Monthly archive

April 2010

Friday, April 30, 2010

Large City or Small Town?

Where’d you grow up and where do you live now? A large city or a small town?

I grew up in the medium-size town of Salem, Massachusetts with a population in the 1960’s of about thirty thousand people. Although we had one family car, my mother and I walked downtown for shopping, church, etc.—about a twenty minute walk one way. Even then I loved walking. And when I married and had my daughter, I had a basket attached to her carriage so that during our daily walks around town I could pick up a few items at the store. I loved being downtown where I’d bump into former classmates, friends of my parents or grandmother, people who knew who I was. It was a good feeling—a comfortable feeling.

By the mid-seventies, I moved to another medium-size city next to Salem, but different in many ways. Our house was located in what we called a “development.” Homes with fenced-in back yards, lots of children for my own children to play with—and no proper downtown area within walking distance. Which meant we needed the car for almost everything. Not only that, but those small shops of Salem that I remembered and loved had been replaced with shopping malls. Places where the clerks had no idea who I was, where I habitually became frustrated attempting to find a parking spot. Where yes, the shops were larger and more posh, but where the act of shopping became impersonal.

And by the late-eighties, we had moved to Florida, where again we lived in a housing development. But this time, my own children were grown and gone and there were very few young children in the neighborhood. Mostly retired couples or couples, like my husband and me that were busy working. Which means I never really got to know my neighbors. Oh, sure—a wave hello, an inquiry as to how they were, a comment about the weather. But that was it. I think being busy working accounted for part of this, but I also now feel that type of removed behavior is almost an unwritten code in those types of suburban neighborhoods.

When my husband retired five years ago we relocated about two hours north—to a small island town of about nine hundred permanent residents. We had been visiting here for about fourteen years. We did extensive research to make sure we could adapt to all that this island didn’t have and the outcome was that what it did have far outweighed anything else.

No, we do not have any major shopping here; we have no doctor, hospital, pharmacy or movie theater. (All of these are about a 30 mile drive to the closest medium-size city) We do not have one traffic light! Nor do we have a speed limit on the island above 25 mph. We also have no major crime. What we do have is spectacular sunrises and sunsets, an entire area surrounded by Mother Nature, a night sky where one can actually see the stars without light pollution, osprey, ibis, and the sight of water just about everywhere you look. And added to all of this is the utter and complete stillness and quietness as I walk my dogs in the morning.

My mom grew up a country girl on a farm in New Hampshire. My dad grew up as a city boy in Salem, Massachusetts. I grew up with the best of both worlds because although we lived in the city and had all the conveniences, we visited my grandparent’s farm a lot and even then I resonated with nature and the small town atmosphere.

So I suppose it was probably natural that when life presented me a choice, I chose that small town surrounded by nature. I like knowing most of the people that live here. I like that they know who I am. I like waving to others on my morning walks and I like being in my element.

For those of you that have read my first novel, SPINNING FORWARD in the Cedar Key series, I think you can see that I’ve been inspired by my surroundings. Living here has given me a sense of place and people—a warm and comfortable feeling—that I want to share with you, my readers.

Leave me a comment here with your thoughts on city versus small town and you could win an autographed copy of SPINNING FORWARD and a Cedar Key item from our 2010 Arts Festival.
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Tuesday, April 27, 2010

LISTEN TO YOUR HEART


IT HAD TO BE YOU is book # 4 in the Grayson Friends series, and my 3rd book in 2010. While IT HAD TO BE YOU was a fun book to write, it required a great deal of research. I have a habit of giving secondary characters professions because they fit at the time. The problem comes when it's time to write the person's book and I have no idea how or why they do what they do. Since I firmly believe we are shaped by our childhood, I have to answer those questions. That was especially true when I sat down to write IT HAD TO BE YOU.

I knew the perfect man for Laurel Raineau, a classical violinist, would be Zachary "Rolling Deep" Wilder Albright, a hot-shot LA music producer. Although I love music, I knew nothing about producing an album and even less about a classical violinist.

Luckily for me, like Zach "Rolling Deep", I know people. Smile. Rosalyn Story is a gifted violinist as well as a fantastic author. She was kind enough to give me real insight into why she selected the violin, the training, the music. When I needed a record producer, Alecia Thompson, a local radio personality, connected me with Kristi B., a dynamic record producer and singer. I was blown away by her incredible voice and so very thankful that she allowed me into her recording studio to see how it's done.

Once I had the background, I could weave Zach and Laurel's story, but here again, it wasn't easy. Laurel's music might have touched Zach deeply, but she wants nothing to do with a man the tabloids reports as a party animal. When his agent can't get past her agent, Zach takes matters into his own hands, tracks Laurel down in Playa del Carmen and introduces himself by his real name. Neither expect the intense sexual attractions. It's just a matter of time before Laurel learns Zach's true identity - and she's not going to be happy.

I warmly invite you to visit my web site at www.francisray.com to read the prequel, NO ONE BUT YOU, and view the book video, which gives you a real flavor for IT HAD TO BE YOU.

All the best,
Francis





Monday, April 26, 2010

Isle Be Seeing You: Working at Home

Writing novels is surely the most portable career there is. The office cube farm is handily located right between my ears. Tools of the trade fit in the pocket of my oversize Rails hoodie–a Clairefontaine notebook, a fountain pen filled with peacock-blue ink, a phone and an iPod.

The commute? My usual route is from the couch to the computer, and the only traffic I encounter is a sleeping dog or a husband heading out for the day.

When you’re this portable, you have the ability to live anywhere you want. So why not pick the place that feels most like home in the world? The photo shows the view from my house.

Our "anywhere," as it turns out, is an island in Puget Sound, Washington–a chunky green dot on the map, located a ferry commute away from downtown Seattle. The population is eclectic. At the farmer’s market in high summer, you might run into a poet, a painter, a lawyer, a Hollywood actor, a gardener, or someone living off the grid in a boat. The main street is filled with seductive shops purveying homemade ice cream, designer clothing, original art, bestselling books, gorgeous yarns and fabrics, outdoor gear, hand-made pasta...and on every street corner is a coffee shop, the perfect place to gather with friends. Pegasus Coffee is roasted on the island and is served in a historic, ivy-covered waterfront building, where you’re likely to encounter one of our many local authors, hunched over a notebook, lost in a story.

Less than half a mile down the beach from my home is a favorite spot–the historic Lynwood movie theater, which has been in continuous operation since 1936. It’s the perfect spot to catch an indie film, and then head next door for a glass of wine at the Treehouse Café.

The landscape here is dreamlike, with the mountains seeming to float up from the water and towering trees dipping their graceful branches to the ever-damp forest floor. The sky is a changing panorama of shifting fog, brilliant blue, brooding clouds and rain squalls occasionally split by the unexpected arch of a rainbow.

When I’m working, I spend at least half my time staring off into the distance. Although hard-pressed to explain the process to my family, this is when the real "heavy lifting" of fiction writing takes place. Living here gives me no end of things to stare at while my imagination takes flight. From any window of my house, I can see a blue, busy waterway filled with sailboats, ferries and Navy vessels. In the distance is the island’s piece de resistance–a dead-on view of Mount Rainier, painted pink by the dawn, or sky blue in the afternoon sun, or deepest amber at sunset. It’s probably no accident that some of my novels have titles like Just Breathe or The Ocean Between Us, expressing themes of love, family, connection and peace.

Readers often ask where ideas come from. My answer is that I find them on the beach or in the forest, picking up storylines and plot twists like colorful bits of seaglass on the beach, or pinecones in the woods. Because when I’m not staring into space, I’m putting on my Bogs boots and heading out, either afoot or on my bicycle, kicking my brain in gear with a brisk walk or ride. The key to a character might be found while poking around in the wrack line along the beach. I might figure out a book’s resolution while tromping with Barkis past 200-foot Douglas firs and majestic cedars.

People will warn you about the dreary winters here. They’ll tell you it rains all the time and gets dark at four in the afternoon. They’ll regale you with stories about slugs the size of Volkswagens and bathtub mould with the half life of uranium.

For me, the dark, damp season is essential. Our summers are an intoxicating riot of sunshine, when the temptation to play hooky is impossible to resist. Ah, but the winters–that’s the time for books to be born.

When the rain comes and the sun refuses to show its face, I make a fire and a cup of lavender-scented Earl Grey tea, put up my feet and get busy writing. Again–no accident that my first #1 bestseller was called Fireside. I haven’t yet found a use for the slugs and bathtub mould, but the rest of it is working well for me.

http://www.susanwiggs.com/



Thursday, April 22, 2010

Amelia Grey's Pleasure

Good morning! Thank you for having me at Writerspace. I’m looking forward to a day full of comments and questions!

April is a special month. It marks the publication of my 21st book and my 9th Regency historical, and I’m so excited to be able to have a career that I truly enjoy! I don’t know who said it but he/she was right when they said, “My how time flies when you’re having fun!”

Throughout my writing career my motto has been “God doesn’t give you the desire without the talent to back it up.” In those early days, I had a great desire to write romance and publish a book. My first editor told me I had excellent storytelling ability but I needed to work on the mechanics. So I started attending workshops hosted by RWA and Romantic Times to work on the skills of how to put a book together. But even that was fun because I met so many wonderful authors who are still my friends. I attended workshops by talented authors like Sandra Brown and Nora Roberts. My first book, PASSION’S CHOICE a historical romance was published by Warner Books in 1990. And I’ve never looked back.

Even though I enjoy my work, it’s a business and I treat it like a business. My writing time is very important to me, and I don’t let too many things interrupt me when I’m writing. I’m up and out of the house to my office by 9:30 five days a week, and I work five to six hours a day. I never work on weekends and I never work in the evenings. I don’t sit around and waiting for inspiration to come to me. I go looking for it every day by turning on the computer and starting to work. Working for me is not a chore. It’s a pleasure.

And it’s now my pleasure to tell you that An Earl to Enchant, the third book in my Rogues’ Dynasty Series is now on sale at your favorite local or on line bookstore. In An Earl To Enchant, the hero is a planner who plays by the rules and has no idea what to do with an enchanting heroine who ignores convention and steals his heart with her impulsive ways. For merriment, I had the heroine pursuing the hero, and for intrigue I had a killer pursuing her.


The first book of the series is A Duke To Die For, and it came out in April 2009 and is still available. In A Duke To Die For, the hero’s life was chaotic and undisciplined, so I gave him a beautiful and quite charming heroine who was timely and organized to get under his skin and stay there. For fun I had her believe she was cursed, and for intrigue I had him be in danger because of it.

The middle book, A Marquis To Marry was published in October 2009 and is still on sale wherever books are sold. In A Marquis To Marry, the hero is a fun-loving rogue and very happily a bachelor, so I had to give him a beautiful, fascinating woman who had the power, charm, and all it took to make him want to settle down to just one woman. For enjoyment, I had him in possession of a priceless necklace of pearls that belonged to her family, and then for intrigue I had them stolen.

I couldn’t be happier with the way my writing career has blossomed and I’m thrilled by how well my books are being received by reviewers and readers. I’m also delighted to tell you that my desire and my inspiration are still going strong. I’ll be adding three more very sexy heroes to The Rogues’ Dynasty next year starting with A Gentleman Never Tells.

So tell me, do you get fun and enjoyment out of your job?

The first chapter of An Earl To Enchant, is available on my website and I invite you to give it a try.

I’m always happy to hear from readers. Please e-mail me at ameliagrey@comcast.net or visit my website at ameliagrey.com.






Wednesday, April 21, 2010

WANTED: GREEN THUMB

I don’t have a green thumb. I don’t have anything even resembling a green thumb, because I get too distracted by the busy-ness of life and forget to water my plants or bring them in on a frosty night, or trim the dead leaves.

The problem?

I love having plants—real ones—in my house. Love having fresh herbs I can just snip off a pot and add to a dish when the whim strikes me. Anyone who reads my blog knows I love to cook (even if being on a diet these past few months has kind of limited my cooking). And so having fresh herbs and greenery in my house is something I’m always trying to achieve.

I’m on my third set of herbs, and so far, of the six pots I planted, three are doing fabulous, one is holding its own and two are just…lost causes. Though I keep watering them and hoping because I’m nothing if not determined to succeed.

I heard there was a great new book out about container gardening (though I didn’t keep the newspaper article that mentioned the title). I’m at Barnes and Noble tonight, so I think I’ll look for it. Granted, I already own the Crockett’s Victory Garden books and loads of others guaranteed, they say, to give me great results with everything I plant.

Not so much so far.

But I’m an optimist, and that means I keep beating my head against the same dirt wall, LOL. And getting the same results. (yes, I realize that’s also the definition of insanity!). I kicked around the idea of an outdoors garden this year, but I travel nearly all of the month of July, and as soon as I leave the driveway, I know the weeds start calling to each other: hey, she’s gone. Come on, let’s stage that tomato coup.

Invariably, when I get home, the tomatoes are waving a white flag and the weeds are standing tall and victorious. Sigh. It’s not for lack of trying, though.

What kind of luck do you have with gardening? Any tips/techniques/books you can recommend? What about indestructible houseplants (the only one that has survived my neglectful care is my pothos). Or should I just go straight to silk and skip the real deal? (Probably wouldn’t work so well with the herbs, LOL).

Are you planting a garden this year? Or do you have a great indoor garden? Share! And share your gardening disasters so I feel better, LOL.

Happy spring!

Shirley

Monday, April 19, 2010

When Fiction and Real Life Intersect

There is sometimes one single defining moment that launches a book, like the spark beneath a firecracker. In the case of my upcoming novel, The Ocean Between Us, it was a moment few of us ever experience or even witness.

I had been working on an idea about an ordinary woman, a wife and mother, who discovers in the middle of her life that she has misplaced herself. This happens to women all the time. We get so caught up in running a household, managing kids and money, helping our husbands that one day we wake up and wonder: What about me? What about the dreams I put on the shelf ten or twenty years ago?

So this was a story about a woman and her marriage-a good marriage, as it happens. Novels about bad marriages abound, and I wanted this one to be about two good people who love each other, but who, over the course of their long relationship, have lost each other. Writing about a good marriage isn't easy, because by definition, a functional marriage lacks the high level of drama needed to power a novel. And up until this book, all my novels have ended with marriage, or at least with a commitment in that direction. In several ways, this was something new for me.

I liked the general idea, but it was also the problem. It's too general. In the novel, I wanted to dramatize the journey of one woman-but who? Who was this woman? Where did she live? Who was she married to? What were her kids like?

And then the magic happened. Real life intersected with fiction, and the spark ignited. Some years ago, I watched my friend and fellow writer Geri Krotow fix a Command Pin on her husband's chest at a Change of Command ceremony. This was an elaborate event, attended by family, friends, dignitaries and a brass band, during which Commander Steve Krotow took command of a squadron of P-3s at Whidbey Naval Air Station here in Washington State.

It was significant that Geri, an Annapolis grad and former Navy Intelligence Officer, was the one to make the most dramatic gesture of the day. She made it not as a Navy official, but as a wife. While her children looked on, she made the ultimate gesture of sacrifice-both to her husband, and to her country, entrusting him with his command, even knowing it could take him far away from her, into the heart of danger. On beautiful Whidbey Island, in Puget Sound, we all felt far removed from war and turmoil, but in fact, we weren't. In the wake of 9/11, people in the military understood that war was imminent, and no one was safe. So Geri wasn't just enacting a symbolic ritual; she was willingly giving her blessing to her husband, knowing he'd be gone for months at a time. She was sending him to face dangers no civilian can imagine and perhaps even come back unalterably changed-or not at all. This family's bravery touched my heart, and that was when I finally figured out what I wanted this book to be.

The Ocean Between Us was shaped by the lives and loves of families in the military. They are a special class of women and men who respond instantly to the call of duty, who can pack up and move an entire household halfway around the world at a moment's notice, only to do it again every couple of years. I was privileged to meet a number of Navy wives, and I came to admire their sturdy spirit, their sense of commitment, their take-charge attitude and their unabashed patriotism. Women who have known each other only a short time learn to bond quickly and deeply, to help each other through rough times and celebrate the good. I watched Navy wives support one another, snipe at one another and show the steeliest backbones I've ever seen in a group of women. There is a sense that this is a secret sisterhood, a sorority. I read Email to the Front by Alesia Holliday, who fearlessly and hilariously documents the ups and downs of a military marriage in her phenomenally successful book. When Geri and her family were about to move to Italy, her farewell party featured a life-size cutout of Fabio, among other things. Yet I know there were dark times as well, even desperate times for some families.

Because there's a horrific mishap (the military term for accident) aboard the aircraft carrier in The Ocean Between Us, I had to research the military side of the book, which proved to be much harder than simply watching reruns of "NCIS". In the first place, Navy people don't use plain English. Sometimes my e-mail exchanges with carrier-based pilots and sailors needed translation. From a Prowler pilot: "I tell the SDO to sh*tcan the REO Speedwagon for the Event 1 Case 3 Launch...Time to kick the tires, light the fires...Don't boresight, check six, bingo to mom..." In some of the action scenes in the book, I used jargon without quite knowing what I was saying, but my sources say it checks out to an "OK grade for Wire 3." This pilot asked not to be named for reasons of national security. His wife told me it was for reasons of not wanting to be perceived as a romance reader.

Still, the heart of this novel is Grace Bennett, an ordinary woman who is a lot like me, a lot like many women-except that she's a Navy wife. She's helping her husband, Steve, on his climb to the very top of the ranks, all the while managing three active kids and a frenetic lifestyle. It's a juggling act that is complicated by the periodic and prolonged absences of her husband. A hairline crack in their marriage becomes a gaping wound when he goes away to sea. As the book unfolds, Grace learns to see herself in new ways, to reopen a dream she used to have and to craft a new future for herself.

All my books feature a grand and passionate romance, something I've been criticized for (by critics, never by readers). In this case, there's a subplot involving a brash young Navy pilot and a shy widow. Their sweep-you-away romance is the stuff of dreams and fantasy, and the subplot contrasts with the mature marriage of Grace and Steve. As I wrote of one family's triumphs and tragedies, I gained a deep understanding of military life, and I feel a profound gratitude for their sacrifice.

I'm excited about this book, and I'm proud to report that readers are, too. One of the most meaningful notes I had was from Kristi W., a real-life Navy wife: "I was reading the 'Dear Reader' letter at the end [of A Summer Affair] and I read the basis of your upcoming book The Ocean Between Us. Tears came straight to my eyes. THANK YOU for writing a book about Navy wives. I myself am one and have for a year now WISHED someone would write a book about it and share with people how hard the life can be. Then for my favorite author to write one, that just hit me hard. I can't wait to read it. I know it will be great just like all your other books. Thank you once again. Your books are just the little dose of fantasy that I need to keep me grounded!"



Friday, April 16, 2010

I AM INNOCENT

This is a true story. I have not even changed the names to protect the innocent, because there are no innocents in this story.

On Wednesday, I went to TJ Maxx to buy a basket. I did not find a basket, but I did find a purse, a pair of New Balance sneakers, and a quilt for the bed. You know how that goes.

I have to test out purses. I have to walk around with them over my shoulder for a good ten minutes to see if they're comfortable, if the straps have a tendency to fall down, if the purse looks good on me when I happen to pass by a mirror. I assume everyone does this. If you don't, don't tell me. I'll just feel ridiculous.

Part of my purse testing procedure is to see if it will hold my stuff. Sure the purse looks cute on the rack, and even over my shoulder carrying nothing but wadded up paper, but will it still work when holding my essentials? My wallet. My cell phone. My make-up bag. My sunglasses. My reading glasses. My notebook. My pen. My...well, you get the idea. So while I was waiting in line to pay for my quilt and my sneakers and my purse (no basket, and I came into the store needing a basket), I pulled out some of the paper and put in my wallet and my make-up bag. The purse gaped. I decided not to get the purse. I pulled my stuff out of the purse, bought the goods, and went home.

This is not the end of the story.

The next morning I had to run to the post office, and as is my habit, I put on my lipstick once I'm in the car (don't ask me how I got into this stupid habit, and it is stupid, but I can't seem to break it). I get in the car, put on my seat belt, and scrounge around in my (old) purse for my make-up case. It's not there! In less than a second, I knew where it was.

It was in the purse I didn't buy. The purse at TJ Maxx. The purse with wadded up paper and MY make-up bag. I hoped. What if someone had bought the purse? What if they found my case and gave it to the sales clerk and she threw it out? Should I just give up? Should I consider my make-up bag a total loss?

This was a very easy decision to make. I love that make-up bag. It's cute, the right size, the right price, and I haven't seen another one like it since I bought it. I wanted my make-up bag back. And then there's the make-up. I have five lipsticks in that bag, two liners, a tiny package of dental floss, and nail clippers. The contents total about...$200.

Okay, I'm kidding about that, but it was too much money to just toss out without an effort to get it back. Plus, one of the lipsticks has been discontinued and it's the perfect color for me. You know how that goes, too.

I worked over plans in my mind as I drove to TJ Maxx. Would I ask the clerk if she had my make-up? Would I go directly to the purses and search out my bag? Would I then tell the clerk that I was leaving with my make-up bag (if I found it) so she wouldn't think I was a thief?

This is what happened: I walked in. I saw the purse immediately. I walked over to the purse. My make-up case was inside. I took it out. I put it in my purse. I walked out of the door.

I am still expecting the police to show up at my house. I'm not sure how I'm going to be able to convince them that I was only "stealing" back my make-up bag.

Yes, this is my public defense of my actions. If you're reading this, you are now a witness to my innocence. What I said about no innocents in this blog? Forget I said that. I am innocent! I only needed my make-up bag back!

Facing a jury of my (female) peers, I think I'll do okay.

Oh, and while you're out shopping today, go pick up a copy of The Courtesan's Wager. It's cheaper than a lipstick, and harder to misplace. It will even fit in your purse.

I'll be giving away The Courtesan's Daughter, book 1 of the series, and The Courtesan's Secret, book 2 of the series (The Courtesan's Wager is book 3).

http://www.claudiadain.com/



Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Karen Robards is SHAMELESS!

Dear friends:

For all of you who’ve been waiting, this is the week: SHAMELESS is out in the bookstores now. It’s a big, sexy, historical-tinged regency that concludes my Banning Sisters Trilogy. The reviews have been fantastic, and I have to say that I absolutely love the heroine, Beth Banning, the hero, Neil Severin, and the whole story. I enjoyed writing it from the first word to the last, and I hope you love it as much as I do.

SHATTERED, my latest thriller, is on the New York Times Hardcover Fiction bestseller list as I write this (it’s been out for just a couple of weeks) and has a leading couple to die for: Lisa and Scott steam up the pages every time they’re together, so if you like your romantic suspense hot, you should enjoy that one, too.

Which brings me to the question I want to ask you: do you like contemporary thrillers better? Or big, sexy historicals? I love writing - and reading - both. Thrillers are definitely the bigger sellers right now. But are historicals on the comeback trail? My feeling is that they are. What do you think? And which do you prefer? I’d love to know.

I’m busy working on my latest book, JUSTICE, a thriller starring Jess and Mark from PURSUIT that should be out in early 2011. I hope to have it finished by the end of next month. If only life would quit happening, I might even get finished sooner. It’s been one thing after another since December, basically. But one thing I’ve learned over the course of my career is that if you just keep plugging away at it, the book gets finished eventually. And writing can serve as a wonderful refuge through hard times.

Sitting in my office looking out the window, all I can think of is, what a wonderful spring we’re having here in Kentucky! The grass is green, the dogwoods are blooming in bright pinks and dazzling whites, and the temperature is in the high seventies. Plus, since we’re the home of the Kentucky Derby, we have three weeks of wonderful celebrations coming up, beginning with Thunder Over Louisville (the country’s largest fireworks display, plus an air show and an all day celebration) this Saturday and ending with the Derby itself, on the first Saturday in May, when we all sashay around in huge picture hats sipping juleps from silver cups (or something like that). In Kentucky, we do spring up right.

I'll be giving away one signed copy of NIGHT MAGIC and one signed copy of DARK TORMENT to someone who comments.

Happy reading!

~Karen



Monday, April 5, 2010

OUT OF MIND !



Good morning, my flowers:)

It's that time--Court of Angels #2, OUT OF MIND is out and I want to share it with you.

Summary of OUT OF MIND:

Willow Millet longs to deny her family's exceptional gifts—paranormal talents known to few, shared by even fewer. Benedict Fortune is one such—a connection that should have strengthened the undeniable bond between him and Willow. But her self-doubt has driven them apart.

Married instead to her business, Willow's concierge we-can-do-anything service is thriving until it is hit by a string of bizarre and fatal accidents—every victim a client. Now her livelihood depends on two enigmatic socialites and their notoriously decadent parties. In this anything-goes atmosphere, Willow and Ben are thrown together again and their need for each other is as strong as ever, but they are challenged at every turn….

For dark forces are stalking Willow—coveting her gift as a means of cheating death…and ruling New Orleans forever.

Excerpt.

Willow walked quickly along Chartres Street.

Her breathing grew shallower, and the space between her shoulder blades prickled.

Don't look back. Keep going.

Jazz blared from bars and clubs. People spilling from doorways onto New Orleans's crowded sidewalks jostled her in the throng. They danced, raised their plastic cups of booze and wiggled the way they never would at home. Colored metallic beads draped necks and more strands were thrown from flower-laden balconies overhead. Laughter and shouting all but drowned out the noise of passing vehicles.

Another French Quarter evening was tuning up.

Her new enemy clawed at the pit of her stomach: panic. Until a few days ago she had been a completely in-charge, take-on-the-world woman. Then she had become convinced she was being followed.

Whenever she left her flat in the Court of Angels behind her family's antiques shop, J. Clive Millet on Royal Street, someone watched her every move. They were waiting for the right moment to grab her—she was certain of it.

Don't run.

Sweat stung her eyes, turned her palms slick, and her heart beat so hard and fast she couldn't swallow.

If she didn't prefer to ignore the paranormal talents she had in common with the rest of the Millet family, she could come right into the open and ask some or at least one of them for advice. But how could she ask Uncle Pascal, her brother, Sykes; her sister Marley; or even one of her other sisters in London if they would help? Despite some recent slips, she continued to insist she was "normal," and so were they.

Willow suspected her family watched her more closely these days, which meant they had figured out that she was stressed. Keeping anything from them for long was impossible. She felt the smallest twinge of guilt for enjoying the comfort that gave her.

Why was she only feeling someone shadowing her rather than actually seeing a face? That was one of her talents—she saw the face of a negative human force, sometimes a long time before meeting the person.

This time she couldn't pick up any image.

Darn it that she was burdened with the Millet mystique. She saw the looks she got. Every New Orleans native knew about the family, which she didn't think helped her business, Mean 'n Green Concierge, all things domestic, nothing too large or too small. She only mentioned her concierge services in ads she placed for personal assistant services.

The sun was lower, a red ball that seemed to pulse in a purpling haze. And there was no air—just tight, wet pressure. Willow had grown up in the city and loved it, but heat did add to the sense of doom she felt.

Even the scent of flowers cascading from the scrollwork of black iron galleries was too sweet. That didn't make any sense. Willow loved to smell scented petunias and jasmine, and the rich floral brew that almost overcame the aroma of hot grit and used booze. Not today.

She cut a left onto St. Louis Street. Usually she rode her green-and-white scooter with its little equipment trailer around town, but since she'd only been going to discuss an order with Billy Baker, the specialty baker she used, she'd decided to walk instead.

Being on the scooter would feel safer—even more so when she got her new helmet with large, rearview mirrors.

Two blocks and she turned right onto Royal Street. A cop listened distractedly to a ranting drunk and his gesticulating buddies. For an instant Willow considered asking to talk to the cop, but what would she say?

She didn't run, but she did speed up.

Her hair lifted a little on one side, as if blown by a breeze, only there wasn't one. Softness brushed her neck, then something tiny and sharp.

A scream erupted; she couldn't stop it. Willow stood still, forced the sound from her lips and then spun around, searching in every direction. Nothing. There was nothing but people, people everywhere. She touched her neck but there was zero to feel.

She got stares, and more space to herself on the sidewalk.

The shop sign, J. Clive Antiques, shone gold against black paint and she did run the final yards until she could get inside.

The doorbell jangled, and she jumped, despite expecting the sound. She closed herself inside and bowed her head while she marched purposefully toward French doors leading out into the Court of Angels at the back of the shop. Her flat was there among those belonging to other family members. She wanted to get to her private place and lock herself in.

"There you are, Willow."

Uncle Pascal. Current family head since Willow's father had abdicated his responsibilities—more than twenty years earlier—in favor of running after family secrets in various parts of the world, Uncle Pascal had a penchant for stating the obvious.

"Here I am," Willow said and thought, and here I go, as she carried on past gleaming old furniture, glittering glass and finely glowing paintings, toward her goal: the back door.

"I've been waiting for you," Uncle said, moving into her path. "I say little about you continuing with this silly, mundane business of yours when you should be honing your natural skills, but I do expect you to check in with me more regularly than you do."

"Sorry, but I do make sure you see me in the mornings."

She dodged to one side.

So did Uncle Pascal—the same side. "I want to talk to you about your future," he said.

She looked at him, big, muscular, shaven-headed and handsome…and really irritated right now.

"Futures take care of themselves if we let them," she said, instantly wishing she hadn't said anything at all. "I mean—"

"I know what you mean. You have buried your head in the sand and you continue to pretend you can avoid who and what you are. We all know what you are, Willow. And now you are needed to play an active part in the very serious situation we're all facing in New Orleans."

Very serious situation? Do you know exactly what's been happening to me?

What she must not do was lead the potential witness, her uncle. If he knew something that would impact her, let him spell it out on his own.

"You don't intend to come clean with me, do you?" Uncle Pascal said. "Despite everything, you'll go on pretending everything is what you call, normal."

She raised her chin. "What makes you so sure it's not?"

"We have our ways, and we already know it's not," he said, his brows drawn ominously downward over a pair of the very green eyes common to all Millets, except her brother, Sykes, which was a great concern to some members of the family. "But this delivery proves we aren't the only ones aware of a threat."

He went behind the shiny mahogany counter and hauled an open cardboard box on top.

"Who are we, Uncle?"

He scrubbed at his bald scalp. If he didn't shave it, there would be a thick head of red hair, but for reasons they all tried to ignore, he had first shaved it when he took Antoine's place as head of the Millets. Uncle Pascal didn't want the job, or so he said, and since the red hair was one of the major attributes that qualified him, he chose to get rid of it in defiance.

"Who?" Willow repeated, growing angry at the thought of the others huddling together to discuss her—invading her privacy, as usual. "Have you been in my head again? You know it's against the rules unless you ask permission to enter my mind."

"Rules?" Pascal said, his brows elevated now. "What rules? You don't believe in the Millet rules, or anything about the paranormal talents with which we are all blessed—so why would you care or acknowledge the rules? Or are you finally accepting them?"

She closed her mouth and crossed her arms. There would be no winning an argument with Uncle Pascal.

"Even if we didn't know something unusual is going on with you, this would make sure we suspected as much."

He lifted a crash helmet from the box. White with Mean 'n Green's lime-green insignia that looked a bit like the wings on the Greek Hermes's heels, it was the twin of the one she already used, apart from rather large rearview cycling mirrors mounted on either side.

Willow gaped. "You opened my stuff!"

"It wasn't shut. It was delivered by a messenger from the place where you bought it. I thought it was something for the shop. Aren't these mirrors interesting?"

"For safety," she said, glowering. No way would she admit she wanted eyes in the back of her head these days and mirrors were the next best thing.

"And what about this?" He placed a smaller, oblong box beside the bigger one. "I suppose this is for safety, too."

"That's my business." She scrambled to excuse that second box. "It's something I'm going to give Marley and Gray for their kitchen." Her sister Marley and Gray Fisher were recently married, or Bonded as the Millets preferred to call it. There had also been an actual wedding to please Gray's dad, Gus, who was one of Willow's favorite customers.

"I know what's in this," Uncle said.

She snatched it away and turned it over. It was unopened. "No, you don't. You're trying to trick me into telling you."

"Why do you think I need to open a box to know what's inside?" he said. "Don't you think a Beretta PX4 Storm is a bit overkill for a first handgun?"

***

Ben Fortune also saw the gun inside the package and couldn't imagine Willow being able to hold the thing steady. This was a very small woman. He knew well that she was strong, but could she hit what she wanted to hit with the weapon?

He saw Willow's back stiffen. That didn't have to be because she had sensed him behind her, standing near a Napoleonic desk he had been examining when she hurried into the shop. But given the long pause after Pascal announced the gun, he didn't think she was reacting to that. She should have responded to her uncle by now.

Odds were that she did sense Ben was there. His own fault since he should have made sure that was not possible until he wanted it to be . . .

***

I have made special autographed and limited collector cards for OUT OF MIND. To find out how to get these, please go to www.purplepapayallc.com.

Q. Feeling watched or as if there is someone else around even though you can't see anyone is strange. I think most of us have had the little shiver down the back and taken a quick look over our shoulders--just in case. Can you remember a time when you had a strong dose of this sensation?

I hope your weekend was really special--now we are all ready for Spring, right?

Stella:)

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