my audience is a lot like me: female; avid fiction reader; enjoys various romance genres and women’s fiction, suspense and mystery; mature; intelligent; loves libraries; owns a computer and an ebook reading device; has a smart phone she fears is smarter than she is; doesn’t completely grasp or understand social media but makes the attempt to; won’t waste time on bad books; takes advantage of senior discounts if available.
“Everything we own is stuffed in our cart. My favorite bone, his Purple Heart…” Lyrics from Couple of Strays
“What do you do to stay in shape?”
“Sex.”
“What!”
“And lots of it.” Granger smirked at her.
“Uh huh.”
“You’d be surprised. Lots of lonely housewives here in Liberty. Not to mention the widows and divorcees. Oh, sorry.”
She knew the rules. She knew she’d broken a couple of them. She knew she was in trouble. She’d just guaranteed herself even less freedom than she’d had before. God, she was stupid.
I’ve always believed the writing, the publishing of books, the selling of books, might simply be a tool in God’s arsenal.
The word beautiful was probably used 200 times to describe how the hero sees the heroine. Dear author: Get a thesaurus.
“It means, maybe if he got a haircut, wore something besides faded jeans and tee shirts…” trained his dog, found Skid’s leash, didn’t make my heart rate go crazy…
Jack was there. But he wasn’t the vivid Jack of her waking memory. The Jack with the black hair and laughing eyes. Not the larger-than-life Jack who’d swept her off her feet when she’d been a naïve eighteen-year-old, the one she’d married, the one who’d been her whole world.
What if my character was on the run and she decided to cut through that culvert? And stepped on the gator’s tail? Would going forward be worse than whatever was behind her?
I found tile that almost but not quite matched. But most of it would be covered by the bathtub and who was going to notice that it didn’t match?
