Driving in England now available from Devine Destinies Books

It's a first! My husband and I wrote a book together, and here's an excerpt from it as well as the purchase link. Feel free to share the news with other readers of contemporary romance. Thank you!


Driving in England 
http://www.devinedestinies.com/Driving-in-England/
 
by Cynthianna and  A J Matthews

Susannah Koenig travels to England on an urgent mission to discover her boss’s relatives. Duncan Balfour, a renowned genealogist, doesn’t think he’d like to meet the woman who nags him online for help. Then he realizes he is the long lost relative Susannah’s boss is desperately searching for. Once the pair meet, they can’t deny their mutual attraction, but Duncan can’t help lying to her to protect his family’s reputation. Can Susannah pierce Duncan’s armor to find the loving man within and reveal the truth that could save a life?


From Chapter One, an excerpt from Driving in England:

“Oh. My. God.”

    Susannah Koenig smothered a laugh behind a hand, staring at the headline splashed across her laptop’s screen. Unfrocked Vicar Eaten by Lion! She couldn’t believe her eyes. That kind of thing only happened in the movies or on some poorly written sit-coms—not in real life—and most certainly not in some staid English village circa 1932.
    She rose from the sofa and walked away from the coffee table littered with the remains of half-eaten bagels, dusty genealogy volumes, and various papers she’d gathered over the past two weeks. There’s no way on earth I can tell the boss about his ancestor, the unfrocked vicar who was consumed by a large beast of prey. No way. I value my job too much.
    But what could she do? Harold Spalding paid her good money to graph out his family tree in minute detail. How could she avoid mentioning the former Reverend Titus Spalding, a man accused of sexual misconduct who was stupid enough to stick his head in a lion’s gaping jaws?
    “I can’t believe this.” She switched on the kitchen light and began automatically stacking dishes into the dishwasher. “Who in his right mind would knowingly walk into a lion’s cage at a circus to prove his innocence? In the twentieth century no less! The man was a first class idiot!”
    Shit! The sudden realization of the horrible revelation hit her hard in the stomach. She gulped and put down the dish she was stacking. I can’t tell Mr. Spalding that he had a complete lunatic for a grandfather. It’ll kill him.
    And then she’d be out of a job.
    A very good position with responsibility and prestige, one that she had slaved and suffered long enough to land... Women hit the glass ceiling in the good ol’ boy oil industry all the time, so Susannah felt rightfully proud of her accomplishment, even if it had taken many years and more than a few gray hairs. Nothing was going to stand in her way of keeping her job until they forced her into retirement. Nothing.
    “Damned if I do—damned if I don’t.” Susannah sighed. She could think of only one thing to get herself out of this dilemma. She needed help—professional help. She’d have to email that stuffy, stick-up-his-ass Duncan Balfour and ask for his assistance once again. Maybe the genealogist par excellence could find some other worthy tidbits of information about the crazy vicar, suggest some way to sweeten the news, to make it more palatable for her boss to swallow?
    “If I’m lucky, there might be two Reverend Titus Spaldings in England, and the boss is related to the more normal fella. Please, Lord, let that be the case!”
    Swallowing her pride, and a few dry crumbs of bagel, she headed back to her laptop to email the uptight Brit.
     
    Dear Mr. Balfour:
    I’m in need of your assistance. I’m working on a genealogy project on behalf of my employer, Harold Spalding, and may have discovered a link in his family tree to a Reverend Titus Spalding of Understrand, Norfolk County, England. As I recall reading online, you’re a resident of the area. Could you check your own and local sources to enlighten me as to the true character of this individual? Could his name have been confused with any others of same or similar name? Your help in the past has been most appreciated, and I thank you in advance for this undertaking.
    All the best,
    Susannah Koenig
     
    Tapping send, she glanced at the computer clock. Britain was six hours ahead of Texas, so Balfour would receive her missive first thing in the morning local time. Good enough. She’d check her email in the morning to see if the priggish academic felt her request for information worthy of an immediate reply.
    Give the devil his due, Balfour always replies in a timely manner with hard factual material, even if his tone is patronizing. But somehow, Susannah got the impression the man found addressing a lowly American amateur beneath his dignity. Hadn’t she paid his fees promptly? Hadn’t she been businesslike and fair in all her dealings with the man?
    Glass ceilings existed everywhere—in business, in genealogy circles, in life in general. In spite of the odds, she had marched forward, throwing herself against the walls of prejudice erected to keep women in their place, particularly women of a certain age as she had been labeled in the past few years. Her success had been hard won and all of her own doing. No silver spoons were ever placed in her mouth!
    Susannah rolled her eyes heavenwards as she rose from the sofa. Some people! It’s like they don’t know what it’s like to earn a living. Spalding Oilfield Solutions paid her good money, and the chance to advance offered by the boss’s interest in her family tree hobby had been too good to ignore. She headed back to the kitchen to finish filling the dishwasher and sighed. “I just wish I didn’t have to depend on some old-money, snobby jackass I’ve never met in the flesh to get me through this rough patch.”

Driving in England
http://www.devinedestinies.com/Driving-in-England/

now available at Devine Destinies Books.

My Sexy Saturday -- Happy Halloween!

This week's My Sexy Saturday blog hop postings are supposed to revolve around Halloween. Excerpts are supposed to come from spooky, scary, frightening, or chilling adventures where your hero/heroine meet and get into a lot of hot water or they're being chased by brain-eating zombies, etc. For those of us who tend to write more romantic-comedy than horror fiction, this can be somewhat of a challenge!

Here are seven paragraphs from my romantic-comedy Leaving Who... A scene where things get a bit on the scary side for Cici Connors when she sees her friends John Smith, Captain Mac and Babbling Brook as they really are and not as she normally perceives them.

Leaving Who
from Mojocastle Press

After touring the universe with the sometimes inept time traveler John Smith, Cici Connors wants one more thing—to go home. Will the imminent destruction of Earth throw a kink into her plans? 

“She looks different than when she first came through the door, you mean,” I repeated. “Please tell me she is one of your lot.” Before the words had left my lips the figure in front of me blurred and reformed into the image of tattered dress-wearing Idris, better known as the Doctor’s wife. “She’s… she’s done it again!”

Captain Mac sat beside me and put an arm around my shoulders. “Don’t fight it, Cici. Your mind is trying to find the best way to represent what she is. She’s a tough one to get a handle on—even for us.”

“You mean you see her as a multitude of personas, too?”

“I mean I see her like I’ve always seen her—like how I see John and myself. We’re not human so we don’t have to visualize each other as humans would.”

“You’re saying you don’t even remotely resemble the way I’ve imagined you?”

I looked at Mac’s hand resting on my arm. Suddenly the hand lost its five fingers as they melted together and began to curl upwards, rapidly changing from a human flesh tone into a bright mauve color. The arm became a tentacle and flowed into a solid blob instead of a torso. I willed myself to look into his face and then at the faces of John and our female guest…morphing and blurring into a pinkish, purplish, grayish mass of endless eyes and tentacle-like appendages and fangs dripping saliva and…

I passed out for the second time in as many days.

Leaving Who and Loving Who are available in e-formats and print from Mojocastle Press, Amazon and wherever fine ebooks are sold online. (Coming soon: Losing Who--is it the end for Cici and John Smith, or has Cici just lost her mind once too often?)

Enjoy the rest of the My Sexy Saturday excerpts!

http://mysexysaturday.blogspot.com

My Sexy Saturday Post from a W.I.P.

 

Deep in an English wood...

What's a W.I.P. you ask? Simply it's a "work in progress" and this time around I've decided to post seven sexy paragraphs from our current work in progress entitled Driving in England. I say "our" because this is story was written by me and my husband, the talented A.J. Matthews. Right now, it's tentatively scheduled for a January 2015 release from Devine Destinies, so if you like this excerpt more be coming soon! In the meantime, be sure to check out my other mainstream romantic fiction at www.cynthianna.com


A brief synopsis: Susannah, a woman of a certain age, travels to England on behalf of her boss, a rich oil tycoon, to do a little snooping into his family tree. What she doesn't count on is butting heads and then falling for the handsome genealogist Duncan Balfour. 

Excerpt set-up: Who says older lovers can't have as much fun as younger ones, especially when it's a warm day and an empty forest meadow beckons? ;)


Oh, my!” Susannah shot him a glance that covered his body from face to bulging pants. Her face looked pink. “We’re like a couple of teenagers.”

Duncan thought of something. “Let’s get past Norwich. Thetford’s not too far down the road.” 

“What’s in Thetford?”

“It’s not what’s in Thetford, it’s what’s around it.” When she looked blank he smiled. “Thetford Forest. There are a number of trails running through it. We can find one and be... private for a few minutes.”

She chuckled. “You wanna do it outside? Hmm, Duncan, what a naughty boy you are!” 

“But you like the idea?”

She nodded. “Oh, I like.”


Enjoy the rest of your Sexy Saturday blog hop!
http://mysexysaturday.blogspot.com

Another Excerpt from Preachin' to the Choir

Happy Valentine's Day! Have you ever experienced a time when you wanted to to tell someone how much you liked them but dared not? Kat finds herself in this quandry in this scene from my latest contemporary romance... Enjoy!

Preachin' to the Choir 
by Cynthianna

A love story of "heavenly" proportions! Jonathan is preachin' to the choir, but will pretty choir director Kat let him? 

Available in all e-formats at Mojocastle Press:
 http://www.mojocastle.com/preachin-to-the-choir.html





In this excerpt, Kat goes jogging to get away from her thoughts about Jonathan, but somehow she can’t escape them...

“Get over it,” Kat muttered as she jogged across the field toward the entrance of the walking trail. Nestled in a small valley along scenic limestone ledges in a grove of live oak and ash juniper, the track
had quickly become the favorite pathway for pedestrians. She fell into an easy loping stride and allowed her mind to wander.

Tuesday’s piano lesson had had a mesmerizing effect on Kat. The feel of Jonathan’s arms around her waist, his hands touching hers, his breath warm and sensuous against her neck... She shuddered. Here it
was ninety-plus degrees, and she was actually shivering. Shivering with desire at the recollection of how Jonathan had made her feel Tuesday evening.

No man had ever made her feel so keenly aware of her body’s responses Kat realized, not Dirk, not B.B.not anyone. What was it about Jonathan that made her feel so alive? She had never seen Jonathan Rawlins in such a light before. Now he was practically all she could think of.

Kat halted and grabbed her knees, gasping for breath, at the first park bench located a dozen yards along the trail. God should strike me dead for such wicked thoughts, she moaned inwardly. She was lusting after
a man who was still mourning his late wife, his late wife who was a saint by anyone’s standards, and was still sorely missed by one and all. She should feel ashamed of herself. Really she should.

Yet, somehow, she didn’t.

Kat started jogging again. The exercise would purge her of these impure thoughts or at least make her too tired to act on them.

“You know, it wouldn’t be too forward of me to ask him over for dinner some night,” she reasoned aloud. “I could just tell him I wanted to make sure he was eating right.”

You could tell him that he’d never have to eat another meal alone. Ever.

Kat gulped and blinked hard, hastening her pace. Good Lord, her estrogen levels must be completely whacked. She was acting like a silly teenager who harbored a secret crush on her teacher. She was
fantasizing about becoming Jonathan Rawlins’s main squeeze.

“I’ve got to get over this.”

Kat tilted her head back and let the rays of dying sunlight streaming through the trees bathe her face with their warmth. She focused her concentration back into the tempo of her footsteps falling on the
path... Right, left, right, left, right, left... Up, down, up, down over the rolling hillsides...

Her breathing slowed. Presently, she felt a calming blanket of sanity wrap itself around her raging hormones. Her mind began to solve her present dilemma. It was all so simple. She was an adult—he was an adult. Two adults having the occasional dinner together was a perfectly natural, perfectly wholesome activity. Hadn’t he invited her out to eat
once before? She could say she was returning the favor. It wasn’t anything to be ashamed of.

“Look out!” a familiar male voice shouted, rousing her from her daydreaming, but it was too late.

Kat tumbled top over bottom over the large, man-shaped obstruction in her path. Sliding and tumbling in an unladylike jumble of limbs and legs among the carpet of woodchips, only to land spread-eagle on her
well-bruised backside.

“Kat? Are you all right?”

Jonathan’s voice sounded like it was coming from somewhere near her right temple, but Kat couldn’t be too sure. Was she hallucinating? After all, hadn’t she been thinking about Jonathan a moment before she
fell?

A large hand tenderly caressed her cheek. “Kat? Speak to me, please.”

Kat slowly opened her eyes and looked to her right. Jonathan Rawlins’ face hovered mere inches from her own.

Preachin' to the Choir is now available at Mojocastle Press
http://www.mojocastle.com/preachin-to-the-choir.html

Available at All Romance eBooks
https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-preachin039tothechoir-1404592-149.html

Available at Amazon
www.amazon.com/Preachin-Choir-Cynthianna-ebook/dp/B00I115J3I/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1391552292&sr=1-1&keywords=Preachin'+to+the+choir

An Excerpt from Preachin' to the Choir

Preachin’ to the Choir

by Cynthianna
Available at Mojocastle Press

Jonathan could do nothing to aid his wife’s losing battle with cancer. With twenty years into the ministry, he can’t believe the Lord would leave him suddenly with both an empty nest and empty spot on the other side of the bed. 

Katrina, music teacher and mother of grown twins, feels settled in small town Texas. Life may be dull, but at least it’s predictable–unlike her life with her late ex-husband. “Kat” has come to the conclusion that if nuns can live celibate for years, then why can’t she make it the next fifty? 

One Sunday Jonathan sees a golden beam alighting upon a radiant Kat as she directs the singers. He hadn’t noticed how beautiful she was before! From here on out he knows that he’ll be preachin’ to the choir. But will Kat—and his congregation—let him? 

Excerpt: Kat tries to give a piano lesson to Jonathan, but everything seems to go wrong…

Kat caught herself the second before she practically threw herself into Jonathan’s lap. What the heck got into her? Was she openly flirting with her student? For some unknown reason the room had become stifling hot. She reached to open the top button of her blouse, then thought the better of it.

“Excuse me a second. I need to go check the A/C. Why don’t you go over the same measure again and try to make the notes sound more even, more connected this time.”

Kat dashed straight to the kitchen, where she promptly gulped down a large glass of water. Had it been the touch of Jonathan’s hands as they met hers, or the way he had looked deep into her eyes, like he could read her mind, that had affected her so?

Maybe this was all something hormonal? Her doctor did tell her the last time she came in for a Pap test to be on the look-out for hot flashes. More than likely the heat she felt pulsing through her frame, lingering a little longer than necessary in her belly, was simply caused by a power surge blanking her programmed thermostat and shutting down the air conditioning. She went into the hall, hit a few buttons and checked the read-out on the climate control panel. Funny, it seemed to be doing its job.

Rubbing the cold glass against her warm forehead, Kat intently listened to Jonathan’s playing in the next room. It sounded like he was trying to pick out the melody of Amazing Grace.

“You didn’t tell me that you could play by ear!”

Jonathan started at her entrance, but continued with his hunting and pecking. “No, I’m just using my fingers like I do on a keyboard. It’s not the most efficient way to play a piano, I’ve discovered.”

“You got that right. It does help, though, if you have some notion as to how the song you want to play goes already.” She crossed to stand beside the piano once more and waited patiently as he finished his impromptu concert. “There’s a beginner’s book of favorite hymns I think you’ll want to get. After a few pointers on how to read the music, you’ll be able to play a more recognizable version of Amazing Grace before you know it.”

His eyes widened. “You could tell what I was trying to plunk out?”

“If I can tell someone’s playing Mary Had a Little Lamb while missing practically every note, then I certainly can make out what you were attempting to play.”

“I’m that good, huh?”

Kat felt drawn to him like a magnet to steel. Her gaze settled on Jonathan’s full lips as he spoke. Would their touch be as electrifying as the feel of his fingers sliding over hers across the keyboard? “Good?” She blinked twice to break the warm, damp fog settling in her brain. She really needed to finish her nap. That explained it. She was sleep deprived. “Yes, I think you play quite well.”

Kat’s eyes drifted toward Jonathan’s lips again, then lower. Six foot three with hands that could easily reach twelve keys and possessed an almost magnetic touch… What kinds of things could he do with those hands?

Kat nervously pounced on the stack of sheet music Jonathan brought to the lesson. “Um, would you like me to play the version you brought?”

“Please do.” 

She sorted out the copy from the others and opened it across the music stand. “Sorry, but we need to switch places. I need to sit where you’re sitting in order to play properly.”

Jonathan stood and side-stepped over to the left to give her access to his stool. Kat flashed him a grin in gratitude and sat down without looking. Immediately she found herself deposited on her rear end. “Ouch!” she cried, rubbing her bruised tailbone. “I missed.”

“You seem to be doing quite a bit of falling on your backside lately.” Jonathan chuckled. Placing his large hands under her arms, he lifted her to her feet in one easy motion. “There you go. You all right?”

“I… I’m fine,” she managed, taking a step back. The warmth of where his palms contacted her bare flesh lingered, sending tingles of awareness down her arms. “I just need to adjust the height a little.”
Kat bent to twirl the stool in order to raise the seat. To her horror, it stuck.

Jonathan grimaced. “Did I break it? I apologize if I did.”

She straightened slowly and shook her head. “Don’t worry. It isn’t broken. It probably needs to be greased a bit. Why don’t we try relocating the bench?”

Jonathan swiftly removed the stool. Kat grabbed the bench and started dragging it into position. Without a word, both promptly seated themselves side by side, thighs touching.

Kat shuddered inwardly at the delicious sensation of Jonathan’s near presence. This isn’t the appropriate time or place for playing footsies, but wouldn’t it be nice sometime? Swallowing hard, Kat focused her attention on the music.

Just as she was about to turn to the first page over, there came a small moan of wood, then snap! The wounded bench decided it couldn’t handle their combined weight any longer. A back leg collapsed. The seat tilted left, throwing her against Jonathan’s hard body as they tumbled to the floor.

Preachin’ to the Choir now available in e-formats from Mojocastle Press and All Romance eBooks.

A Holiday Excerpt from The Stocking

Happy holidays! I've been rushed off my feet doing various things, but I wanted to let you know that I do enjoy the holidays and have actually a few books that take place during this time of year.  I hope you can take time this week to settle down by the fire or heater with an ebook or two! ;)

The Stocking

http://www.devinedestinies.com/the-stocking/

Adele’s lonely Christmas Eve on the prairie is made much brighter by the arrival of a mysterious silver-whiskered stranger…

A Devine Destinies short--only 99 cents!

Here's an excerpt for your enjoyment:

The sound of snow falling off the eaves was familiar to Adele, but something seemed different this time. She threw back the goose down quilt and plunged her feet into icy shoes, grabbing her shawl from the foot of the bed. She glanced at the clock on the mantel as she headed to the front window to see what the ruckus was all about. It was midnight.
    
    Moonlight painted the snow-covered world in a lustrous diamond blanket. The blue-black sky was clear now and only a gentle wind howled across the endless white prairie. Her small home was most certainly encased in a large snowdrift, invisible to anyone but those who knew where to look for it. She scanned the horizon and pulled her shawl closer across her boney frame.
    
    “So beautiful, yet so cold and lonely.” Adele said to Tabitha as she jumped to the windowsill, purring loudly, demanding to be petted. Her owner happily obliged. “You silly thing. You keep me company, but you can’t hold a decent conversation, can you?”
    
    Thump, thump! The sound of snow falling from the eaves startled Adele again. Surely is couldn’t be melting? What else could be on her roof?
    
    “Heavens be!” she gasped. “Could it be ol’ Saint Nick himself?” She covered her mouth with one hand and hugged the shawl tighter against her with the other. “Lordy, no! If I wasn’t sure about losing my mind before, I am now. But, oh, Tabitha—wouldn’t be wonderful if the dear ol’ saint came down the chimney to treat me this one last time?”
    
    Shivering from cold and anticipation, she lowered herself into her chair by the fire, bending to stoke its dying embers. A shower of snow rained upon the glowing coals, effectively quenching their warmth.
    
    “Well, I never…”
    
    A second later another trickle of snow dropped to the hearth from above.
    
    Adele sprang to her feet and strained to look up the chimney flue. “Glory be! Is it really you?”
    
    “Me?” came a deep male voice. “I guess it is. To whom do I have the pleasure of conversing with?”
    
    “Adele. Adele Stougaard.” She stood up and scratched her head. “I thought you knew everyone, Saint Nicholas.”
    
    A jolly laugh then. “My name is Nicholas, but I’m far from being the blessed saint himself. Can you guide me to the direction of your front door, my good lady?”
    
    Adele relaxed. The disembodied voice coming from above was only a lost traveler. She sighed and shook her head, disappointed to think she hadn’t witnessed a miracle.
    
    “Head toward the moon and watch your step,” she called up the flue. “I can see out my front window, so the door should be visible after you climb down from the roof.”
    
    A knock at the door a moment later confirmed her suspicions.

The Stocking--available at Amazon and at Devine Destinies Books
http://www.devinedestinies.com/the-stocking/

The Fixer Uppers--73% off on the Deal of the Day

For today only (July 6) you can purchase my romantic-comedy novel The Fixer Uppers from Devine Destinies Books for only $1.59. That's 73% off the list price!

It's a full length contemporary romance novel, so you're getting a lot for your money. Here's the link and the details:

 http://www.devinedestinies.com/the-fixer-uppers/

The Fixer Uppers
by Cynthianna
http://www.devinedestinies.com/the-fixer-uppers/

ISBN #:978-1-77111-326-7

Word Count:75094

Page Count: 275

 Can a single mom find happiness on a blind date—or at least dinner with a male who can cut up his own food? Cassie and Mike believe they’re in like, not in love. But when down-on-his-luck Mike is evicted, Cassie takes him in. Mike starts fixing everything from window screens to her sons’ broken hearts. Will Cassie let Mike fix hers?

Read the first chapter excerpt at Goodreads:  http://www.goodreads.com/story/show/327212?chapter=1

Purchase your copy soon, because the Deal of the Day doesn't last long! 

A Sneak Peek at LEAVING WHO

Welcome to another "Sneak Peek Sunday" excerpt! Since tomorrow is Earth Day, and the release date of my long-awaited sequel to Loving Who, Leaving Who, I thought I'd share a few paragraphs from it to whet your appetite. (Get it? Earth Day--Doctor Who is always saving the Earth from disaster so we chose Earth Day as the release day? Okay... keep reading and possibly you'll catch on.) :)

Leaving Who is available from Mojocastle Press

 
After touring the universe with the sometimes inept time traveler John Smith, Cici Connors wants one more thing—to go home. Will the imminent destruction of Earth throw a kink into her plans? 
 
Excerpt:

“You want…more than…me?”
 
His wide eyes and quivering lip betrayed how stunned John Smith was by my revelation, but somehow he still sounded indignant. The depth of his self-love knew no bounds. I could see the first Doctor booming such an arrogant statement to his companions who, of course, would reply apologetically, “Right you are. You know what’s best, Doctor.”
 
But he didn’t always. And neither did my traveling companion. Sure, watching the embers of the universe flicker until they were no brighter than a dying campfire did bring a tear to my eye—but so did a good chick flick and PMS. After so many wondrous sights, I’d become jaded and bored. My Doctor substitute didn’t seem to get it. I took another stab.
 
“Yes, I need more than just endless travels, endless fascinating sights. I need structure and routine occasionally.” I spun around on him and gestured wildly. “I need to be with people who love me for who I am—and don’t try to pawn me off on an interstellar slave trader in payment for a rickety transmat booth.”

He glared down his nose at me. “I explained that to
you thoroughly, Cici. It was an attempt to get him to lower the price. No one should have to pay that much for such substandard transport.”

“You’re damn right!” My voice rose an octave, echoing off the transparent dome above us. “It was worse than substandard. I’m still picking the splinters of wood bark out of my hair. As much as I love to hug trees, rematerializing inside a trunk isn’t something I ever want to attempt again.”

 (To find out if Cici makes it home without splinters, you'll have to purchase the book!) ;)

By way of explanation about this fantasy romantic-comedy series: I'm a big Doctor Who fan and have always wondered what would it be like if a time traveler did visit Earth and ask me to come along with him on an adventure. Things wouldn't work quite as smoothly as they do on TV, of course, and my romantic alien time traveler might have a few foibles and habits that are hard to get use to... This is what Cici discovers in the first book of the series, Loving Who. In Leaving Who, Cici makes a decision--she wants to go home. Somehow, with her alien friend John Smith and his colleagues Captain Mac and Babbling Brook, you know it's just not going to be easy, but it will be funny.

Enjoy the rest of the fun reads on Sneak Peek Sunday!
http://sneak-peek-sunday.blogspot.com/ 

Update: Due to technical factors beyond even a Time Lord's control, the release date for Leaving Who is now scheduled for April 28, 2013. My apologies for the wait.  And remember, fezes are cool. ;)

Enjoy a little romance on Sneak Peek Sunday!

This is a first, and hopefully not last, experience with Sneak Peek Sunday (http://sneak-peek-sunday.blogspot.com/). On Sneak Peek Sundays readers can enjoy six paragraphs from currently published books or works-in-progress from a variety of authors. So, get your TBR list pencils sharpened and start reading!

The Fixer-Uppers

Now available from Devine Destinies Books!


"An exceptional writer with a flair for humor." --Romance Reviews Today


Can a single mom find happiness on a blind date--or at least dinner with a male who can cut up his own food? Cassie and Mike believe they're "in like" not "in love." But when down-on-his-luck Mike is evicted, Cassie takes him in. Mike starts fixing everything from window screens to broken hearts. Will Cassie let him fix hers?

Cassie groaned.  It was the same old story. She abandoned her work and turned around to confront her friendly torturer.

            “You’re not going to try to fix me up again, are you, Angel?  I’ve told you how I enjoy being single. I’ve only been divorced for five years.  I’ve got a lot of living of my own to do, thank you very much.”

             Angelina rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue. “Yes, yes, I know. I’ve heard the ‘I am woman, hear me roar’ speech before. But you deserve to be loved by a good man and loved well, Cassie Stubinski. Why don’t you think so?”

            Cassie breathed a long sigh then retreated into her work once more, carefully placing the final rosette onto the waxed paper-lined tray. “Sorry for being so bitchy, Angel. Must be the PMS as my ex was always reminding me.”

            “Oh, no, it’s okay. I know why you act bitchy. You’re lonely. Please, won’t you consider dating again? It’s been what—a year since you last went out? Remember that I told you all about this really terrific guy named Mike—”

            “Who works with Paco at the airport and would be just perfect for me. I know, I know.” Cassie smiled and nodded at her impractical matchmaker. What did a twenty-two year old girl know about perfection? And Paco, Angelina’s dream man, the self-proclaimed stud of the tarmac, wasn’t noted for his expert advice, either.  

            The hurt expression in Angelina’s big brown eyes really got to her, however.

            “Mike sounds like a really nice guy,” Cassie said gently, “but I just don’t think I’m the type of woman he wants to date, if you know what I mean.”

            “No, I don’t know what you mean,” Angelina snapped, banging her sponge down on the counter. “You’re a great looking chick with a wonderful sense of humor. What else would a man want?”

            Someone who  possesses a positive checking account balance? Cassie was about to quip but changed her mind and said instead, “Well, for starters he might want to date someone his own age.”

            “So he’s three or four years younger than you. No big deal.”

            Cassie defiantly crossed her arms across her ample bosom and leaned back against the metal counter top, conceding Angelina was probably right on that point.  

“Okay then. You told me this guy has never been married or had a family before. Some men don’t like dating divorcees with young kids.”

            Angelina bit her lip in thought then smiled. “But he and his girlfriend lived together for five years before they broke up so it’s like he’s been through a divorce himself.”

            “Possibly. I—I just don’t know.” Cassie looked away. “Let’s be reasonable, Angel. Why in the world would a young, good-looking guy want to date a fat has-been like me?”

            “You’re not fat!” Angelina shouted. She blushed upon noticing the elderly woman waiting at the counter. “Oh, excuse me, ma’am.  May I help you?”

            As Angelina packaged doughnuts for her customer, Cassie gathered her thoughts while she collected her utensils. 

Maybe she was lonely. It would explain her short temper lately when dealing with her co-workers and her sons. The boys were growing up so fast—maybe too fast—without a father figure in their lives. Maybe she should go out on one of those D word type of things.

            “Oh, what’s the use,” Cassie muttered, filling the sink with soapy water. She had to be realistic. No one wanted to date a thirty-four year old divorcee who had exploded from a size ten to a size sixteen over the past five years even if she did possess a good sense of humor, uncommonly green eyes and a rather attractive shade of auburn hair.  Jack had stolen the best years of her life—and her figure. And all she really had to show for it was the dilapidated house she had received in the divorce settlement and the fatiguing, day-to-day struggle to make ends meet for herself and the boys. 

            She jumped as she scalded her hand while rinsing out the frosting nozzle “Ow! I’m an complete idiot today.”

 Stepping back from the sink, Cassie felt a blister forming in the red patch glistening on her palm. Somehow, though, the pain of her flesh was minimal compared to the pain she felt in her heart. She was growing older, heavier, and lonelier by the second, and she had to face facts. At least on a date she could have a nice dinner with a male who didn’t need his mother to cut up his food for him… She dried her hands and threw down her dish towel as Angelina returned from the counter to their work area.  

            “All right, all right,” she said, surrendering. “You win, Angel. Fix me up with this Mike person.”

Yeah, I know--I posted more than six paragraphs. But the excerpt flowed so nicely. Forgive me. ;)

The Fixer Uppers is available in all e-formats--including Kindle--from Devine Destinies Books.

 

See You at Archon...

I hope to see you at the Archon SF convention at the Gateway Convention Center in Collinsville, Illinois, September 30-October 2. Be sure to drop in on one of my panels and say hello. I enjoy chatting with my readers.  I should be bringing some copies of my funny writers' guide, Defeating the Slushpile Monster, too. :)

Sorry not to post much lately, but we've been out of town helping my mom out while she undergoes chemotherapy... Yes, she's finally able to admit to the world that she's battling the "big C". It's been a difficult month and a half for us all, but so far she's doing as well as to be expected.

But today, I'm back on my home computer and able to shout out about my latest Celine Chatillon release from eXtasy Books, BRANDI WHYNE AND HER INCREDIBLY EROTIC ADVENTURES: Chapter 7--Brandi's Best Revenge! :)

Check it out in various e-formats at:

http://www.extasybooks.com/brandi-whyne-7-3/

or http://tinyurl.com/brandi-7

Here's the quick synopsis:

In Chapter 7, Brandi’s Best Revenge, the crew of the Pulsating Purple Parsnip encounter their time bandit contact in their own dimension—Robin's ex-girlfriend, Marian Maidenform. But all is not quite as it seems aboard Marian's ship, and seducing the hunky android Andrew becomes part of Brandi's revenge against the cold yet sexy woman who broke Robin‘s heart. But what does K.R.A.P.P. have to do with the balance of power on Old Terra? Brandi and her pals are determined to find out.

To receive your very own PDF copy of "Outrageous Extended Excerpts" from all the chapters (well, up to number 6) by simply dropping me an email with "Free Ebook" in the subject line. celinechatillon @ hotmail.com


And be sure to check out Brandi's very own blog for an excerpt and more:


http://brandi-whyne.blogspot.com


Because every fictional character deserves a blog!

Something I learned today: The Mobi format works well on the Kindle e-reader...  PDF formats work well, too. Now there's no excuse not to buy directly from my publisher (for the biggest discounts) and read any of my ebooks on your Kindle device! ;)

Defeating the Slushpile Monster - Now in print!

Now in print from Smiling Assassin Productions, my funny writer's how-NOT-to Defeating the Slushpile Monster

According to a recent National Education Association's Reading at Risk study, 15 million Americans have attempted some kind of "creative writing".

Very few of these writers have had their work successfully published.

Are you one of them?

Want to know how you can improve your chances?


You can find the answers in my funny guide for serious writers. Laugh while you learn how you can improve your manuscript's chances of surviving the arduous submission process. Find out how "Only You Can Prevent Formatting Follies" and how to avoid those "Prose Pile-Ups on Publication Road".


An excerpt from Defeating the Slushpile Monster by Cindy A. Matthews:

Editors are busy people. Sometimes they are not in a very good frame of mind by the time they’ve read their way down a stack of submissions to reach yours. In order to improve your chances, you’ve got to make the editor want to read your manuscript, even if the office is dark and spooky and she’s sitting all alone in her cubicle.

How do you go about doing that?

The answer is so simple you’ll probably slap your forehead in disgust for not thinking of it first: Never submit a first draft.

The purple-crayon manuscript was a first draft manuscript. It doesn’t matter if the author claims to have re-written her story two-hundred times before she sent it in for consideration, the end result is the same.

The purple-crayon manuscript suffers from a terminal case of first-draftitis. Remember, an editor is a busy person. (Feel free to substitute the word “agent” for editor throughout this text if it applies to your situation.) An editor has neither the time nor inclination to help you shape up your story. Your novel needs to be complete, and it needs to be publishable with only minor fixes. To submit anything else to an editor is to waste his or her valuable time.

This point cannot be emphasized enough and is perhaps more true today than ever before. Only best-selling authors like Stephen King, Nora Roberts or J.K. Rowling can sell a first draft for seven figures or more. But, then again, these big-names probably could sell their hand-scribbled grocery lists for at least half that much. We no-name writers should be so lucky!

I know it’s a hard pill to swallow, but I’d rather you hear the following from me rather than from someone with less tact. So get the moony-eyed notion out of your head right now as I deliver the bad news: Editors have better things to do with their time than work with you to improve your book until it meets their standards for publication.

I know it hurts to think you and your book aren’t special, but there you go. If you make the mistake of writing a letter to an editor asking her to make an exception just for you, she’ll promptly tell you that sort of thing isn’t in her job description and reject your work without even reading a page.

What are some of the symptoms of first draftitis? Can this dreaded manuscript disease be avoided?

Read on. You’ll see that most cases are far from deadly and that the patient can be resuscitated easily and live to become published another day.

Your Manuscript = Your Business Card

Have you ever been on a job interview? Have you ever attended a business convention? Have you ever owned and run your own business? If you’ve done any of these things, then you probably have encountered business cards.

A business card has a dual purpose. First of all, it tells people who you are. It says, “I’m Joe Blow, licensed plumber,” or “I’m Betty Buys-a-Lot, personal shopper.” Secondly, a business card tells a potential customer or client what to expect from you and your service. “Pipes unclogged in five minutes flat or double your money back.” “Hate shopping for your mother-in-law’s birthday? I can help!”

Pretty basic, right?

So, what is a writers business card? Why, his or her manuscript, of course. Remember, the editor is a busy person. She wants to read your manuscript and quickly make up her mind if her publishing firm can use your services. She needs to be convinced from the very first line, the very first paragraph, the very first page that you are who you claim to be—a capable writer—and that you can deliver the goods—a complete, publishable manuscript.

Your job is to make your business card as professional as possible. No sprinkled lavender cologne, no fancy fonts, print faces or paper colors. This is a professional presentation—not your teenager’s diary. Act like a professional and you will be treated as such.


Defeating the Slushpile Monster now available in print. (E-formats available from Uncial Press.)

Love, Fun and Fantasy in Loving Who!

How many alien assassins tracking her down does one fangirl need? That question is answered in my lastest fantasy-romantic-comedy release... Enjoy an excerpt from it this month and leave a comment to be entered into my book drawing. Thanks!

And if you're in the neighborhood, I hope to see you at Archon 32. Don't forget to introduce yourself.


LOVING WHO
by Cynthianna
ISBN: 1-60180-075-4
http://www.mojocastle.com/celine/lovingwho.html

The man...the magic...the movie? Screwball romantic-comedy meets the world of Doctor Who fandom. Cici Connor's life will never be the same when she takes John Smith, a mysterious Brit, into her bed and her life begins to change... possibly for the better. After all, how many alien assassins tracking her does one girl need?

An Excerpt from Loving Who:

That's how it all began. A week later, 'John Smith' sat next to me on my slate-blue sofa with a bowl of microwave popcorn balanced on his lap. His eyes seemed glued to the TV screen as if it was the most wonderful invention to come to St. Louis since the introduction of microwaveable toasted ravioli.

“The crazy things that bloke gets up to,” he murmured as the credits began to roll on the third episode of the latest series. “Quite unbelievable at times.”

I laughed. “That's why it's called science fiction. It sure the heck isn't science fact.”

Suddenly those big brown eyes of his bore into mine. “You enjoy studying the sciences, don't you?”

I swallowed hard. How did he know? I nodded automatically. “Yeah, sure I do. I didn't get a chance to study any science in depth in college, but I've always had a layperson's fascination with all things astronomical.”

“Yes, I noticed your Amateur Astronomer certificate on the wall when we came in. It hangs beside the bookshelf containing an astrolabe, a year's worth of Sky and Telescope, and the hardback edition of Stephen Hawking's' A Complete History of Time.”

Whoa. This John Smith was much more observant that I had credited him. Here I thought for the last three hours he'd been simply enjoying my TiVoed episodes of Doctor Who. Instead, he'd been scoping out my apartment.

“You know what an astrolabe is?” I wondered aloud. Most of my friends had mistaken it for an unsually shaped, miniature telescope.

He frowned, puzzled. “Of course I know what an astrolabe is.”

A chill raced down my spine. Perhaps bringing this handsome stranger home hadn't been such a good idea after all…

“Is your fascination with the heavens why you've become such a fanatic over a television program about a time traveler?” he asked.

I blinked, but still I found myself glued to the spot. “Partly. Mostly it's pure escapism for me. I have to have something in life that will rescue me from this dreary existence occasionally. Doctor Who is a godsend.”

“Even when it went off the air for a decade?”

“Even then. There were the books, the conventions, the awful TV movie and the fans. The fans are the best. I've met a lot of lovely Doctor Who fans over the years. They've cheered me up enormously when I was down and out between jobs and husbands. When Southwestern Bell transferred me here from Dallas I didn't know a soul, but the local fans soon became my family. I'm not alone in the universe as long as I know there are others out there who like the same thing I do.”

“Hmm.” He scratched his chin thoughtfully. He seemed to be seriously contemplating my heartfelt disclosure. “Then why do you frequent dodgy establishments such as the place I found you in earlier today?”

I blushed and averted my gaze. It was time to spill the beans, to let him in on the underlying motivation for bringing him back to my place. I suddenly felt ashamed of my actions. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out.

“Cici? Is there something you'd like to tell me?”

His voice sounded soft, yet demanding. He placed a hand under my chin and tilted my face until his penetrating eyes meet mine once more. My heart began to race and my breathing became ragged. His prying eyes continued to probe the depths of my soul. Every fiber of my being burned with a desire to make a clean start of our relationship.

“Okay, you caught me,” I confessed with a sigh. “We need you to star in our fan film. You're a dead ringer for the Doctor. My plan involved kidnapping and seducing you, forcing you to stay in town for a while so we could film our friend Sammy's screenplay. He's terminally ill. We want him to see his movie idea made before he passes on. That's all. I promise.

Loving Who… available at Mojocastle Press:
http://www.mojocastle.com/celine/lovingwho.html

Cynthianna
http://www.cynthianna.com
Boldly going where no one genre has gone before!