Heading into “wish for” season

When I was growing up, we never bought anything that could be considered a gift unless we were hiding it away for Christmas. If you saw a scarf in a store window, you might hint at it to friends or family but you didn’t buy it lest Santa have it in mind for you. Necessities had to be purchased, of course, but nothing frivolous or extraneous. If your friends or family didn’t take the hint, well, you hoped the item you lusted after was on sale in January. So, starting in September, we began the season of wishing. It seems fitting then that Your Desire is the featured book for this month.

Wishing you all the joy of the upcoming holidays—the months will fly by!—and that you receive your desire!

Blurb:
Your Desire. A mysterious shop appears in town for one reason: to bring the spice of passion and the thrill of love to one special person. Magic is in more than the item purchased—it’s in the heart of the buyer, often hidden, usually surprising. And after enchantment takes hold and the fantasy is fulfilled? The store fades from sight and memory, only to reappear somewhere else. Maybe in your town…?

Buy links:
Amazon KU: https://www.amazon.com/Your-Desire-Dee-S-Knight-ebook/dp/B085HFRSQ9

Amazon print: https://www.amazon.com/Your-Desire-Dee-S-Knight/dp/1734761016 

Excerpt:
“Where is the damn doctor?” His truculent tone was understandable but wearying just the same, after an hour of waiting for test results.

A fair portion of that time he’d spent talking via cell phone to someone named David. That’s all she’d heard of the conversations, except Frank’s tone, which was commanding. He was definitely a man used to giving orders.

Evidently David could also give a few. When she’d checked at the desk to ask what else needed to be done in the way of paperwork for admission, the clerk had told her everything was being handled. Not only had the tedious forms been taken care of and insurance approved, the X-ray and MRI results were being sent to Frank’s doctor’s computer in Washington so he could consult on treatment.

“The doctor will be here as soon as he knows something.” She gave him her best grim nurse’s look before remembering he couldn’t see her expression. Instead she patted his hand as though he were a child. “Stop being a baby. Everything that can be done is being done.”

Three different doctors had examined him in the time they’d been at the hospital, coming in, saying as little as possible, then leaving with a “Hmm.” She knew it was the lack of information that grated on Frank’s nerves more than anything else.

While the doctors checked him over, she’d examined him herself, with as little notice as possible. He was as handsome as any man she’d ever seen, but in a rugged way, contrary to the citified, expensive clothes he wore. There was a bump at the top of his nose indicating at least one break. Long luxurious lashes swept down and up each time he blinked, hiding then revealing beautiful hazel eyes. He was tall and very fit, muscled without an ounce of fat. Brown hair, nicely trimmed, sparkled with good health and care. In the bright glare of ER lights, his face didn’t look nearly so sharply angled as she’d thought earlier, but the stubble from a day’s growth of beard made him look dark and rough.

“Tell you what. Why don’t I go and get you some ice? You shouldn’t have anything to eat, but a little ice will be all right.”

“Ice?” He said it as though he couldn’t believe anyone in their right mind would suggest such a thing, but in the end he agreed.

Ten minutes later, she approached his cubicle with a cup filled with shaved ice. Weariness dragged at her with every step, and she could hardly wait until Frank was admitted so she could go home.

“Here comes Allison now. We’ll ask her.” His voice was loud enough to be heard throughout the ER. She slipped through the opening to see Frank sitting on the edge of the bed. Walter Neeley, the ophthalmologist, stood in front of him. Mike stood apart, his arms crossed over the metal cover of the hospital chart held tightly against his chest. His face was serious but a look of mischievous glee colored his eyes as he observed the verbal sparring between the two men. Beside him stood Richard Matthews, head of neurology, who nodded a greeting to her.

“Ask Allison what?” She knew she’d have to referee something, based on the bull-headed expressions of both doctor and patient. Frank and Walt had already turned toward the opening in the curtains when she slipped in. This damn noisy dress.

“I want to hold Mr. Hughes overnight. He refuses. Says he’ll be all right at your house.” Walt Neeley arched a brow at her. “As he’s your friend, perhaps you can convince him that it’s in his own best interests to be admitted for the night.”

Unconsciously, she moved to stand beside Frank, touching his hand to let him know she was there. His head followed her every movement. “Actually he’s not my fr—”

“Tell him there’s no need for me to remain here overnight, Allison. If he’d give me something for this damn headache, I’d be fine. Well, if I could see, that is.” He practically growled out the last.

“They can’t give you anything that will make you sleep.”

“But it hurts like hell.”

“I know, but buck up,” she stage-whispered.

He snorted and turned away.

“Actually, Frank,” she stated in her most persuasive tone, “it is in your best interest to stay here. If anything should happen, the staff and equipment you need will be here.”

“No.”

Damn it! She couldn’t take him home. Besides the obvious medical risks, there was the unsettled feeling she experienced around him. It was unreasonable, but there, nonetheless. Why wouldn’t the obstinate man allow them to admit him so she could go home alone to her safe and ordered life.

“Mr. Hughes.”

Frank turned his head, his recalcitrant expression carved in stone.

“You don’t seem to realize the seriousness of your condition. You have a contusion, and as Nurse Hayes suggested, that’s bad enough. But if the swelling of your brain worsens during the night, you’ll need care she can’t give you at home.”

Frank seemed to consider this. “Dr. Matthews, is it?” He asked but continued without waiting for confirmation. “I think I do understand the seriousness of my condition. If you and the staff here haven’t explained it thoroughly enough, my own doctor, after examining the test results you sent, has told me plainly that I’m a jackass if I leave here tonight. However, he’s well aware of my nature and knows I’m a man used to taking judicious risks. I trust Ms. Hayes. She’s a well-trained nurse, is she not?”

“This has nothing to do with Allison’s capabilities,” spit out Walt Neeley. “This has to do with your welfare and the liability of the hospital if you leave and something happens.”

She sighed, knowing the men could butt heads all night without resolution. “What about the blindness?”

Walt spoke. “As far as we can tell, the problem is trauma-induced and will resolve itself when the swelling goes down. Tonight he’ll have to be checked every two hours.”

“Allison will do that.” Frank didn’t give the slightest intimation that she might say no.

She looked at him, really looked at him. He acted the tyrant, totally commanding, used to having every whim fulfilled and order followed without question. But there was an odd hesitance under it all. She’d noticed the characteristic earlier, too, when they were making their way out of the pasture. Discomfort, almost fear.

His hands fisted on his legs, his brows puckered ever so slightly in worry. Other than those tells, no one would know he wasn’t the controlling force he pretended to be. Maybe only she saw he had the false bravado of a man used to being in charge, suddenly finding himself at the mercy of fate. If so, she might not understand his attitude but she wouldn’t betray him.

She tried one more approach. “What if I stayed with you? I’d be here each time the nurse woke you up.”

He shook his head. “If you won’t take me home I’ll call my assistant. He’ll come down immediately and we’ll drive back to DC tonight.”

Walt Neeley threw his hands up and snorted in disbelief. Frank’s lips turned up in a tiny smile, probably secure in the knowledge that he’d presented an alternative worse than going home with her.

Mike gave a one-shouldered shrug when she glanced at him. “I strongly advise he be admitted.” Frank opened his mouth to speak, but Mike cut him off. “If he insists on going, we can’t stop him. You’re one of the people I’d entrust him to. If you want him, of course.”

All four men waited to hear her judgment. “I suppose he could sleep on the sofa in the office. I wouldn’t want him climbing the stairs.” She spoke out loud, but more to herself, reasoning what to do. “I can get him back here very quickly if need be.”

“Good.” Frank spoke as though her decision had been a foregone conclusion all along. His hands relaxed on his thighs.

Reviews:

“I loved this book, each story was beautiful, romantic, and filled with very hot sex.” 5 stars

 “If you’re looking for a spicy escape from your everyday life, pick up Your Desire today. It’ll heat your body and singe your soul. Highly recommend!” 4.5 stars

A little about me:
A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.

 After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website. And all three offer some of the best romance you can find! Also, once a month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity. Sign up for my newsletter and have access to free reads.

 Author links:

Website: https://nomadauthors.com

Blog: http://nomadauthors.com/blog

Twitter: http://twitter.com/DeeSKnight

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DeeSKnight2018

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/265222.Dee_S_Knight

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B079BGZNDN

LinkedIn: http://linkedin.com/in/dee-s-knight-0500749

Sweet ‘n Sassy Divas: http://bit.ly/1ChWN3K

 

 

#outnow - Taken by the Angel of Death by @meganslayer #newrelease @changelingpress

 

Taken by the Angel of Death (Taken 14) by Megan Slayer

One touch sends her victims to hell. But he’s already been there. Would not recommend. 0 stars.

Loren knows her job. She’s an angel of death. When she allows herself to be seen, there are no survivors. She drives too fast, has no filter, and bows to no man. Then she sees a vampire crumpled on the ground. It’s not his time. She can’t leave him to die, but she won’t get involved with him. Too bad he’s cute.

Michel never wanted to be turned. Never wanted to offer his services. Terminal illness? You’re going to perish anyway? Want to do it on your terms? Then he can help. It’s part of his death wish. But he can’t die. When he finds himself in the presence of the most beautiful, moodiest woman he’s ever seen, he can’t forget her. But she won’t touch him. He makes it his mission to get to know and melt her defenses so they can both have their heart’s delight.

If nothing else, he’ll die trying.

She kills. He can’t die. They shouldn’t work, but what if they did and the results are fire?

Available at Changeling Press: https://www.changelingpress.com/taken-by-the-angel-of-death-taken-14-b-3899

and At Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0HHB8S3VP

How about An Excerpt: 

Copyright ©2026 Megan Slayer

One down, two to go…

Loren cleaned the blood from her hands once she settled behind the wheel of her car. She didn’t bother to watch the woman or call for help. That wasn’t her job. Besides, what would she say? The Angel of Death is calling and would like an ambulance to be sent to the corner of Oak and Elm? Yeah, that wouldn’t do much good. No one would believe her.

She drove away, leaving the scene. In the regular world, she’d be in trouble for fleeing the site of an accident. But no one saw her, save for the drunken woman and no one would believe her, either. They’d think Loren was a figment of her sloshy mind.

Loren flexed her fingers on the steering wheel. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a conversation with someone who wasn’t at Just One More. Certainly not with someone who wanted to speak to her.

Not that she wanted to have deep discussions with anyone. Most people annoyed her. She stopped at the traffic light and a thought occurred to her. If I’m not careful and don’t rein in my sarcastic attitude, I’ll turn into Bubsy.

She gagged.

No one is as insufferable as Bubsy.

She drove for two hours before reaching her next destination near Pittsburgh. She spied a man crossing the dark street. He had his hands stuffed in his pockets and his head down. His gait was quick, like he was hurrying away from someone. She kept watching. This guy wasn’t on her list. Was he perishing tonight? This wasn’t exactly a great area and people did die here.

Another being rushed up to the man. Something glinted. A knife? She wasn’t going to be a witness to this. Loren parked and surged from her vehicle. She lunged between the men, pushing the first one out of the way.

Writing To Rewrite

There are as many writing processes as there are writers. Some plot for months before writing a word. Others start with an idea and immediately start writing by the seat of their pants. Some write every scene before considering rewriting. Others will spend all day on just one page, getting it perfect before moving on to the next.

Of all the different processes that exist, I have not heard of a single writer that writes their book perfectly on the first shot. 

We all know rewriting is part of the plan. That no matter how you write, no matter how much you write, no matter what type of story you write, there will need to be editing and revising. Some of us enjoy it more than others (I’m strongly in the revisions are torture camp 😁, but I have some friends whose favorite part of the process is revising, just another way we are all different).

Lately I have been struggling to write. I know where the difficult comes from. It’s a combination of not having enough time to feel invested in my stories and characters, exhaustion, limited mental space (toddler mom life is not for the weak), and putting too much pressure on myself to do something amazing, since it has been so long since my last release. But I am finding it increasingly difficult to get words on the page. I get so fixated on the words being good, right, perfect, that I can spend twenty minutes with a thesaurus trying to find just the right word for a scene that I end up with very few new words by the time I’m done. Even though I know, as I said above, that I can’t possibly get it right the first time, I am still desperately trying to.

Frustrated by my lack of progress over the last few months, I’ve been actively trying to overcome this block by forcing myself to just write something. 

When I am staring at the page, or about to do my third thesaurus search, I tell myself just write something. A quick description of what is happening, a simple expression of their emotions, a single action, and then I move on. It doesn’t have to be right. In fact, it won’t be. But just write something, so you can get to the next sentence, the next paragraph, the next page. I tell myself I’m just putting it down and I’ll rewrite it later, which is true either way. As I said, no one can write perfectly the first time. But if you never write anything, you don’t even have the chance to perfect it the next time.

And amazingly, it’s been working. Over the last few weeks, I’ve started to feel more connection with my story. I am going back and rewriting many of these ‘just write something’ sentences, filling them in with more delicate wording or more detailed descriptions. Improving them to be closer to my vision. Sometimes they just don’t apply entirely and need to be totally rewritten once I read the wider scope of the story. And that’s okay. In fact, that’s perfect. Because I’m writing. I’m getting to know my characters again. Their stories again. And I am discovering what is true and not true at the same time. Every word written is a step closer to a completed story, even if those words fall on the cutting room floor.

A lot of life is the same. People are often afraid of taking a step, making a move, afraid to make the wrong one, when in truth, doing nothing is probably a worst decision. Doing nothing keeps you frozen. Doing nothing keeps you further from completing that book. 

Further from repainting your house. Further from starting that business. Further from whatever goal you want to achieve.

And while writing down the wrong word—when I know it’s the wrong word—just to keep moving is a very small step, it is at least a step in the right direction. And I’ll take a baby step over standing still any day. 

If you’re struggling with a project, or a goal, or anything you want to do, think about what baby steps you can accomplish. Even if you are unsure. Even if you know it’s not the perfect step. Because sometimes doing the wrong thing is far worse than doing nothing.

Hearts of homes and stories #writing #writinglife #love

This summer, I have been in the process of moving, which has involved all sorts of surprises. Packing my belongings seemed like it would be a relatively tame and easy part of moving house. As I was steadily putting clothes and dishes in boxes, it occured to me how much of my possessions were unnecessary. There are the items that collect dust but have no real function, there are the furniture pieces that have lived their lives and need to be retired somewhere else, even though I thought that maybe one day, I would sand the thing down and repaint it. In all honesty, I won’t, though. At least not in this decade.

Getting rid of trashloads of things and seeing the empty spaces left behind made me feel unexpectedly lighter and freer. Though I haven’t been able to do much writing over the past few weeks due to tons of boxes and unforeseen problems with plumbing and furniture deliveries and other disasters, the freeing feeling of getting rid of excess stayed on my mind. When I get back to writing, I will start applying the strategy of getting rid of unnecessary parts that don’t serve the story with even more ruthlessness than ever before.

The paragraphs I was attached to because of a clever phrase or poetic construction? Gone if they don’t truly serve the story in some way. Scenes that described the scenery in great detail? Deleted if they can’t make me feel some significant way about those details. I will begin extracting words with precision, especially from the flash fiction and short stories I have in progress. But I can’t cut away everything small or that doesn’t seem necessary or functional because, as I realize after looking at folders of art work my children made over the years as well as the painting my husband and I bought years ago using a gift card that was a wedding gift, that a story and a home both need a heart to survive. Some of what makes a heart beat is in the memories or the small things that may collect a bit of dust but make me smile whenever I see them.

 

If you’d like to follow me on social media for my latest book information and excerpts, poems, contest info, book recommendations, and other fun stuff, you can find me at:

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Christina-Lynn-Lambert/e/B01MCYK0K7

BookBub:  https://www.bookbub.com/authors/christina-lynn-lambert

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/christinalynnlambert

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15900423.Christina_Lynn_Lambert

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/christinalynnlambert

Wordpress: https://christinalynnlambertwordpress.com

Bluesky: https://bsky.app/profile/cllambauthor.bsky.social

Go for it!

 

Last month, I riffed about my upcoming 25^th anniversary of being a published author. It was in December of 2001 that I signed a publishing contract for my first novel, the romantic spy thriller “Memories Die Last.” It introduced a CIA spook named Nick Seven, who walked away from the dark underworld of espionage after settling a personal score and now lives in Key Largo, Florida with a former co-worker from Barbados named Felicia. The character resonated with readers, and he’s still going strong 25 years later. Nick may be my favorite creation, but I haven’t limited my imagination to his exploits alone.

 

I like to try new things with my writing. I become bored easily and if I don’t flex my creative muscles, that malaise will find its way into my stories. I think this is why I switch between mystery/thrillers and romantic comedies. It puts my brain in offense mode, and challenges me to take chances. My dislike of cliches also keeps my mystery readers on their toes. I’m really happy when I come up with a unique “Gotcha!” or last-minute “Aha!” twist that catches people off-guard. One of my followers pointed out that in many of the mysteries, I write a sort-of climax three-quarters of the way through, then follow it up with a bigger finish. I wasn’t aware I was doing this, but he pointed it out in online reviews as “the Tim Smith double climax.” I haven’t taken out a patent on that yet.   

 

In one of my early books, “The Vendetta Factor” (Nick Seven series), I went retro by using chapter titles. Since it was an old school pulp fiction-style crime thriller, it seemed like a good fit. The fact that no one had used chapter titles in fiction for thirty-odd years increased my desire to flaunt current trends. My first romantic comedy, “Anywhere the Heart Goes,” took the title thing one step further. I began each chapter with a quote about love and relationships, to set the mood. Some of the quotes were funny, while others were poignant.

 

The Vic Fallon private eye mystery “Lido Key” pushed my limits regarding adult content. I had the female lead enjoying an intimate relationship with her cute Latina housekeeper, and both of them are attracted to the hero. The heroine is also a former lap dancer turned rich trophy widow who is being blackmailed because of her past indiscretions. It’s probably the steamiest story concept I ever came up with. During his investigation, my hero encounters a sleazy strip club owner and a famous tough guy writer with a taste for booze and women. It’s a low-down noir concept with a cast of characters to match. I think Mickey Spillane would’ve been impressed.   

 

Speaking of characters, that’s another area where I color outside the lines. I like creating personalities that are unique and memorable. I pay attention to people and take note of their fashion statements, physical characteristics and speech patterns. My realistic caricatures have almost gotten me into trouble when someone is convinced that I based a character on them or a mutual friend. This is patently false, because my characters are fictional composites, and it says so in the front of the books. What people want to believe beyond that is up to them. 

 

I like to see how many fireworks I can set off during interviews, and I have a lot of fun when I can get a laugh with my responses. It plays into something I learned a long time ago—any publicity can be good if it gets people talking about you. As proof, search the name Kardashian and see what pops up. It also verifies that I don’t take myself too seriously. One blog interview I did nearly cost me an invitation to a family reunion, though, because a relative was embarrassed by my answers to some of the questions. They dealt with my thoughts on certain fetishes, and I felt obliged to give outrageous answers.  

  

The biggest limit-pusher for me was becoming a published author in the first place. I had reached a crossroad in my life, and was feeling restless. I recalled an idea for a story I had always wanted to tell, and challenged myself to either write the damn thing or stop talking about it. I only pursued publication after being encouraged by family and friends. The second-biggest risk was my decision to write under my own name. Since my stories contain some hot romance, I sometimes think that not adopting a pseudonym was a mistake.

 

It’s time to start the next phase of this journey!

 

Tim Smith is an award-winning bestselling author of mystery/thrillers and contemporary romantic comedies. He is also a freelance writer, blogger, and editor. He can often be found in the Florida Keys, doing research in between parasailing and seeking out the perfect Mojito. His author page is Tim Smith/AllAuthor 

 

 

Beam Me Up, Scotty

 

https://www.longandshortreviews.com/miscellaneous-musings/wednesday-weekly-blogging-challenge-for-september-2-2026/

The Long and Short Reviews prompt for September 2 asks for one sci-fi item or ability that we wish really existed.

Here is some music to enjoy while we ponder the possibility.

https://odysee.com/@AncientRealms:e/CNV07:0?r=76byLTy8eLwNnT413RLsdZmfY9RfvBgE

Conversations with the Time Keeper.

My choice is the transporter from the Star Trek universe. I also include a mini review of Star Trek the Motion Picture free of charge.

Boy howdy, would I love it if I didn't have to drive 65 miles at 65 miles an hour to go to Costco. It would be so handy if my family and I could just step into our home transporter room and arrive in Costco's transporter room seconds later. Then when we were done shopping, we could just beam back home with our haul.

I should specify that I want the transporter from Star Trek the Original Series. I've never understood  why they crapified the transporter in the first Star Trek movie. The one they had during the three seasons of the show never turned anyone into an unrecognizable pile of meat. I was looking forward to this movie so much, and the transporter horror scene was not an auspicious start.

Despite the multitude of problems with the movie, I enjoyed it overall and would watch it again. I give it three stars because I was thrilled to be reunited with my favorite characters and the special effects were awe-inspiring. However, the writers were so enamored with depicting the concept of man merging with (attractive female) machine that they didn't seem to care whether the rest of the story was cohesive and engaging. 

Visit me at naughtynetherworldpress.start.page

World Gone Dark series release by January Bain

 Good Morning to you and Happy September!

It's been another grand month since last we met. Fall is my favourite season and it's come in so lovely and inspiring this year. The weather is perfect, unlike the rainy June and July we had that prevented certain activities like building on our rural property. Now we're catching up and it feels darn good! I trust your summer has gone well and you're looking forward to the change in weather.

My biggest thought at the moment in my recent book release: 

                                               Race the Chaos

The book came out a few days ago from Rough Edges Press, and is the third book in my World Gone Dark series. I made a little video to share:

If you would like to check it out further, here's the link: Amazon

The apocalypse didn’t just take the lights. Now it’s hunting them.

The heat is relentless, water is running out, and something is moving through the dark hollows of Kentucky that has no interest in mercy. When escaped tigers stalk the forests and the Rebel Sons MC strips the town pharmacy bare, Burgundy Mackenzie faces an impossible choice: let her sister Poppy die, or go to the one man she can’t afford to owe again.

Frost Hellebuyck has always kept the club’s violence at arm’s length. But agreeing to help Burgundy pulls him into the MC’s brutal hierarchy deeper than he ever planned to go…and deeper than he can easily walk back from. Far from home, Auburn survives a savage betrayal on the lawless roads and finds an unexpected ally who may change everything, and Cormac, finally free of his murderous traveling companions, presses toward home through fire and ruin, making choices that would break a lesser man.

Then the ham radio crackles with something worse than any storm: Mycosis-A, a deadly ancient plague unleashed from the melting Greenland ice, is spreading. The collapse was just the opening act. In a world gone dark, the most lethal enemy yet is invisible…and there is no race fast enough to outrun it.

I wish you a fond adieux until next month!

Hugs, January

Storyteller