Saying Goodbye to an Old Friend

From the cat who literally swallowed the canary (and then threw it up on your aunt's antique Persian rug) to the dog who ran away, we at the Stiletto Gang put our collective heads together and thought: what could be better than walking down memory lane with thoughts of some of our favorite--and not-so-favorite--pets? Join us for the next two weeks as we reminisce about the animals we loved and those who loved us.

By Evelyn David

Let me tell you a little about Snickers, the Irish terrier who made us dog owners. She was from a line of champions. That didn't matter to us. We had, however, deliberately chosen the breed because they were hypoallergenic. Put my husband around most dogs and his eyes swell shut and he develops a throbbing headache. So it's reasonable to ask, why did we get a dog in the first place? Our second son, then six, was deathly afraid of all animals, but especially dogs. We thought having a puppy would help him overcome his fear. (It worked.)

Neither my husband nor I had ever owned a dog before so our expectations were primarily based on watching years of Lassie episodes. I thought Snickers would follow me from room to room, come when called, rescue me if I fell down a well. Instead, we got a dog who clearly considered us her intellectual inferiors. Don't get me wrong. She was a sweet animal who, when I had a baby a few years later, was as gentle as a lamb around this new interloper who pulled ears and tail. She never so much as growled at us no matter what the provocataion, but there was always a certain distance, a sense of independence. She was the first to dash out any open door. We would chase after her and she would race ahead, stopping occasionally to look back to see if we were following. Once when we couldn't find her, having scoured the neighborhood calling her name, offering treats, we returned to find her sitting on our front porch, with a look of disdain that we hadn't been able to keep up with her. We incorporated a similar scene in our mystery ZONED FOR MURDER.

I realize just how independent Snickers was, now that we have Clio, another Irish terrier. Clio too is sweet, but to be honest not too bright. At 40 pounds Clio believes she is a lap dog. She is happiest when stretched across one of us, with her belly being scratched. Snickers just wasn't that kind of dog.

When Snickers was 13 years old, she had arthritis, was going deaf, and was slightly blind. Our vet, the kindly Dr. Thorndike told us, Snickers had outlived "most of her classmates." Still I was unprepared when one morning, Snickers had a stroke before my eyes. She lost control of her legs and bladder. I rushed her to the animal hospital and Dr. Thorndike gently told me that the time had come for us to be loving pet owners. He predicted that Snickers would have more strokes over the next few days and be increasingly in pain. We couldn't let that happen. We made arrangements to have her put to sleep the next day, after the kids said their goodbyes. It was a long and emotional night, but Snickers seemed comfortable and had regained limited use of her legs. She ate very little, slept nearly round the clock.

Despite her independence, Snickers was, from the day we met her, fiercely protective of her family. So she was that last morning. My husband took off time from work to go with me to the vets. I carried Snickers out to the driveway and put her down to open the car. She stretched out on the concrete for a moment until a sanitation man came to the back of the house to get our trashcans. I watched as Snickers drew herself up, on shaky legs, and then barked with a clear message, "This is my family. I'll protect them."

I reassured Snickers that all was fine – but she watched, growling softly, until the sanitation man had left the area. We lifted her into the car and she settled back down to sleep.

The selfless, devoted, protective, let me say noble character of Snickers taught me a lot about parenting. She loved without question, if on her own terms. She was the fierce defender of this family and asked nothing more than kindness, food, and shelter in return. We got so much more.

Dogs, like people, come in all shapes, sizes, and temperaments. But what they give to their families is the unconditional love that each of us needs. How lucky we were to have Snickers in our life.

Thanks old friend.

Marian

Zoned for Murder - Kindle (Exclusive at Amazon this month)
Trade Paperback

Brianna Sullivan Mysteries - e-book series
I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah- Kindle (Exclusive at Amazon this month)
The Holiday Spirit(s) of Lottawatah- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Undying Love in Lottawatah- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
A Haunting in Lottawatah - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Lottawatah Twister - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Missing in Lottawatah - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Good Grief in Lottawatah - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords

The Ghosts of Lottawatah - trade paperback collection of the Brianna e-books
Book 1 - I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries (includes the first four Brianna e-books)
Book 2 - A Haunting in Lottawatah (includes the 5th, 6th, and 7th Brianna e-books)

Sullivan Investigations Mystery
Murder Off the Books Kindle - Nook - Smashwords - Trade Paperback
Murder Takes the Cake Kindle - Nook - Smashwords - Trade Paperback
Riley Come Home (short story)- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Moonlighting at the Mall (short story) - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords

Romances
Love Lessons - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords

A Girl's Best Friend

From the cat who literally swallowed the canary (and then threw it up on your aunt's antique Persian rug) to the dog who ran away, we at the Stiletto Gang put our collective heads together and thought: what could be better than walking down memory lane with thoughts of some of our favorite--and not-so-favorite--pets? Join us for the next two weeks as we reminisce about the animals we loved and those who loved us.

By Laura Bradford

Looking back, I’m not sure who was truly the spot-EE and who was truly the spot-ER, but deep down inside, in that place where memories mingle with our heart, I know the answer.

You see, on that heart-changing day so long ago, I was in a tough place. I’d miscarried eighteen months earlier and found myself struggling to get pregnant again. All my life I’d wanted to be a mom and it wasn’t happening. Part of me felt like a failure, and part of me just felt empty.

For my twenty-fifth birthday, my then-husband surprised me with a trip to the animal shelter to get a cat, something, I imagine, he hoped would help to get my mind off the elusive prize while simultaneously taking the edge off my need to nurture.

I didn’t know where we were going until we got there and parked in front of a run-down building with a large window. At that window sat a little black and white cat who kept her eyes on me as I stepped from the car and approached the building.

When I went inside, the animal shelter folks told us to look around, pointing toward the room with the window. Inside the room were lots of cats—several of whom were trying to pick a fight with that little black and white cat. She, in turn, merely looked away, doing her best to ignore them.

Without so much as a moment's hesitation, I walked past all of those other cats and chose her as my own.

That’s the day Hobbes became part of my life.

That night, she cried outside my bedroom door until I came out to comfort her.

Through the years that followed, she took over that role…for me.

Hobbes became my best friend. She saw me through my pregnancy with Dear Daughter # 1 and then Dear Daughter # 2. She helped teach them to be gentle and kind. She taught us about loyalty. If we played outside, she watched from the closest window. If we played inside, she was always within arm’s reach…supervising. And when I sat in one place for longer than a minute, she was on my lap, purring as loud as she could.

She was a wonderful confidante.

She was a wonderful friend.

She was the epitome of pure, unconditional love.

In 2007, as we were separating, my then-husband asked if Hobbes could stay with him for a little while. I agreed out of kindness. Two years later, when we moved to New York and it was time to take Hobbes, my daughters needed her to be there for them when they visited their father. They needed her presence in the house, her cuddles in their beds, her purr to make things right. So, once again, I agreed. For them.

In 2010, when the girls were finally ready and eager for her to live out the rest of her life with us, I asked for Hobbes. My request was denied and I never laid eyes on Hobbes again.

That day, too, is one I will never forget. But instead of teaching me to focus on the pitfalls of being kind and selfless, that moment brought home what Hobbes had taught me and my girls...

Unconditional love is just that—unconditional. I loved Hobbes whether we were together or not. And Hobbes loved me whether we were together or not. The memory of her purity and her always-smile-inducing-purr was just as much a part of me as my eyes and nose.

Every time the girls saw her, they told her I loved her and missed her. They told her I wanted her with me but that, short of that, she was with me in my heart. That no one could ever take that away.

I believe she knew that. I believe she knew I’d allowed her to stay behind temporarily because of the lessons she taught me about selflessness.

News of Hobbes’ passing came last year. To say I hurt all over doesn’t even begin to describe that moment…that whole day…that whole weekend.

I still miss her. Every single day.

My life changed the day Hobbes and I found each other. Because, for the first time ever, I knew what it was to be loved without hesitation and judgment. She was, without a doubt, the best friend I’ve ever had.

Now tell me about your Hobbes...

The Stiletto Gang welcomes Aimee Hix!

There is an adage that you never ask a question you don’t know the answer to already. I posit that sometimes it is a bad idea to ask a question even if you do already know the answer.

I was recently asked to be the moderator for an author panel at Malice, Dirty Little Secrets: An Inside Look at the Writer's Life. A friend of mine, the lovely and talented Laura Bradford had the idea for a fun new panel that would shake things up a little and allow a group of fans a little deeper into the minds of authors. I instantly said yes because … who wouldn’t?

I spent reading up on the panel authors. I sent emails introducing myself. I drafted bios. I crafted a set of questions so numerous that I could host this same panel for five more years with no extra work. I was determined that this panel would be the funniest, most fun, most uproarious panel ever in the history of Malice. The night before I swapped the order of the question cards so many times it’s a wonder I didn’t show up to the panel with my hands swathed in yards of gauze to protect my paper cut laden hands. I settled on just the perfect seven questions I thought we could get to before time ran out.

The morning of the panel dawned … well, I am not sure how it dawned because I was so focused on not screwing up the panel that a zombiepocalypse could have occurred and I would have been oblivious. Plus I was severely sleep deprived from the socializing the two previous nights. Punch drunk on caffeine and nerves, hyperventilating is just really not the way you want to head into a public speaking engagement is all I am saying. Had just one of my handicaps not been in play I might have noticed that Question Number Four was a bad idea.

Question Number Four is a question I love. You should use Question Number Four in your own life and you’ll see firsthand why it’s such a good question to learn about someone’s character.

“What is the kindest thing someone has done for you in your life?” The words were out of my mouth, amplified through the microphone, out in the crowd and up in the recording being made in the bowels of the hotel when I realized I knew what Laura could answer. What she then did answer.

A few weeks before, I had done the MS walk to raise money in Laura’s name. I know that she considers this a kindness but what I did was very selfish. I did it for no nobler a reason than I want this special, wonderful person around, happy and healthy for a very long time. She makes my world better.

During the telling, Laura gets choked up and then with a prickling of tears in my eyes, frantically, I look for something, ANYTHING that isn’t one of the crying people I am sure is in the audience filled with our friends and lovely strangers.

My boisterous laugh riot panel has now become the panel where people cried. My heart fell. This was not what we had envisioned or planned. People wouldn’t remember Jeff Cohen’s schtick or Robin Hathaway recounting that 17 people is really too many to kill off in chapter one. No, people would remember our panel as the one with the crying. Which … is actually better, I think. They got An Inside Look at the Writer's Life which is what I was hired for, after all.

Aimee Hix is a wife, mom, a friend and a professional Statistician (sadly, it’s not as sexy as it sounds).  She is the rare breed of Northern Virginia native that has live there all her life, much to her chagrin.

Aimee is a pre-published author and a movie reviewer for the Flixy Mom blog (flixymom.blogspot.com) proudly providing family movie reviews for parents by parents.

I'm "That Woman" Now

I’m “that woman” now.  You know, the one who sees a baby in a stroller and looks at the person pushing it—be it mother, father, or babysitter—and say, a stricken look on her face, “Enjoy it now!  It goes so fast!”

I feel sure that I’ve written about this before but now it’s a reality.

I’m old enough to have a daughter graduating from high school.

It was just yesterday that I cried myself from one end of the country to the other when I had to go on a business trip and leave her home, six-months old, toothless and adorable.  Or when I agonized over quitting my in-house day job to stay home with her, only to have her tell me “I wish I got to go to Tiny Tots” (the day care center around the corner from our house—trust me:  that didn’t go over well). Or when we celebrated her “graduation” from elementary school to the middle school, the middle school to the high school.  It was all just yesterday. Wasn’t it?

This week, we have the senior prom (or “Prom” as it is called now, no article), her graduation party (60 hungry family and friends).  Next week is the big day:  graduation.  Soon after, college orientation, shopping for supplies and then the biggest day of all:  move-in day.  It’s about more than I can fathom because I’m still thirty, she’s still a baby, and her brother doesn’t even exist yet.

I feel rather foolish talking like this because I used to be the woman who laughed at people who told me to be present and to savor every moment that was my daughter’s childhood.  I was present, even though it’s hard to be in every moment when many of those moments include only discipline, teaching good manners, listening to the same song sung over and over again in the back seat of the car, saying “because I said so” ten times a day.  As someone else once wisely said to me, “the days are long but the years fly by.”  Boy, do they.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m excited for her.  We live in a little village and she’s seen the same one hundred faces every single day since kindergarten.  It’s time for a change.  It’s time for her to move on and to experience a new city, new friends, new challenges, new joys, and new heartbreaks.  It’s time for her to establish who she is outside of this family and this village and to explore the world on her terms.  She is definitely ready for everything this next chapter brings.  I guess I’ll have to be ready, too.

Fellow Stiletto babe, northern-half Evelyn David, and I often joke that’s it not all about us.  (Alternately, I joke with my mother that everything is my fault.  She heartily concurs.  Mothers, apparently, are the eternal scapegoats for all of life’s inconveniences.  Glad I learned that early on.)  Intellectually, we understand that and suppress a lot of what we know and what we feel in favor of letting our children grow up and move on.  I wish I were in a different place, emotionally, but I’m not and I’ll only apologize if I can’t stop crying during the Pledge of Allegiance during graduation or I make a complete fool of myself (moreso than usual). 

So, Stiletto friends, how do you cope when something sneaks up on you, something that has been right ahead of you for a long time?  What are your coping strategies for dealing with the monumental rites of passage?

Maggie Barbieri

Has blogging lost it's sparkle?

by: Joelle Charbonneau

In the last year, I’ve heard people starting to call into question the relevance of blogs.  Years ago, and I’m not talking all that many years ago, blogs were fresh and different.  Only a couple of authors blogged.  The novelty of that daily or weekly contact with a favorite author made those blogs must-reads for a lot of fans.  The popularity of those blogs made blogging the ‘it’ thing to do.  Suddenly, all authors needed to blog.  Publishers, editors, public relations and marketing folk and agents all embraced blogging as the new, surefire way for an author to gain a following.  It’s easy to understand why.  In the good old days-AKA early 2000s and all the years before-readers had to go to an author event to connect on a personal level with their favorite authors.  Travel gets expensive, so it is no wonder writers and their publishing teams embraced the lower cost, longer reaching arm that blogging provided.

Yay for technology.

Or not. 

Fast forward to the here and now.  The internet has grown exponentially in the past decade.  Almost every business has a web presence and a large percentage of authors blog on places on the web like (but not near as fun as) this one.  Where blogging was once a unique, never before chance to glimpse into an author’s life, it has become more an expected commodity.  “Oh.  You’re an author.  What blog are you on?” is something I heard more than once at BEA last week. 

Blogging is expected.  However, knowing that the question has to be asked—because there are so many blogs out there, has blogging lots its effectiveness?

I admit that I love blogging here at the Stiletto Gang!  The ladies not only allow me (the girl who never wears stilettos) to play, but are incredibly supportive.  So, I know that my reasons for blogging are less about promotion and more about community and fun.  But it would be great to know your reasons for reading and or writing blogs. 

Do you seek out new blogs and actively comment on them?  Do you only comment on blogs that you know and feel comfortable with?  Are you like me who lurks a lot and doesn’t comment, but loves reading about what my friends are up to?  Or do you think that blogs have gotten lost in the glut of content that is available online?  What new and fresh things should authors be doing in order to keep their blogs relevant to readers?

We may not solve the problems of world peace here at the Stiletto Gang, but maybe we’ll come up with a new way to cut through the noise that is the internet and connect with each other on an even better level!

My Summer TV!

By Evelyn David

Remember when summer television was a vast wasteland of reruns! Not so much anymore.

With all the cable stations available, the competition for viewers is tough and in order to compete many networks now offer shows that air new material in the summer months.

Some of my favorites have returned this month, more next month.

Rizzoli and Isles is airing new episodes. Often it's just too cute for words with the junior high "girl buddy" theme, but out of loyalty to the brilliant novels by Tess Gerritsen, I watch. Lorraine Bracco is excellent as "Jane's" mother. She's probably my favorite character on the tv series.

Falling Skies is returning for its second season. Aliens have taken over the world and Dr. John Carter from ER fame, okay Noah Wyle is famous for other roles now, but he'll always be Dr. Carter to me – anyway he's leading a group of survivors who are fighting back. Special effects are well done and the plot's interesting. Last season ended with Dr. Carter about to be sucked up into an alien spacecraft.

For light fun, I enjoy USA Network's Royal Pains. Nothing like spending the summer in The Hamptons seeing how the other half vacations. Great scenery and likeable characters.

If the temperatures get too hot, there's always Ice Road Truckers. I lived in Alaska for a couple of years and I enjoy the show for the scenery. I also liked watching trucker "Lisa" compete with the guys, but for some reason she's not back this season. The series probably won't have the same appeal for me.

My favorite, The Closer, is back in July with its final six episodes. The star, Kyra Sedgwick, has decided she'd "closed" enough cases and is headed back to New York and husband Kevin Bacon. Not sure how the writers are going to end "Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson's" employment with the LAPD. My bets are either with a pregnancy or a long overdue return to visit her parents in Atlanta. The rest of "Chief Johnson's" squad will immediately, as in the hour following the final Closer episode, become the ensemble cast of the new spinoff series, Major Crimes. The incomparable actress, Mary McDonnell, "Stands With a Fist" from Dancing with Wolves and more recently of Battlestar Galactica fame, headlines the new show. I think it should be a great addition to TNT's network, if Mary's character, "Captain Sharon Raydor," can manage to get out from under the shadow of "Chief Johnson." Only time will tell.

Anyone planning to watch the new Dallas? I will if only for the nostalgia factor. When I was in high school the marching band played the theme from Dallas at all our football games. "Who shot J.R.?" was the first cliffhanger I remember my generation talking about for an entire summer.

I'd write more but I this is shark week on the Syfy channel. Jersey Shore just got attacked by red-eyed albino sharks and I've got to see how the movie ends.

What are you watching this summer?

Rhonda
aka The Southern Half of Evelyn David

Zoned for Murder - Kindle (Exclusive at Amazon this month)

Brianna Sullivan Mysteries - e-book series
I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah- Kindle (Exclusive at Amazon this month)
The Holiday Spirit(s) of Lottawatah- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Undying Love in Lottawatah- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
A Haunting in Lottawatah - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Lottawatah Twister - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Missing in Lottawatah - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Good Grief in Lottawatah - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords

The Ghosts of Lottawatah - trade paperback collection of the Brianna e-books
Book 1 - I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries (includes the first four Brianna e-books)
Book 2 - A Haunting in Lottawatah (includes the 5th, 6th, and 7th Brianna e-books)

Sullivan Investigations Mystery
Murder Off the Books Kindle - Nook - Smashwords - Trade Paperback
Murder Takes the Cake Kindle - Nook - Smashwords - Trade Paperback
Riley Come Home (short story)- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Moonlighting at the Mall (short story) - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords

Romances
Love Lessons - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords

Novel Writing & the Food Network

            

 By Laura Spinella

            I’ve been on novel hiatus for a few weeks—okay, maybe closer to a month. Savvy writing advice suggests novelists start another project immediately after finishing one.  Unfortunately, this strategy is not in my author DNA.  I need a break. Novel writing is hard work, and my muse is a lazy soul.  With this mindset in motion, it’s not long before a writing sabbatical lulls me into a Haagen-Daz, what’s my purpose in life, mode. It’s a slippery slope, though I slide willingly—onto my living room sofa.  From here I drift, like a garbage barge on the ocean, toward the oasis of reality TV.  

I retreat to the Food Network where distraction is a staple menu item. This is low-maintenance reality TV.  There are no dysfunctional families to sort through; no convoluted backstories to grasp, meaning you can pull into Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives anytime.  Here, bleach blond, spiked-haired host Guy Fieri travels the country, visiting quirky road-kill um, roadside restaurants. At a glance, one can presume that lax sanitary conditions are meant to be a metaphor for atmosphere. During these visits, Fieri ingests enough lard-based house specials to be on prepayment plan for his future triple bypass.  Sadly, one can only stomach so much of Fieri’s orgasmic reaction to pork parts slathered in Jimmy-Joe’s volcanic hot sauce, and I move onto Chopped.

I am amused by this post-Julia Child generation effort, a program that is not so much about cooking as it is about the $10,000 prize. The money is poised to transform any one of the competitors’ lives. Seriously? Ten-thousand bucks is all it’s gonna take to turn your life around?  Most contestants want to open a restaurant. Unless the plan is to open a restaurant in their basement, ten-grand isn’t enough to keep a diner in doughnuts, never mind using it as venture capital. Regardless, you have to love the show’s energy. Four wannabe Emerils put their creative and cooking moxie to the test by using secret basket ingredients such as tree bark, goat urine, and Japanese jellyfish to prepare their dishes. Sometimes I feel for the contestants, but mostly I sympathize with the judges who have taste test the results.

I am restless, needing something with more substance. I stick with the Food Network and tune into Restaurant Rehab.  This is boot camp hell for wayward restaurateurs. Have the '80s called asking for their mauve drapes and mirrored walls? Do you employ your toothless, recently paroled cousin as your chef?  Is your staff under the impression that they are indentured servants, too stupid to quit, trapped like rats on a sinking ship? Well then, enter iron-armed, drill sergeant chef Robert Irvine.  This guy looks like he bench presses Viking stoves for fun.  In forty-eight hours Robert is going to fix everything from the décor to the cousin, perhaps sending him for dental implants before the grand reopening. Frankly, Robert scares me. But maybe that’s what it takes to rewire thirty years of learned behavior in thirty minutes. Assuming he understood the premise of the show before he signed on, Chef Robert appears oddly outraged to find himself thrust into this hopeless mess. After berating the widowed proprietor for her inability to get a clue or at least a functioning carpet sweeper, he tears apart the dining room décor. Usually, this is cavernous square footage that could seat hundreds. It occurs to me that the real problem is location. The rehab restaurant is almost always situated in a pea-size town, bypassed by the bypass a decade earlier. Nevertheless, Robert goes to work ushering in his design team. Now, if you look closely, you’ll recognize Taniya Nayak, his go-to designer.  She’s a decorating refugee from HGTV and saddled with the dilemma of stretching a $10,000 budget to cover the 100K makeover the place truly needs. She also appears oblivious to her short of end of the stick. Taniya’s chipper attitude never wavers. Not even when Chef Robert berates her for taking too long to execute an overhaul that, in real reality, should take six months. Someday Taniya will decide she’s had enough, taking kerosene and a match to the sprawling space.  In the meantime, Chef Robert heads into the kitchen to scream at um, mentor the chef.  As we suspect, this is a doomed encounter.  In no time, he’s made the ex-con cousin wish he’d violated parole.  But no worries, it’s all going to be okay; Chef Robert has a plan. He’ll teach the unskilled chef how to prepare foolproof dishes, complete with sauces, mastering each one before the grand reopening—which occurs in about an hour. Of course, this three-act drama plays out to perfection as Chef Robert saves the day. He waves goodbye to a restaurant brimming with happy diners and staff, insisting a call from Zagat is imminent. I flip Chef Robert off and sigh longingly at my pollen covered laptop. Novel writing would be  snap if only my next book had a slot on the Food Network.

                 

Laura Spinella is the author of BEAUTIFUL DISASTER. A 2012 RITA finalist, the novel is the recipient of the NJRWA Golden Leaf and Desert Rose RWA Golden Quill awards for Best First Book, as well as a finalist in the Wisconsin RWA Writer's Touch award for Best Mainstream Novel. Visit her at lauraspinella.net.  

         

      

What Made You Write This Book?

By Lynn Cahoon

I am so excited to be at The Stiletto Gang. Big thanks to my BFF Laura for inviting me.

Ever since I found out that The Bull Rider’s Brother was going to be published, I’ve been asked the ‘author’ questions from friends, family and relatives. Like, when are you going to write a real book, like (insert popular book title here – from Twilight to Sarah’s Keys). Or, where do you get your ideas? Did this story happen to you? And my favorite, How can I get published?

So today, I’m answering one of those questions. Where do you get your ideas?

The Bull Rider’s Brother is a small town, cowboy, secret baby, homecoming story. Say that five times fast.

The background for the book started the day after I met the man I would marry.

Dating again after divorce, I’ll admit, I was in pretty rough shape, emotionally and financially. All I was looking for was someone to have fun with. And the current man in my life fit that description (we’ll call him Date Boy #1.) I wasn’t in love. Wasn’t looking for love.

One night, Date Boy #1 and I were in a bar. He played darts, I drank beer. As I sat and talked to the other players, I realized, I was again settling. Getting myself involved with someone who I didn’t love, but who was convenient.

The next day Date Boy #1 and I went to the Riggins Rodeo. For those of you who have lived in a small town, you know how an event can take on a life of its own. That’s what happens each year when the rodeo comes to this little canyon town. Rodeo weekend is one big party running from the corrals and stands south of town, to the park on the north side. I enjoyed the weekend, but knew I would have to end the relationship because I wasn’t being honest. With Date Boy #1 or myself.

That weekend became a turning point in my life. Where I started to really trust that I could have the man of my dreams and the life I’d always wanted. That my choices mattered. I didn’t know it at the time, but one of those dart players I had been talking to that night, would become my best friend and my husband.

When I started writing this book, I knew my setting. I wanted Lizzie and James, my star crossed lovers in The Bull Rider’s Brother, to be from a small town like Riggins. I knew that as teenagers, their only plan was how to escape the small town. And, I knew that only one of them was successful.

And that was all I knew when I started writing. That and one of them would be running a tilapia farm. (That part got changed during revision.)

Is The Bull Rider’s Brother a story from my own experience? Yes and no. The setting, the gentle sounds of the river running through the town, the ice cream at the end of the parade? All from memories of my weekend.

The rest is and should be a work of fiction.

What questions do you want to ask your favorite author?

*          *          *

Growing up in the middle of cowboy country, Lynn Cahoon was destined to fall in love with a tall, cool glass of water. Now, she enjoys writing about small town America, the cowboys who ride the range, and the women who love them. Contact her at her website – http://www.lynncahoon.wordpress.com/

*          *          *

The Bull Rider’s Brother 

Rodeo weekend is the start of the summer the entire town of Shawnee, Idaho. On a girl's night out, Lizzie Hudson finds herself comparing her life as a single mom with her best friend's successful career when James Sullivan, the cowboy who got away, walks his Justin Ropers back into her life. Seeing him shakes Lizzie's world but James is in for an even more eventful weekend, learning he has a son. James has enough on his plate trying to manage his brother's bull riding career. Can he learn to redefine family and become part of Lizzie's life before she gives up on him and marries another?

The Bull Rider’s Brother is a series contemporary romance about Lizzie Hudson, a single mom who wants to keep her life just the way it is, thank you. The problems you know are less scary than the problems you don’t.

When James Sullivan comes back for the town’s rodeo weekend and finds out that his high school sweetheart had his child, six years ago, Lizzie’s world is thrown into turmoil and she must decide if safety and certainty are worth giving up on a chance for love. A love that an emotionally damaged James may never be able to return, breaking her and her son’s heart in the process.

http://www.amazon.com/The-Bull-Riders-Brother-ebook/dp/B008195C2I/ref=la_B0082PWOAO_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1336860703&sr=1-1