“Make hay while the sun shines” is a saying I often remember when I’m trying to decide what to do next. I’m happy to say it always gives me an opportunity to restart my thinking. Am I doing the task most suited to this moment? This day? This season?

I tend to take the long view. I love history. But what I love most is connecting history to the present, and that’s what old sayings like this do for me. I suspect this one goes back to the earliest days of agriculture when it didn’t matter what else was going on—if the day was sunny, your decision was made for you to get out there and take advantage of the sun. Surviving the winter depended on it.

Nature is a great decider. When the sun is shining, I have a hard time sitting inside slinging words to the page. But when thunder rolls and rain sluices against the window, there’s nothing more delicious than tucking into the world of imagination.

The extremes of nature not only prepare my mood for writing, reading, and other indoor activities but also can provide writing prompts. This month’s short story on my blog started exactly that way, as you’ll see in the following excerpt. From one moment to the next, unraveling a story to see what words appear next on the page is an exercise of creativity and discipline, but also opening to nature’s subtle hints. Or not so subtle, like crashing lightning and howling wind.

I call this making hay while the sun shines. I take what is given and let it run out in front until I see where it’s going. I think it’s good advice no matter what tasks and priorities you may face.

Excerpt from Tale of Two Lovers

Thunder cracked and rolled, shuddering the ground under Inka’s feet. She felt it through the stiff hide of her boots, through the thick fur lining. Peering into the downpour, she tugged her cloak tighter around her shoulders and tried to dismiss a lurking sense of apprehension. Trees bent and tossed in the cold wind, sending rain spray against her face as she stared into the gray deluge.

She saw no one. But she couldn’t make herself close the door.

Someone was out there.

Moments later, the dark figure of a man loomed, walking and leading a horse. As they neared, she could see another man slumped on the horse’s back. Inka briefly considered whether she should seize the heavy dagger she kept by her bed.

She should have felt them coming. How had her vision failed?

They approached her entry and stopped, giving her time to read their energy. It radiated in pale blue waves.

“We need your help,” the walking man said. “Will you provide succor?”

Inka locked eyes with the man, searching within him for evil intent. Sending blue energy could have been a shield. His weathered face streamed with water. Peering from under his soggy hood, his pale eyes reflected the gleam of her fire pit and spoke of his desperation. And his honesty.

“Come in, then,” she said, opening her door wider and stepping back.

He turned to his companion, pulling him off the horse and holding him up with his shoulder as they staggered into the cabin. Inka seized the horse’s reins and led it through the opening as well, walking it past the fire to a bed of straw where her own horse had once bedded. The horse shook itself, rattling the ornate breastplate. She slipped off the bridle and left the weary beast to the hay cradle.

With the door firmly fastened against the howling wind, she turned to study these strangers. The injured man had collapsed at the fireside as his companion peeled off his wet hat. With their hooded cloaks removed, she could see that both men wore a small dotted line along the right jaw, the mark of the distant Eirikr tribe.

“You’re far from your home,” she said, squatting to add more wood to the fire. Coals shifted and sent sparks into the air. Water droplets fell through the smoke hole at the top of her roof and vaporized in the flames with tiny hisses.

“Three days,” the man said. “I’m Darnoc. This is Conrad.”

The injured man lifted his head enough to make eye contact with Inka. His pale blue eyes created a shocking appearance in a face so dark with grime and blood. But it wasn’t the appearance alone that caused her breath to catch in her throat. His gaze conveyed a message so unexpected that her hand dropped to her waist belt to clutch her pouch of talismans.

“He’s a seiðmaðr,” she said in a hushed voice…

*~*~*

Read the rest of this story at:
https://lizzieashworth.com/2016/03/03/a-tale-of-two-lovers/ ‎

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It’s here! Navy SEAL Survival is here! I hope you all run out and get your copy now. This is what you’ll find in the book:

• Hot Navy SEAL
• Strong heroine/former secret agent/bait for a human trafficking ring
• Lush Cancun setting
• Romance
• Suspense
• Escape!
• Great start to a new series

Navy SEAL Survival

SEAL OF MY OWN Series Book #1
by Elle James
Available now!

Amazon | Amazon UK | Kobo | Nook | iBooks | GooglePlay

Sign up for my newsletter for your chance to win these two great prizes! I’m drawing for winners March 3rd. Hurry!

Elle James’s Newsletter

After feeling the heat in Honduras cleaning up a terrorist training camp, Duff Callaway is ready for some serious chilling in Cancun. Fun in the sun becomes a perilous rescue mission when the Navy SEAL saves his beautiful diving partner from an underwater attack. Except Natalie Layne wasn’t chosen at random.

Setting herself up as bait is the only way Natalie can find her abducted sister. But all her survival training can’t prepare the former SOS agent for the irresistible stranger she has to trust with her life. Giving up isn’t an option. Neither is giving into the powerful desire smoldering between them…

 About the Author

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author ELLE JAMES also writing as MYLA JACKSON is an award-winning author of stories including cowboys, intrigues and paranormal adventures that keep her readers on the edges of their seats. With over eighty stories in a variety of sub-genres and lengths she has published with Harlequin, Samhain, Ellora’s Cave, Kensington and Avon. When she’s not at her computer, she’s traveling, snow-skiing, boating, or riding her ATV, dreaming up new stories.

Elle’s Links: Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter | GoodReads | Newsletter | Amazon Author Page

Today, I woke to a thundershower. Which, usually, I don’t mind. Today, however, it’s dragging me down. The sky’s dark. The clouds are heavy. The air feels heavy! I almost didn’t blog. Can you imagine that? And I don’t want to write. Egads!

What I’d really like to do is head into the living room, settle into a deep, soft chair, and watch a sad movie. Then I want to follow it with another viewing of The Martian. Now, there’s a movie that inspires.

Have you seen it? Yes, it’s a space adventure, a fantasy, but the feel of it is the same as the real-life space drama, Apollo 13, and Matt Damon makes it feel just as believable and urgent. You’re rooting all the way! So, maybe, that’s what I’ll do today.

What’s your current pick-me-up movie? 

For me, the most traumatic scene in Star Wars (the original trilogy) was when Darth Vader took off his helmet and he wasn’t the hot, hunky sex god his voice promised he’d be. I loved Darth Vader’s (James Earl Jones’) voice. I fell in love with it. I dreamed about it. It was deep and low and oh so very dominant.

Forget Luke and his issues. I wanted Darth to be MY daddy. (naughty grin)

In Crash And Burn, the most recent standalone story in my cyborg romance series, Safyre, the human heroine, falls in love with Crash’s, the cyborg hero’s, voice (though she’d never admit to that). They talk for months before they meet face-to-face. She doesn’t know what he looks like but she knows how he thinks and how he sounds.

And, woo wee, does he sound sexy!

When I first met my dear wonderful (now) hubby, we lived in different cities. We met in person and then mostly talked on the phone for the next four months. I fell in love with him at first night but man, oh, man, hours of listening to his sexy voice sealed the deal.

For some women, it’s an accent that does it for them. Scottish accents. (bites fist) Slow Southern twangs. That Irish accent I always associate with bad boys.

For some women, it’s how deep the man’s voice is, that low rumble that rolls along our spines and settles inside us, hot chocolate for the eardrums.

According to Smithsonian Magazine ( https://www.smithsonianmag.com/science-nature/why-women-like-deep-voices-and-men-prefer-high-ones-41492244/ ), we subconsciously use voice to determine how large a possible mate is. Women are more attracted to deep voices because deep voices signal that men are physically large. We also like ‘breathiness’, which indicates lower aggression and anger toward us.

My brothers-in-law tell me they always know when my hubby is talking to me, simply by listening to his voice. The caring wrapped around his words is obvious.

Have you ever fallen in love or lust with a person’s voice? What accents do you find sexy? What actors do you think have the sexiest voices?

***

Crash And Burn

Crash was manufactured to be one of the best warriors in the universe. The cyborg has spent many human lifespans fighting the enemy. But, unlike his battle-loving brethren, he doesn’t enjoy killing. When he escapes the Humanoid Alliance, he vows to never end another life.

Then he meets Safyre, an infuriating human female, and he considers breaking his vow.

Safyre will do anything to save her friend, the being she loves like a sister. She’ll ravish a huge hunky cyborg, kiss his best friend, and invoke scorching hot desires the male never realized he could feel. Dark soulful eyes, a quick wit, and a tempestuous passion won’t divert her from her mission.

Love, and a planet-destroying weapon, however, might stop her permanently.

Buy Now: On Amazon US | On Amazon UK | On ARe | On B&N | On Kobo

Excerpt

She paused outside the medical bay and swiped a cleaning cloth under her dripping nose. The fabric sucked up the blood, rearranging the molecules into air, removing all evidence that the device was affecting her.

Tifara would have a solar storm-sized meltdown if she realized the operation had aftereffects. She’d force Safyre to remove the device, and that couldn’t happen. It was Safyre’s only means of contacting Crash.

He wasn’t one of the warriors. Half human, half machine, cyborgs were designed to follow orders. Crash didn’t blindly obey any being.

He was a human conduit, a go-between. His communications device was more modern, having once belonged to an E model cyborg, and he claimed he could access transmission lines she couldn’t reach.

Female, the mysterious male transmitted through the cyborg communications device.

Did you speak with the cyborgs on board the freighter? That intergalactic freighter was her ride to Tau Ceti. It was transporting cyborgs to the planet and had the landing clearance she required.

Yes. The male’s deep voice coiled around her heart and tightened her nipples. A female could come simply from listening to him. If her head wasn’t splitting in two from pain.

Safyre winced. Can you control them? She’d crafted a plan. He’d control the cyborgs, ordering them to subdue the crew. She’d sneak onto the freighter before he arrived and take command of the vessel. That would give her control over Crash.

They’ll follow my direction. The certainty in his transmission reassured her.

Safyre was a pilot, not a warrior. She couldn’t defeat one cyborg on her own. The freighter carried one thousand of the manufactured warriors.

This is a reckless plan, female, Crash told her yet again. Discard it before you cause lasting damage to yourself.

The plan is set. She wasn’t changing it. Worry about yourself, not me. For a male interested in obtaining a cyborg army, he was overly concerned with her well-being. That was a strange experience for Safyre, a war orphan. She didn’t know how to deal with it.

And if I back out of the plan—

I’ll implement plan B. There was no plan B, not yet. She’d been contemplating other options, fearing no being would respond to her communications, when he answered. None of the alternatives were feasible.

You will not implement plan B, Crash barked and her spine straightened. I’ll meet with you on board the freighter in one planet rotation.

The line went silent. He must have severed their connection. Crash had the ability to open and close their transmission line, controlling communications. She hadn’t yet mastered that skill.

Crash would communicate with her again. They’d been conversing several times every planet rotation. She couldn’t sidestep Tifara’s questions and avoid his subtle probing at the same time.

She wiped the cleaning cloth under her nose, stuffed the fabric into the front pocket of her navy-blue flight suit and hurried into the medical bay.

About Cynthia Sax

USA Today bestselling author Cynthia Sax writes contemporary, SciFi and paranormal erotic romances. Her stories have been featured in Star Magazine, Real Time With Bill Maher, and numerous best of erotic romance top ten lists.

Sign up for her dirty-joke-filled release day newsletter and visit her on the web at www.CynthiaSax.com

Website:  https://cynthiasax.com/
Newsletter:   https://tasteofcyn.com/2014/05/28/newsletter/
Facebook:  facebook.com/cynthia.sax
Twitter:  @CynthiaSax
Blog:  https://tasteofcyn.com/

Have you ever stopped to think about that parallel universe where the books you read are set? I’m not referring to science fiction or fantasy titles. What I had in mind was cozy mysteries, romances, all sorts of genre fiction that’s apparently set in the world we inhabit but, when you inspect it closely, it’s a case of “it may be the earth but it’s not as we know it”. Jasper FForde  famously plays with the whole oddity of book characters in his Thursday Next series, but that really is set in an alternative Britain so doesn’t quite count for the purpose of this blog, no matter how amusing the premise is. Except that he makes a running joke of the fact that his characters don’t do ordinary things like use the toilet or have breakfast, because characters in books hardly ever are seen to perform these everyday activities.

Now clearly there is an element of judicious editing that goes on for stories, because the reader really doesn’t want to see every aspect of the leading man’s day, do they? And if it isn’t relevant to the plot then we don’t need, for example, a description of how he drives to the supermarket and what he sees en route. Nor do we really want all the graphic details of that handsome Regency buck performing his morning wash and brush up because he probably wouldn’t pass muster for our twenty-first century noses.

But I do get frustrated, as a reader or viewer, when basic human needs are treated as though they don’t exist. No, I don’t want the minutiae of what goes on when that hostage tied up in the small garden shed or wherever has a desperate need to pee, but it might be nice to have, at least in passing, an acknowledgment that such a need exists.

Do we as readers/viewers have to suspend all disbelief? Like with that Regency buck, who wouldn’t have been in life as clean-looking nor as fragrant smelling as we assume Colin Firth was in his guise as Mr. Darcy. We certainly have to take a lot of things with a pinch of salt in the realm of mysteries, where the home counties of England seem to be the crime centre of the universe. There is a multiple murder every few weeks in the books and shows based on the Morse/Lewis franchise. If that were real life, nobody would allow their son or daughter to study at Oxford University and you’d surely never be able to get life insurance if you lived in the city.

In the real world, Sussex is not awash with mass murderers, little old ladies don’t solve crimes which have baffled the police, and princes don’t disguise themselves as dustbin men then court and marry shop assistants (even if I could name a real live prince who used to sometimes get his sandwiches at a garage). All of which is a shame, really. Some aspects of the fiction parallel universe seem extremely appealing!

Don’t Kiss the Vicar

Vicar Dan Miller is firmly in the closet in his new parish. Could the inhabitants of a sedate Hampshire village ever accept a gay priest? Trickier than that, how can he hide his attraction for one of his flock, Steve Dexter?

Encouraged by his ex-partner to seize the day, Dan determines to tell Steve how he feels, only to discover that Steve’s been getting poison pen letters and suspicion falls on his fellow parishioners. When compassion leads to passion, they have to conceal their budding relationship, but the arrival of more letters sends Dan scuttling back into the closet.

Can they run the letter writer to ground? More importantly, can they patch up their romance and will Steve ever get to kiss the vicar again?

link: https://www.boldstrokesbooks.com/9781626394933e.html

About the Author

As Charlie Cochrane couldn’t be trusted to do any of her jobs of choice—like managing a rugby team—she writes. Her favourite genre is gay fiction, sometimes historical (sometimes hysterical) and usually with a mystery thrown into the mix.

She’s a member of the Romantic Novelists’ Association, Mystery People, and International Thriller Writers Inc., with titles published by Carina, Samhain, Bold Strokes Books, Lethe, MLR, and Riptide. She regularly appears with The Deadly Dames.

To sign up for her newsletter, email her at cochrane.charlie2@googlemail.com, or catch her at:

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/charlie.cochrane.18
Twitter: https://twitter.com/charliecochrane
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2727135.Charlie_Cochrane
Blogs: https://charliecochrane.livejournal.com
and https://charliecochrane.wordpress.com/
Website: https://www.charliecochrane.co.uk

What was it like to be a woman Army officer and West Point cadet in a male dominated environment in the 1970s? Find out by reading Refined by Fire and Trailblazers, two historical fiction books by Ruth VanDyke and Yvonne Doll.

Book 1: Refined by Fire:

Book 2: Trailblazers

YouTube link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rh11Gcpimoo

Except from Trailblazers:

Anne leaned forward a bit as Maura resumed in a reflective, quiet tone, “He told me he had some sparkling mineral water and nuts in his room and a nice balcony with two chairs and a small table we could sit at. I told him that sounded wonderful. We were no sooner in the room when Eric reached over to touch my face and kiss me.” Smiling contentedly, Maura whispered, “I just felt like I was floating on a cloud. He picked me up, laid me on the bed.” Blushing, Maura paused, “Eric ran his fingers through my hair, told me how much he wanted me and asked if I wanted to get undressed myself or have him undress me. That’s when it hit me, and I freaked out a bit.”

“What happened?” Anne asked a bit tersely.

“Well, I hate to admit it, but I started shaking and couldn’t find my voice. He was so sweet and concerned. He asked me what was wrong and I told him that I wanted him very much, but I was really scared.”

Anne realized later that she had bitten her lip in an effort to not scream at Maura for dragging the story out, but managed to stay silent and appear nonchalant as Maura haltingly continued.

“He was so sweet and confused and asked me what he had done to scare me. That’s when I burst into tears and told him, it was nothing he had done. I was just nervous, because this was my first time and I wasn’t really sure what to do.” Maura giggled quietly at the reminiscence of Eric’s reaction to her announcement that this was her first time.

“You’re killin’ me Maura! Did you guys do it?” she asked bluntly.

“Yes, eventually,” Maura giggled again.

Throwing her arms up in mock surrender, Anne said, “Okay, I don’t need every detail, but could you please put me out of my misery and finish this story?”

Maura chuckled quietly, “Sorry I don’t remember all the details, but my confession obviously surprised, no, shocked him. He said something like, ‘Oh shit, no!’ I just nodded yes and he got up from the bed, walked over to the small cabinet that had the mineral water and a bottle of scotch, and took a huge gulp of Scotch directly from the bottle.”

Anne was leaning forward again, listening intently as Maura quietly continued.

“He turned around and told me he was sorry. He didn’t realize I was a virgin and told me to get off the bed, and he’d take me to my room.”

“Oh Maura!” Anne said in a hushed, tone of voice.

Maura nodded, “Oh it gets worse.” Maura was now emotionally ready to share the highly charged atmosphere that night. “I burst into tears and told him I didn’t want him to take me to my room, that I knew he was a big playboy and I wasn’t making any demands on him, but had already decided that I wanted him to be the first.”

Anne didn’t quite know what to say at this point, so she just sat there until Maura resumed her tale.

You tried to move the pieces on the picture, right? LOL

Today’s scheduled guest is a no-show, so you’re stuck with little ole me again. I found a very cool website recently when I was brainstorming fun things to do here. Do you like jigsaw puzzles? This one’s not terribly hard! Just click on the cover-button below to give it a whirl, then hit the back button to come back and enjoy a scene from the book!

35 DreamofMe

An excerpt from the story featured in the puzzle…

When the moon was high above them, Sam and Ash said their farewells and he held open the Warricks’ gate, letting Ash pass. The scent of oranges followed her, and he drew a deep breath.

“I like your friends,” Ash said.

At her quiet words, Sam reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. But he didn’t let her go. And since she didn’t tug it away, he released a sigh. He liked the way this physical connection felt. Walking close together. Their fingers intertwined. When she leaned her head against his shoulder, he knew she let down her guard, and his chest swelled. Since he’d never brought a woman around his SEAL friends before, the moment felt bigger. Their approval of this woman only cemented the thought that she was The One. “They liked you,” he said softly.

“They had some pretty interesting stories about how they met their fellas. Suri said their connection was ‘insta-love’.”

“Danger has a way of bonding people in an instant.”

“Like you and your SEAL buddies.”

“Yeah.” The warm sand shifted beneath his feet as they approached the cottage.

She angled her head toward him. “Makes me almost wish for a firefight.” And then she laughed. “Sorry. I know how that sounds…like I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about.”

“I bet you have pretty good idea, Ash. I get what you’re saying. But you’re wrong. Maybe we don’t have drug runners on our tails, but you and I have something else pretty traumatic that’s drawing us together.” He tensed, waiting for her response.

“We have Marc,” she whispered. “You never said how he saved your life. But I’ll tell you the way he saved mine.”

Sam already knew the story, but he kept silent as she described responding to the robbery, the man hidden behind the door. From the tension in her voice, he knew the experience would forever haunt her.

“I think, all the time, that I shouldn’t have ducked. That I should have taken the shot. Maybe the bullet would have embedded in my vest. Maybe I would have pulled through.” She drew a deep, shuddering breath.

His gut twisted. She was guilt-ridden over her actions, reliving the moment over and over her mind, second-guessing her decision. Something he could relate to. But he knew how futile that was, and that she had nothing to feel guilty about. One of them would have died. The one left behind would forever be marked. He halted, turned, and drew her into his arms, cupping the back of her head to coax her to lean against his chest.

She was quiet, but her hot tears soaked the shoulder of his shirt. Slowly, her arms encircled him, and she leaned closer.

Skimming her skin through her thin dress with his hands, he gave her comfort while he learned the strength of her back, the sweet indent of her narrow waist. With her small, soft breasts pressed against his chest, he was content to stand on that spot, would have done so for hours just for the gift of holding her.

But she stirred and leaned back; her face tilted away. Moments later, her gaze met his, and he didn’t stop to think. He bent forward and sealed his mouth over hers.

What he’d intended was a chaste kiss, but her lips parted beneath his, opening herself to his touch. He groaned. The kiss deepened as each stroked the other’s tongue and their lips suctioned together. His cock slowly filled, and her belly rubbed against it.

Pulse racing, Sam broke the kiss. “Aislin?” He couldn’t put his question into words. Whatever she wanted of him, she’d have to take.

She swallowed. “Sam…” Her gaze dropped to his chest while her hands stroked his back. “I’d like…to be…with you.”

Sweet, sweet Ash. He closed his eyes and hugged her close again. “Whatever you need, sweetheart.”

“This isn’t about need,” she whispered. “I want…you.”

He cupped her cheek with one hand and slipped his thumb under her chin to lift her face. Her tears were gone now. Her glossy gaze was steady.

Taking a moment, he searched her expression, looking for any signs of hesitancy. He gave her a nod, and then stepped away, holding out his hand.

Smiling, she reached for it, and they held tight as they walked the rest of the way to her bungalow in silence.

Purchase Dream of Me