire, Joseph struggles to stay standing for that which he once held strong convictions. War weary, they all march on to duty…

And if you want to join our blog hop, here’s the link and the rules

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New release—The Donor

I’m tickled to welcome Stevie Turner to my blog, along with her new release. Her new women’s fiction novel ‘The Donor’ was published
yesterday, and has a sibling rivalry / rockstar theme. Stevie usually
writes about peculiar subjects that aren’t often covered by
mainstream authors, and adds in a touch of humour here and there. To
find out more about Stevie, please visit her website and check out
her ‘About Me’ page by clicking on the link below:
Synopsis
of The Donor:
When
you know you have met the love of your life, the last thing you
expect is for your sister to lure him away. Clare Ronson is faced
with this scenario when her sister Isabel marries singer and
guitarist Ross Tyler. To compound Clare’s jealousy and bitterness,
Ross hits the big time and becomes a wealthy tax exile, relocating to
France with his family. Clare cannot bring herself to speak to
Isabel or Ross for the next 30 years. However, when tragedy occurs in
2002 causing Ross to arrive back in England at Clare’s doorstep,
Clare must try to put the past behind her for her sister’s sake.
Goodreads
review by LaDonna
LaDonna
rated it 5 of 5 stars
The
author provided me an ARC of this book for a honest review and to see
if I felt it fit the criteria for “rockstar romance” for a
blog I run dedicated to that genre. I felt it did, though it isn’t
your typical rockstar romance. This book will take you on an
emotional rollercoaster, and admittedly most of those emotions will
be of the darker kind.

Once upon a time, Clare is very
close to her older sister Izzy, and adores/idolized her in that way
that only little sisters can. As a very naïve youThe
author provided me an ARC of this book for a honest review and to see
if I felt it fit the criteria for “rockstar romance” for a
blog I run dedicated to that genre. I felt it did, though it isn’t
your typical rockstar romance. This book will take you on an
emotional rollercoaster, and admittedly most of those emotions will
be of the darker kind.

Once upon a time, Clare is very
close to her older sister Izzy, and adores/idolized her in that way
that only little sisters can. As a very naïve young woman in 1970,
Clare goes to a big rock festival. This American reader could really
only tie it to the endless stories of Woodstock I have heard, being
just slightly younger than that generation, but I realize festivals
of the like were going on across the pond as well. Anyway, that is
the picture I have in my mind of the festival she attended, and at
the end of several days, Clare has lost her friends and is dirty,
exhausted, hungry and broke. An Adonis of a man steps in and offers
her an apple, and companionship back home. He is quite fond of the
waif, and calls upon her to date whilst he is determined to make it
in his band. He puts up with the obvious dislike of her father, and
her virginal antics. She has quickly fallen in love with him, and he
is quite smitten with her as well, until one night her sister decides
to join them for one of his gigs.

To Ross’ credit, he
never had any intention of hurting Clare, but when he met Izzy, the
stars aligned and he knew he had met his soulmate. Likewise, Izzy had
never meant to upset her sister, but who can deny true love. No one
expected Clare to be as hurt as she was, or to hold a grudge for so
long.

Life goes on as it is apt to do; tragedies, joys,
and all the other little moments that make up a life pass by. Ross’
band hits the big time very quickly, as well as Izzy’s first
pregnancy and their marriage. Clare refuses to have anything to do
with any of it, hanging on to hatred for her sister for having the
life she was sure was destined to be hers. Clare does go on to marry
a perfectly suitable man, has 2 children with him, and by all
accounts a pretty nice life with him. She tells him early on that she
has an irreparable rift with her sister, but never tells him the
reason why.

Izzy has always tried to keep tabs on her
sister but Clare simply has not allowed it, even turning away when
they once ran into one another and Izzy tried to introduce her to her
niece. 30 years go by, and tragedy forces Izzy to contact Clare.
Clare’s husband reads the note and encourages Clare to acknowledge
Izzy’s plea, but Clare tears up the letter and ignores it. Not until
Ross arrives at her door does she consider listening and doing what
her sister needs. Here is where the story really came together for
me. The senselessness of hate and holding on to a grudge, not to
mention basically a teenage dream, for all those years, to finally
realized how quickly life passes us by and how many precious moments
simply cannot ever be replaced. There are so many unexpected twists
and turns after Ross arrives, and so much depth to the amount of
lives touched by this rift that seems so silly in retrospect. This
story touched me on so many levels, and I hope that you will give it
a chance to soak into your heart and mind as well.

Very
highly recommended for anyone that realizes life doesn’t always hand
us a happily ever after, at least not in the way we think it should.

EXCERPT
FROM ‘THE DONOR’ BY STEVIE TURNER
COPYRIGHT
STEVIE TURNER 2015
CHAPTER
1 – 1970
CLARE
Life
as I know it is definitely starting to be a bit of a drag, due to the
fact that I’ve been awake now for 3 days and nights on Desolation
Hill. I am finished,
kaput.
Thank
God it’s the last day, that’s all I can say.
I
yawn for the umpteenth time and watch in a kind of stupor as the
fences are torn down. Ruth jumps up excitedly and decides that she
wants to try and get nearer the stage. I watch her treading
unconcerned over zombie-like bodies lying comatose and frying in the
heat of the late August afternoon, and try to summon up enough
strength to follow her. But by then, hungrier and more tired than I
have ever been, I am faced with the certainty that all I really want
to do is to go home. Bands have started to merge one into the other,
but I know I’ll have to face a ribbing from Ruth if I set off
without first having tried to get nearer the stage if only to feast
one
weary eye on the hunk of masculinity that is Paul Rogers while there
is still some good daylight left.
I
force my body to move, performing a quick recce around what has
transformed in three days from arable farmland into a nuclear fallout
zone contained in some kind of human landfill site. I cannot see
Ruth, but I stumble on regardless. Somewhere out there my friend has
become lost in a sea of 500,000 faces; just another flower-bedecked
hippie indistinguishable from the masses.
Far
away on the horizon I can see a speck holding a microphone stand up
above his head; Paul Rogers is holding the crowd in the palm of his
hand, and I am missing it. Behind him on the low stage, long hair
flying in the sultry air, Paul Kossoff, six string shredder
extraordinaire, is ripping into the solo for ‘All Right Now.’
I
cannot make my legs walk another step. I yawn. Infuriatingly I
still seem to be on Desolation Hill as far as I can make out. Sighing
with fatigue, I slump down on the grass where I stand, close my eyes,
and listen to the hubbub around me. My long hair feels like a heavy
blanket on my back; I desperately want something to eat, I need a
bath, and I ache for my mum to be fussing around me like she does
when I am sick.
“Hey
babe, have some of this.”
I
am startled by a voice very close to my ear. I open my eyes again and
look to my left to see what only can be described as a bronzed, blond
Adonis, with long fair curls stretching down over his shoulders. He
is stripped to the waist apart from a small rucksack on his back, and
wears frayed pale-blue Levi shorts and a pair of well-worn ‘Jesus
creeper’ sandals. He squats down beside me and holds out a lighted
spliff.
“It’ll
take away the pain.”
I
consider myself to be
in
extremis
,
soon to be engulfed in the Grim Reaper’s arms. There is no way out
except death. I take a huge drag and retch as the sweet fumes of
cannabis grab the back of my throat.
“Thanks.”
I cough. “I think.”
“Woh!”
Adonis laughs into the sun. “Easy! You’re not used to it, I can
tell.”
“Is
it that obvious?” I want my head to stop spinning. “I’ve come
to the end of my rope. A spliff won’t do any harm now.” I take
another drag.
“I
think I’ll take it back actually.” Adonis prises the joint from
my fingers. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving.”
I nod, with eyes trying to close. “All I’ve got left is my
hovercraft ticket back to Southsea.”
“And
you can’t eat that.” Adonis attacks the spliff with expertise,
puffing out a cloud of aromatic smoke. “I’ll see what I’ve got
left in my rucksack.”
Keeping
the spliff between the index and middle finger of his left hand, with
one poetic swoop of his right shoulder he dislodges the rucksack’s
straps, opens it up and looks inside, bringing out a slightly dented
but still crisp-looking Golden Delicious apple and handing it to me.
“My
mum’s always on at me to eat more roughage.”
Laughing,
I feast my eyes on the apple, which in my famished state seems to
have taken on the proportions of a gargantuan banquet.
“If
you’re sure.” I cannot help but take it. “I’ve eaten nothing
since yesterday. Somebody stole what was left of my food. It’s too
far to walk to try and buy some, and anyway, I’ve no money left.”
“It’s
every man for himself, here.” Adonis nods. “What’s your name?”
“Clare.”
I bite into pure nectar. “Clare Ronson. How about you?”
“Hi
Clare, I’m Ross Tyler.” Adonis holds out his hand. “I
hitchhiked from Ryde on Friday with a mate from college, who was last
seen yesterday trying to find somewhere private to take a crap.”
Juice
from the apple runs down my chin and I wipe it away with my left
hand, shake Ross’s hand with the other, and smile up at him.
“You’re
a lifesaver, Ross. I came here with a friend as well, but maybe she
met up with your mate. I haven’t seen her for a few hours now.”
“Looks
like it’s us two against the world then.” Ross slings the
rucksack back over his shoulder. “I’m on my way up the hill;
going to hitchhike back to Ryde and get a chance on the hovercraft
before this lot set off. Coming?”
I’ve
had enough. My knight in Jesus creepers has materialised and is
standing right in front of me. Not one for wanting to look a gift
horse in the mouth, and fortified by the sweet fruit, I nod and get
to my feet.
“Yes;
I want to go home.”
Paul
Rogers is giving it all he’s got. Taking one last look at the
stage and wondering if we would ever see the like of it again, I grab
my saviour’s outstretched hand and we begin to thread our way
between the bodies and mounds of detritus, back up Desolation Hill
and over Afton Down, eventually descending onto the Military Road.
Crowds of young people have the same idea, and we all saunter along
amiably in the late afternoon heat, in no rush to get off the Island,
and unaware that we are part of history in the making. In front of
us are two girls holding hands; one is naked except for a pair of
pink knickers, and the other is bare from the waist down.
“Looks
like those two have fared worse than you.” Ross smirks.
I
am stoned on cannabis fumes, lack of sleep, hunger, and a definite
animal attraction for my new-found friend. It matters to me not one
jot that female flesh usually kept under wraps is now exposed to the
stares of all and sundry. Presently the girls slope off and join
many other festival-goers, washing off the dirt from Desolation Hill
in the choppy waters of Freshwater Bay. I smile at Ross as we trudge
along Military Road, copying him and raising my thumb some time later
as crowds begin to thin out and the odd car can be seen driving past
us on the way to maybe Brook Green or further on into Niton or
Newport.
“Who
in their right mind is going to give
us
a lift?” I panic while wondering just how much further I can walk.
“Look at the state of us. How many miles is it to Ryde from here?
Can’t we wait for a bus?”
“About
twenty.” Comes the cheerful reply. “I’m skint, the same as
you. It’s hitching or Shanks’s pony.”
My
affable, blond Adonis is prepared to traipse into the night to reach
his destination. It’s all I can do to keep up with his long,
loping strides. The buzz from the apple wears off around Compton Bay,
and I want to cry.
“Cheer
up, babe.”
Ross
winks and puts his arm around me. The effect is galvanising and
instantly spurs me on. I gaze up into his pale blue eyes, and his
nearness causes a pleasant throbbing sensation in my groin. I have
never seen such beauty in a man before. I am certain I haven’t
seen him at Uni.
“Which
University are you at?” I find myself looking down in the
direction of his groin as we walk.
“Not
Uni; Portsmouth Art College.” Ross holds his fist up and jerks his
thumb at passing cars. “How about you?”
“The
Uni; not far from there though. Reading English; I want to be a
teacher. Do you think you’ll be a famous painter then?”
“Don’t
know.” Ross shrugs and fondles the hair at the back of my neck.
“But I’m having a ball finding out.”
***
It’s
not until we walk past Compton Bay and head towards Brook Green that
a van stops next to us. Ross is still pointing his thumb in the
vague direction of Newport, but I have long ago given up, and am just
concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. I hear Ross
speak to the driver who is on his way to Bembridge, and to my great
delight he beckons us into the cab and agrees to drop us off along
the seafront at Ryde. The van has three seats at the front. I let
Ross go in first, who chats amiably to the driver most of the way I
think. Me, I put my head on Ross’s shoulder and am asleep before
the van has even pulled away.