Life's Journeys

By Laura Rittenhouse
Chick Lit, 339 pages
Cover art by Pat Evans
Blurb:

At 29, Sophie's future is clear, she’ll rise through the ranks to take the reins of an international conglomerate determined that neither mortal man nor corporate games can thwart her.

Not, anyway, until an international merger diverts her climb down a cul-de-sac where one hurdle too many provokes her to fight back.

Excerpt:

Ron is a great guy to work with and I rely on him to brighten my day with his high spirits and sharp wit. I’d call him a morning person but I think maybe he’s a twenty-four-seven person. I suspect he actually likes what he’s doing and who he is. I’d give anything for that outlook today.

As I’m cramming my oversized handbag into the undersized drawer designed for pencils, Ron swivels his chair to face my desk. He speaks to my rear end which may have some impact on his mood. “Tomorrow is payday and I am so glad. I’m tempted to resign because this place is driving me mental, but knowing that I’ll earn my scrap tomorrow, helps me soldier on.”

I smile to myself, maybe Mr. Sunshine suffers like the rest of us after all.

“Okay, I’ll bite. Something not right in your world?” I say this as I remove my backside from Ron’s field of vision and place it in its ergonomically designed chair. Maybe I’m not such a horrible friend after all. I still have the capacity to notice a friend in need when I see one.

“What do you mean ‘not right’?” he squawks. “What’s right? I work for two of the dumbest men in IT at a company designed to support the greed of the capitalist world, my daily tasks are mind-numbing and I suspect that in twenty years I’ll be working at this same desk, looking at this same computer and probably sitting in this same chair. At the risk of repeating myself, what’s right?”

I try to rise to the challenge, but you have to admit, it is a rather large challenge. “Possibly accurate, but that’s not the same as true. You’ve withheld part of the story which is the salary you will draw to have your mind numbed over the next twenty years until you see the light and demand a desk by the window.”

“Great, that’s a big help.” Ron sweeps his arm expansively across the half-empty sea of cubicles. “And I thought I had nothing to look forward to here. But I see I missed out on a nice silver lining; another day, another dollar, another chance at a desk with a view.”

“That’s the spirit. With thinking like that, We Shall Overcome. Hell, we might even make a career of it.”

Ron holds up one hand to stop my taunts and wraps his other arm around his waist with great melodrama. “Stop right there. I can’t stomach listening to your career aspirations this early in the morning. When you are a mighty, powerful, boss of some international conglomerate, you can hire me and give me an office with a huge window overlooking the harbor, a fantastic salary package and some work that doesn’t actually put me to sleep. Then I’ll let you go on about careers all you want. Until then, I’ll keep bitching about my bosses, dreading my daily grind, and fantasizing about a life less ordinary.”

It’s obvious that Ron isn’t as upbeat as I imagined. Maybe it’s all relative. Lately he seemed upbeat compared to me, which made him seem totally glass-half-full. Anyway, who wants to sit next to an eternal optimist all day? I find it comforting that Ron agrees with me that this company and the jobs within it are not anyone’s idea of a dream—actually, it is a balm to my troubled soul. Maybe my impatience and sometimes-doubt about my career-path aren’t that unusual. Maybe I’m not the only one wanting more from the universe and wanting it now.

Suddenly all is right with my world again. Like I said, I love working with Ron. And I like my job. Soon, maybe not soon enough, but soon anyway, DK will be behind me and I’ll be facing the challenge of my next assignment, my next customer, my next step on my career ladder.

Wings of the Past

Wings of the Past  
By Suzanne M. Hurley
Women's Fiction - 379 pages
Cover art by Trisha FitzGerald

Blub:
Zoey Avery thinks she is happy, until wedding thoughts infiltrate her marriage-phobic mind. Complications explode when she realizes the groom in her dreams is not her current boyfriend, but a man she hasn't seen in thirteen years. Confused, she sets out on a journey to uncover the truth of her heart's desires.

Excerpt:
"Hey, Marta." I leaned closer. "How weird is this? Lately, I've been having all these wild, crazy thoughts about getting married."

There, I said it.

I'd finally voiced out loud what I'd been thinking about for the past three months, still not believing that I-Zoey Avery, dedicated work-a-holic extraordinaire-would suddenly find myself afloat, lost in imaginary worlds, daydreaming about tulle and veils and gowns. Marta had gotten engaged six months ago, so I figured she'd be the perfect one to talk to about this.

"What'd you say?" she yelled. "I can't hear you over the music."

Damn.

Karaoke was in full swing at the Black Lagoon Bar in downtown Burlington, Ontario, and a trio of businessmen slugging back beer, jackets off, ties askew, were singing and gyrating to Gangnam Style. We were at our usual table, way at the back where it was quieter, for our weekly martini and chat. Karaoke night was new and Gangnam Style was revving the crowd up more than usual. The bar was the rowdiest I'd ever seen, with most people trying to emulate Psy's moves. Go figure-it just happened to be tonight, when I had something serious to discuss.

"I want to get married," I yelled, just as the song ended. My words rang out, hovered, and I swear every person in the bar turned to look at me. It was one of those 'time stood still' kinda moments, only not in a good way.

"Hey, I'll marry you."

I looked over to see a jean-jacketed man straddling a stool, leering at me. He looked totally out of place with his wide-brimmed cowboy hat, scuffed boots and scruffy beard.

Oh no!

He clambered off and swaggered over to our table, slowly and dramatically, as everyone in the room began clapping and cheering him on.

I could feel my face redden.

Did they think this was planned? That it was a real proposal?

"Hello, gorgeous," he said, tipping his cowboy hat.

I watched in horror as he slid a cigar out of his shirt pocket, pulled the band off and got down on one knee. Holding up the paper ring, he placed his other hand against his heart, exclaiming, "Will you do me the honor of marrying me?"

Immediately, the crowd started chanting, "Say yes. Say yes."

"It's not real," I screamed out. "I don't even know this guy."

Frantic, I looked around for some help but my best friend Marta, ignoring my dirty look, was laughing so hard, tears streamed down her face.

Oh hell, I knew it was in fun and in another place or time I might have found it hilarious, but not tonight. I was in somber mode.

"No, thank you," I said firmly, shrinking down on my chair, wishing I could disappear.

A groan echoed through the room. Someone led a chorus of boos, another hissed.

"Well, you're an old sourpuss," he said, looking indignant, as he stood up and swaggered on over to a young woman yelling, "Hey stud, I'll marry you."

Fortunately, another trio, this time women, jumped on stage and grabbed the microphone.

Good. Everyone would get off my case and focus on the new singers, but much to my horror they started singing Bruno Mars Marry me, urging on the new love match, all the while shooting daggers at me every five seconds. I sunk even lower in my seat, anymore and I'd be on the floor.
Marta, wiping away her tears, sputtered out, "I must be hearing things. Did you really say you want to get married?" She started to laugh even harder.

Glancing over at the singers to make sure they weren't going to stop any time soon, especially since I was about to answer Marta, I was happy to see they'd given up on me. Instead, everyone was now clapping for cowboy guy who had dragged his latest conquest onto the dance floor and was hamming it up, serenading her with exuberant gestures that went along with the music. Judging by her giggles, she seemed to be loving it. I decided I was in the clear.

"Just thinking about it," I answered.

Okay, to most people, the idea of getting married one day, or living with someone, or even looking for a relationship, was the norm. As evolved as us women were supposed to be, a lot of females I knew still dreamed of their wedding day and had been since they were tiny tots. Over the years, I'd been privy to many of their confidences at sleepovers, coffee dates, parties, or late night chats on cell phones. Dreams flew high as they conjured up long, flowing gowns, handsome grooms in tuxedoes and sentimental, teary-eyed vows in churches, barefoot on the beach, in the backyard, living room or any other favorite place of their choice. And of course, ear-splitting receptions that lasted all night and let's not forget-lavish honeymoons in exotic places, unless it was a destination wedding and they were already in paradise.

Oh sure, times had changed and lots of people lived together first, often for financial reasons, sometimes forever, but wedding days still seemed to worm their way to the forefront and multiple, endless plans were made. Especially, if they had children or were deciding to have them.

I was not among the norm.

I did have a boyfriend-Liam O'Reilly-even lived with him, but wedding plans did not exist in my take on life. I never thought of them-not even once. Nada. Never entered my mind. In fact, if even a whiff of a vow drifted up into my conscious level, it was crushed instantly in my quest to be the best ever vice principal to the teenagers at Maitland High, as well as a humanitarian to the many causes dear to my heart. Yup, I was one of those hard working, do-gooder types of people and proud of it. I was happy, content and thoroughly enjoying life.

So why, seemingly out of the blue, would marriage thoughts come crashing down, disturbing my sleep, my focus and turning me into a tired, confused, old hag? At least, that was how I felt lately-like tiny fissures were spreading throughout my perfect world, exhausting me and throwing me off kilter.

I just didn't get it.

Letters to Mary

Letters to Mary
By Marge Burke
Historical Women's Fiction - 579 pages
Cover art by Richard Stroud

Blurb:
Mary Crouch and her two young children are as much casualties of the Civil War as the soldiers themselves. Mary is afraid of losing her Daniel, afraid of all the dangers she must face with her children, and of failing at the work it will take to keep their lives going. What her trials prove is that Mary is as courageous as Daniel.

Mary struggles to keep her focus, longing for words of love and encouragement but receiving empty words on the pages of Daniel's letters. Daniel's journey takes him to southern battlefields; Mary's journey is one of determination and faith, and finding answers from very unexpected sources.

Excerpt:
Daniel got off the train and stood on the wooden platform of the Pittsburg train station, watching great gulps of gray smoke puff into the air. A white fog rose to meet the smoke, lifting from somewhere underneath the engine. In the dim light of the early September morning, it looked to Daniel as though the train were an apparition, a ghostly object that did not really exist.

The great black engine slowly began to move, and Daniel stood watching as his last link with home clattered off down the tracks, headed back to Albion, to his Mary. He shifted his knapsack to his other shoulder, trying to ease the burden. He realized suddenly that the weight he struggled with was not on his shoulders but deep in his chest. It threatened to suffocate him, and he gulped in several deep breaths. His thoughts swirled around him like the gray smoke.

He glanced around him at his regiment. Most of the men on the platform with him looked as disoriented as he felt, although a few were relaxed and joking with each other. Daniel could see Sergeant Prentis across the platform by the depot, conversing with another officer. He watched as the senior officer saluted and then turned and strode off. Sergeant Prentis lifted his hat from his head, rubbed his other hand through his matted hair, and replaced the hat snugly. Then the sergeant turned toward his new recruits.

For the next several minutes the soldiers stood at attention, struggling to understand all of the information being hurled at them. Daniel heard the how to, where, when, why, why not, cannot, do not, who, and in what condition he was expected to perform. The words buzzed around him like a swarm of bees.

Daniel was used to hard work and considered himself in good physical shape, but standing erect with a fifty-pound knapsack slung across his back for so long at a stretch was taxing his stamina. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the slight shifting in the position of the men down the line.
"Eyes straight ahead, soldier!" Sergeant Prentis barked.

Daniel snapped his eyes forward.

The train ride from Girard to Pittsburg hadn't been as uncomfortable as Daniel had expected. He had heard horror stories of men being piled into cars shoulder to shoulder with no room even to sit down. They had all been seated, for which they had been thankful, and had even been served a breakfast of biscuits and fruit. It was undoubtedly the last bit of comfort they would experience for a long time.

Laying his head back in the seat, he had closed his eyes and transported himself back to Mary and little Alice, standing in the yard where he had left them. Alice had his black felt hat nestled on her head, and she could barely see out from under it. Daniel's breath caught in his throat as he saw again the unshed tears glistening in Mary's eyes as she struggled for composure. Daniel knew she did not want his last sight of her to be one of despair or anger. His Mary. He loved her for a thousand reasons, and he could have named them all right then.

He could still hear Charlie's loud good-byes at the station as he and Uncle Minos had seen the train off. Daniel had leaned out the window, waving his army issue hat from the train window above the crowded platform.

"That's my pa, the one waving to me," Charlie had proclaimed to anyone who would listen. "He's going to fight Rebs."

"Private!"

Daniel jumped, bringing his thoughts back to the present. He focused on the wide eyes staring him in the face. Sergeant Prentis spat his words so that Daniel felt a spray of accompanying spit showering over him. The sergeant then continued his tirade at the other soldiers. They dared not move.

The gray skies began to close in around the soldiers on the platform, and a fine mist materialized out of nothing. It was not rain; it was just there, like a thick fog suspended above the ground. Despite his hat, Daniel felt the dampness against his face, even settling on his eyelashes.

Sergeant Prentis glanced upward, scowling. It was as if he dared the skies to defy him. Finally he drew his men into two columns and sent them marching from the platform onto the muddy street in front of them.

Daniel's backpack weighed him down, and his feet sloshed in the mud, making a sucking noise as he lifted them. What was really only a mile stretched out like two, and when they finally stopped to make camp he was surprised to find it was barely ten o'clock in the morning.

The great wooden building in front of the recruits offered little comfort. When the command to fall out came, each man trudged up the steps to find a place to call his own. Daniel was appalled at the sight that greeted them. The floor was covered with ashes and mud. Straw from old mattresses was strewn about, matted together and dried in clumps. Cobwebs clung to the corners and the windows. Tobacco spit stained the walls and floors.

A cold dampness permeated the room, even though the windows had been boarded up from the outside elements. The stench was overwhelming. He gagged at the rot and waste and turned away.

"Move in, there, Crouch," called a voice behind him. "It's wet out here."

"At least we can breathe outside," Daniel muttered as he stepped into the building.

"Your first assignment, men," Sergeant Prentis spat, "is to get this place in shape. You'll find supplies in the lean-to outside the back door. Snap to it. We don't have all day!" With that, the sergeant stomped through the archway and disappeared into the mist.

"Maybe the mist will swallow him up, and he won't come back," muttered the man beside Daniel, looking for a clean place to drop his knapsack. Instead, he walked across the room and stuck it on a protruding nail. Daniel and several others did the same. It promised to be a long afternoon.

A Perfect Husband

By Jeannine Van Eperen

Women's Fiction, 325 pages

Cover art by Trisha FitzGerald 

Blurb:

A Perfect Husband is a story of family, of secrets, love, lust, trust, deceit, and of sisters and promises. It is set in a small desert town in California and in the lush green and also snowy small city of Appleton, Wisconsin. Will a change of scenery right a wrong? Or will it forever haunt and torment?

Excerpt:

Nothing is so dark as a moonless night on the desert! Jessica knew she was only a couple miles from the restaurant and another few miles to the house, but the dark always gave her the creeps. It was a lonely ride this time of night, eleven o’clock. Until nine or so there was traffic enough to keep one busy with other drivers’ car lights, and then again around midnight, some night workers plied the street, heading to the airbase at the end of the road, but right now she was in the “in between” with little light and very occasional cars.

At first she was glad to have these hours. With the moon usually hanging bright in the sky, the drive was a rather pleasant one, but tonight, no moon, no houses on this stretch…it was so very dark.

Jessica glanced in her review mirror and saw headlights behind her and they appeared to be moving up fast, faster than the posted forty miles per hour. She should have been happy to see someone else on the lonely road, but without reason the car’s quick advance frightened her.

“Fool,” she muttered. “Slow down. There’s a curve coming up.” But the approaching vehicle didn’t slow until it was just a few feet behind her. The driver blinked his lights and tapped the car horn lightly. If that driver thinks I’m pulling over for him, he’s got another think coming! Jessica kept her car at an even forty. The driver pulled his car beside her and started edging into hers forcing her to move partly off the road, then he pulled ahead and cornered her. Fortunately, there was a flat part to the right before a two foot drop off. Jessica quickly checked around her, but in her panic forgot to lock the passenger-side door.

The other driver got out of his car and started back to her. Her panic lessened a little as she recognized the man, a patron of the restaurant where she worked—an attorney and she’d heard a rather sleazy one—but maybe there was an emergency and he was trying to warn her. All kinds of reasons quickly flitted through her mind as he strode over to her window.

“Anything wrong, Mr. Solarno?” Jessica asked.

“Everything’s okay now that you stopped.”

“Had no choice. You ran me off the road. Did you do that on purpose?”

“I had no choice. You wouldn’t stop. Whatcha doing? Playing hard to get?”

Jessica rolled up her window. The man was drunk, smelled like beer and scotch and onions, and God knew what else. Before she could get the car in reverse, he climbed into the passenger side of car and started to edge close to her.

“Get outta here!”

“No, little lady,” he said. “You were strutting your stuff all evening at the Fiesta Room, egging me on, so now I’m here to see what you have to offer.”

“Nothing! Get out of my car!”

“Not till I get what I came for!” He pulled at her blouse and brought the material down over her shoulder.

Jessica swat at him and fought as best she could. “I said get out!”

“Come on. You know you want it.” His hands started under her skirt.

Jessica finally got her door unlocked. She grabbed the car keys in her hand and as he tried to pull her down under him, she scratched his face as hard as she could with her keys.

He yelped and moved away.

She quickly got out of the car. She didn’t know what to do. Cars were so rare on this road this time of night.

He caught her wrist and wrestled the keys from her hand and tossed them into the scrubby brush that grew on the desert. “Bitch!” he yelled as he punched her face, then he scrambled back to his car. “God damn bitch!”

Jessica gathered her long skirts about her and ran into the desert as far from him as she could get. Her face throbbed and she shook with terror and indignation as she watched him get into his car and plow out, wheels hurling stones and sand at her car.

The Priest's Wife

By PJ Connolly

Women's Fiction, 414 pages

Cover art by: Trisha FitzGerald

Blurb: One man, two women.  How did a young nun find herself part of such an arrangement?

When Susan marries the man who was once her priestly confessor, tragedy and treachery lie in wait.

In an act of supreme selflessness she makes a proposal whose sheer audacity may shock some readers.

Excerpt: With my new place in Donnybrook, the salary was going to come in handy. Plus, my new job title wasn’t going to hurt my future in Maeve or wherever I might find myself. In deference to my new status, Sarah began to consult me on matters of editorial policy and I began to feel I had a personal stake in the future of the magazine.

I shared all this with Josie.

“Still, Sue, you can’t let your work be the be-all and end-all of your existence. You need to get out more and enjoy yourself.”

I’d never mentioned Finbarr to my sister. She knew nothing of his existence, which explained her constant going on about the need for me to get out and meet people. I wasn’t going to be able to keep it from her much longer.

“You don’t think I’m enjoying myself as it is?”

“Get out to a few dances. Meet a nice fella. You know what I’m talking about.”

“Bossy!”

“I don’t want to see you turning into an old maid, Sue. There’s more to life than work.”

I braced myself to tell her. Like a nervous penitent before confession. She’d want to know every detail, who he was, what he did, the breed and seed of him. There was no way in the world I was going to be able to hide the fact he was a priest.

“I’ll be seeing Finbarr at the weekend.”

“Finbarr?” A look of surprise mingled with curiosity. “I never heard you mention any Finbarr. Fill me in, Sue, I want to hear more.” She leant forward across the table, all eager.

“I’m going out with this guy.”

“Well you’re the smooth operator if ever there was. So go on, tell me all about him. Is it serious?”

“We’ve been seeing each other for the past few months.”

“And you never said a word! Keep going, I’m dying to hear. Give me the whole works. What’s the big secret? You don’t have to hide anything from your little sister, you know. Haven’t I been saying all along you need a man in your life? What does he do anyway?”

“He’s sort of ...”

“Sort of what?”

“He’s sort of a priest.”

I watched the colour drain from her cheeks.

“What do you mean, sort of a priest? There’s no such thing as sort of a priest.”

“He doesn’t practise as a priest any more. He works as a hospital chaplain. It’s not important. He’s just such a nice guy. I’d love you to meet him.”

“You must be out of your mind. God knows the world is full of men. Surely to God you didn’t have to go and get yourself involved with a priest?”

I reached across the table to press her hand, but she pulled away.

Nice Girls Can Win by Suzanne M. Hurley

Contemporary Women's Fiction, 382 pages, ebook & print
Cover art by Trisha FitzGerald
Purchase Link for Nice Girls Can Win

Lawyer Jessie White is fired, evicted and jilted, all on the same day. Hitting rock bottom, she moves back home and immediately ends up in a sparring match with 'Red', the hunky guy next door. She soon discovers that miracles really do happen and how love often finds you, just when you're not looking.
Damn! I should never have left that note for Hazel, telling her where I was. But she knew I'd been looking for him and probably figured I could finally get the money he owed.

Excerpt:
"What's the matter? Not glad to see me?" He pouted, looking genuinely hurt. "I've missed you sooo much."

When I still didn't move, he looked around, then said, "How about we go over there in the lobby. At least we'll have a bit of privacy."

"Don't do it," said Maggie, grabbing my arm.

Her voice pulled me out of my trance.

"Have to," I said, shrugging her arm off. The money he'd scammed would sure come in handy right about now.

Somehow, I managed to get up. Jim grabbed my hand, but I shook it free and followed him to an isolated area where a few chairs had been set up to accommodate extra diners waiting to be seated. Fortunately, no one was there.

"I realized I can't live without you," said Jim. "Surely you feel the same?"

"Get real." At last, I found my voice. "You stole from me."

"But I needed it." He never batted an eyelash. Like, the fact he needed it would make it all right.

"It's called stealing. A felony."

"Awwwww… baby, c'mon. We all have failings."

To Say Goodbye by Beth Lapin

Contemporary Women's Fiction

Cover art by Pat Evans, photo by Beth Lapin/Karl Moore

Ebook or print; 340 pages

Following her father's disappearance when she was a child, Maia blames herself for her failed relationships. Ben questions his ability to satisfy another, after he was abandoned by his wife. Introduced by their dogs, Ben and Maia sense relationship potential. Can attraction for each other move them beyond limitations?

Excerpt:

“Ben,” she said, “this is good. Thanks for inviting me.”

“Glad you like it. You’re my first guest at my new house.” Connecting with her eyes, Ben smiled and stretched his long legs to the side of the table. She could hear the kitchen clock ticking and looked at the old-fashioned dial. She used its sound to match her breathing, in-out, in-out, to help her relax.

“So, when did your father leave?” he asked.

The suddenness of his question caught her off guard and she answered without her usual avoidance. “When I was in grade school, I came home one day and he was gone.” She paused and he looked encouragingly at her. “My mother didn’t say much, didn’t talk about it, and didn’t explain. He was just gone.”

“Maybe you should find out where he went. I mean, there might be a simple answer.”

Maia guessed Ben was trying to be helpful. There was no hint of sarcasm in his voice or smirk on his face, unlike people with similar suggestions during her adolescence. It sounded reasonable when Ben said it that way. But through the years, the story of her father’s disappearance had taken on a life of its own. It was her family secret, talked about in hushed tones so she couldn’t overhear. When she saw people huddled, whispering, Maia knew exactly what they were discussing.

“I’ve thought about it for years, as you can imagine. But by now, I’m not sure I can handle the answer. Do I want to know that he was killed, or just up and left us to live somewhere with another family? You read about those things all the time. I felt weird enough being the one whose father just disappeared but then to bring it up again and become a tabloid topic—I don’t know if I could deal with that.” She didn’t mention her fear that she had been the cause for his departure; that was too much to share or even verbalize aloud.

Ben got up, cleared the plates from the table and put them in the sink. “Well, it’s not as though he was Charles Kuralt, for example,” he said, rinsing the dishes and putting them in the dishwasher. “We loved and trusted his commentaries on small town America. When he died and his second family was discovered, we learned he had been living this big lie, which made me wonder if his reporting had been true. His double life impacted many people. I don’t mean to be rude, but your family…well, it’s just your family who would find out.”

Again, Maia could see the validity to what he was saying and it challenged her life-long fear of discovering the truth, particularly about her role in it. And made her very uncomfortable. “I’ll think about it, Ben. I will. Meanwhile, I need to get going. I have some work to do.”

Surprised by her abrupt departure, Ben hugged her as she headed out the door with Orion. “Take care of yourself,” he said.

“You, too.”

Need a fun beach read?

Need a fun beach read for the summer? Why not grab a copy of Finding Hope?

Janet DeMarco is fed up. She's making some changes, and no one in her family is exempt. When her husband laughs at the idea that she would resign from her job as office manager for his cousin's construction business, Janet follows through with the threat. She then goes one step further and writes the letter every woman has considered at least once, resigning from her other jobs: housewife, cook, laundress, chauffeur, and ATM.

Janet takes on the new personna of Hope and soon discovers that is the one thing she and a few others in her family have been lacking.

To read more about Finding Hope or my other women's fiction with a touch of romance, visit my website. http://www.lindarettstatt.com/

Linda Rettstatt
Writing for women--stories of strength, love, humor, and hope.

Finding Hope Finals for EPIC Award

My women's fiction novel published by Wings in December, 2008 has finaled for a 2010 EPIC e-Book Award.

I wrote this book for NaNoWriMo, which challenges writers to complete at least 50,000words in thirty days. Well, I was so drawn into the characters that I finished the first full draft in just seventeen days!

I think when you meet Janet/Hope DeMarco, her family and, in particular, Grandma Carmela who decides to be called Sofialoren, you will be drawn into their lives as well. While I anxiously await EPICon in March in New Orleans to see if Finding Hope wins an award, I'd like to share a blurb and excerpt with you.

Blurb:

Janet DeMarco has had enough! It's time to make some changes, and no one in her family is exempt. She resigns as cook, laundress, housekeeper, chauffeur, shopper, and ATM. In her new persona of Hope, Janet learns that the questions we sometimes ask of ourselves may force a change. And, sometimes, they lead us right back home again.

Excerpt:

Dear family,

I quit. Effective immediately, I am no longer the cook, laundress, shopper, housekeeper, chauffeur, landscaper, or resident problem-solver. Oh, I’m also not the banker or the ATM. I am, however, the instructor. Classes will begin tomorrow and seating is limited, so you should sign-up early.

A cooking class will be conducted at five-thirty sharp. Bring your inquiring mind and appetite. A cook book will be available. On Saturday, I will offer two sessions--general housekeeping and laundry. Supplies will be provided. However, if you are attending the laundry session, please separate clothing into lights and darks and bring those with you. This class begins at nine a.m. in the basement.

Housekeeping will commence at ten, once you have mastered washing machine settings and drying times. Rubber gloves are recommended for those who have delicate skin or have had expensive manicures recently.

Other workshops, such as money-management, will be scheduled as needed and announcements will be posted. Don’t be late and get left out in the cold.

Janet R. DeMarco, Wife, Mother, Person
(not necessarily in that order)

# # #

Linda Rettstatt
www.lindarettstatt.com