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It’s almost here….. Merry Christmas
23 Monday Dec 2019
Posted in Uncategorized
Tag Archives: Christmas
Have Yourself a Merry Cornish Christmas
20 Wednesday Dec 2017
Posted in blogging
Deck the halls with the usual boughs
26 Sunday Nov 2017
Posted in Author Interviews, blogging, Romance, Uncategorized, writing
Shey, aw come on fellahs, cos I take out things like my ancient fairy that’s only got one arm, not looking at anyone here…….
and the plastic Santa my mum got in Hongkong just after the war …and all is good with the world.
Christmas is often a looking back. But it’s not all about nostalgia. For me it was everything that went into the making of that day, no matter where people were in their lives, what they had, didn’t. And I think it’s almost a ritual where we hold onto something small in order to hold onto something bigger.
Shey. Yeah but what she is really holding onto is so much bigger. It’s the order of the life she’s made for herself, the house she’s poured everything she has, including herself, into, since losing her husband and child one dark and stormy night. On page one she’s just lost that house and everything in it. What do you do when you have nothing, not even the Christmas garlands, the clothes on your back? Do you give up? Succumb to the fact you’re so cursed, everything you touch turns to ashes– because it does? So, being a corpse in many ways why should it matter?
Or, because these things are all you have left and you’re not quite the corpse you think, do you make a stand, knowing what you are throwing on the table doesn’t matter. isn’t worth a worn farthing? Whoever touches you will die anyway. A problem shared is a problem halved after all, is this woman’s motto.
Shey. Indeed there will be a hamster reference.
Shey. Last book, a two headed hamster. This one a mealy mouthed hamster. Of course the whole thing is fanciful.
Shey. When you finish it. 85 thou words is good dudes but you need to stop fiddling with the Christmas decs
and finish it. Then you need to decide what publishing route to take on this one. But if it’s the one I think you’re considering, it should be Spring. You can do the cleaning first. Dear little dudes, I do hope this has got you into the spirit of Christmas. Thank you for letting me on my own blog.
Extract.
“Then… if you didn’t win…”
“No. I suppose that’s what I meant when I said I wasn’t a gentleman.”
“I’m sorry, Mr…Mr Wryson, you will think me vague but the truth is I really don’t understand what you being, or not being a gentleman, has to do—”
“I’m acting on behalf of my employer.”
“Your employer?”
So it was true? She’d lost Doom Bar Hall. Still, she’d made this decision before this man walked in here. How he looked, how old he was, who he was, had made no difference then. Why should it now? She’d die sooner than let this place go.
“He thought there would be difficulties you see.”
“Apart from my brother lying drunk on the floor there, I can’t imagine how.”
“Well he did. And that was why he asked me to spy out the lie of the land. After all, this is quite a house to lose–”
“Do you think I don’t know that? That is why my offer is the same because I don’t intend to lose it–”
“Especially when there’s past associations.”
“Past associations.” She resisted the urge to finger her throat, which prickled as if a moth’s wing was stuck in it. “What do you mean?”
“I mean my employer once lived—not in the house itself—but on the estate, and is known to you.”
“Known?”
She swallowed the astonishment sitting suddenly like ice in her mouth. There was only one man she could think of who had done that but of that one man, she did not want to think. Not when the blood drained from her face, the floor loomed so perilously close she struggled to stand in her black slippers and Orwell staggered to his feet.
“Dstny…old gal, I triled to tell you. But you…you…”
“Old? How many times have I told you not to call me that? Twenty five is hardly old. What it is, roughly, on average, is how many times you call me that in a day.”
“Anyway, you’re nlot seris…”
“Says the man who has just cost us this place.”
“Unless the name Divers O’Roarke is unfamiliar to you, Miss Rhodes?” Gil Wryson’s voice was oiled velvet.
“Divers O’Roarke?”
How did she say the name as if it was nothing to her, the name of the man who had cursed them, cursed her loudest of all?
Because she must.
“No. I believe I have vague memories of him.”
“Good, because he is waiting outside. I will be sure to pass the details of your offer to him if you still desire it.”
Before she could think whether she did or not, whether the word desire was putting it rather strongly, or she should change her mind, a footfall sounded in the candlelit doorway behind her.
“Good evening, Destiny,” clanged the sounding bell of hell and that damnably soft, Irish voice, she recognised from that same place. “I see you haven’t changed one bit.”
Interview with the Time Mutant.
23 Friday Dec 2016
Posted in Guest bloggers, heroes, heroines, Romance, time travel, writing
Morte.
‘Fraid not. That honor goes to Mitchell Killgower.
Morte.
But Mitchell and me are kind of related. I’m a descendant.
Morte
One thousand years.
Morte
Christ no. That would mean doing Brittany the heroine.
Morte.
Put together. Brittany’s your worst nightmare. But hey that’s not why. She’s also my great I have never counted how many times grandmother.
Morte.
Cos she gets it right. This thing we have to do, or be doomed forever, unless we can find some poor unsuspecting stranger to ensnare.
Morte
I don’t spend it there. Nup. I spend it wherever. I have spent it chasing nymphs through the glade of Mount Olympus, doing battle with the Mongol hordes, nothing to the shoppers on Seventh Avenue. And please, please can we just not mention the Victorians?
You might say with this condition I have, I don’t get a lot of choice.
Morte.
You betcha.
Morte.
Sure it is little fellah. Ain’t nothing to be scared of.
Morte
Matter of fact I brought yah this.
Morte’s Hell-fire cookies.
Morte.
It’s what all the best Time Mutants eat at Christmas.
Morte
Have a good one, little fellahs.
Morte
Well, ain’t that a pity. Still more I can’t say.
Morte
Oh okay. it’s real simple actually.
Have yourself a merry time mutant Christmas
18 Sunday Dec 2016
Posted in blogging, Romance, time travel, writing
‘I can kill you if I want,’ Seasonal greetings and Viking thralls.
07 Wednesday Dec 2016
Tags
Ann Fields, books, Carolee Croft, Christmas, Loving Lady Lazuli, Reviews, Thralls, Viking Customs, Vikings, writing
Loving Lady Lazuli – A Book Review https://annfields.com/2016/12/04/loving-lady-lazuli-a-book-review/ via @ann_fields
https://caroleecroft.wordpress.com/2016/12/06/book-review-loving-lady-lazuli-by-shehanne-moore/ via @CaroleeCroft
A fourth quote. Two reviews and the kindness of strangers.
28 Monday Nov 2016
Have yourself a merry Viking Christmas
23 Wednesday Dec 2015
A Black Wolf Blogger Award and the dream of a good Yule
04 Friday Dec 2015
Posted in Author Interviews, blogging, writing
Twelve Nights, four shortbread recipes and some Blue Moon Romance
19 Thursday Nov 2015
Tags
Blue Moon lake Series, Christmas, Kensington Lyrical books, recipes, Romance, Sharon Struth, Shortbread recipe, Twelve Nights
Twelve Nights: A Blue Moon Lake Novella
bySharon Struth ISBN: 978-1-60183-637-3 Publish Date: 11/10/2015 Format: ePub
Book Blurb:
“Struth has a gift for layering stories within stories while keeping them all connected.”—Library Journal “Struth is an author to watch!”—Laura Drake, author of RITA-award winner The Sweet Spot “Sharon Struth writes a good story about love and loss. She knows her characters and has a path she wants them to take.”—Eye on Romance.
Every Christmas is a reminder of their love. This one could be a second chance…
True love waits forever… For Erik Lindholm, it’s been a long climb to the top of his company. Now, as president he has the power to bring his vision to life and speed his company in bold new directions. If that means a complete staff overhaul, so be it. If that means firing the woman who left his heart in tatters fifteen years earlier, it’s a business
decision, not personal… Beryl Foster is highly competent and respected by everyone at the office. But rumors of a big shake-up are rampant and—surprisingly, scarily—Beryl’s job as CFO is on the line. Fifteen years ago she made a decision to put her career before everything else. It was also the last time she and Erik shared a life together. Every Christmas is a reminder. This one could be a second chance…
Book Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wq5-jrLJn9k&feature=youtu.be
About the Author:
Sharon Struth is an award-winning author who believes it’s never too late for a second chance in love or life. When she’s not writing, she and her husband happily sip their way through the scenic towns of the Connecticut Wine Trail. Sharon writes from the small town of Bethel, Connecticut, the friendliest place she’s ever lived.
SHARE THE MOON, book one in the Blue Moon Lake Romances, is a finalist for a RONE Award and a Chatelaine Award for Romantic Fiction! Look for series book two, Harvest Moon (12/22/15), and Twelve Nights, A Blue Moon Lake Christmas Novella
(11/10/15).
Buy Links:
Amazon/ Barnes & Noble / Kobo / Google / Apple / Amazon UK
Social Media
Goodreads
Excerpt:
Beryl perched on the tips of her sling-back pumps and tried to catch an early glimpse
of whoever had followed Saul inside. Nothing stood out but familiar faces. She returned to her normal stance as a knot twisted tight in her stomach.
“In selecting my replacement, I asked myself one question. Who could take the top-notch crew I have here now and guide Global to great heights in the future? Although we possess huge talent within our fine organization, I wanted a fresh take on the business and decided to search outside of our four walls.”
Disappointment rushed through Beryl. Time to update her résumé, just in case.
“So, without further ado, I’d like you to welcome the new president of Global Business Solutions—believe it or not a former employee of our firm—Erik Lindholm.”
Beryl’s body numbed. Loud applause faded in the background as his name pounded inside her skull. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible.
Erik stepped up to the platform and shook Saul’s hand. Beryl blinked, thinking this might be a bad dream, a hallucination, or one too many trips to the bar.
Darcy touched Beryl’s arm, ruling out the first two. “A former employee?”
Beryl was too stunned to speak or even nod. Erik’s dirty-blond hair was still parted on the side and worn short, with thick wisps sweeping his high forehead. He smiled, making the dimpled cleft in his chin deepen and softening the rugged angles of his sculpted face. Old emotions bubbled to the surface. Love. Happiness. Anger.
Erik shook hands with employees seated near the podium, his smile still as confident as it had been years ago. Last she’d heard, Erik worked in Chicago and teetered at the top of the corporate ladder with the Holder Group, a competitor of Global’s who could never quite beat her firm’s status as number one in the industry. The same firm Erik had gone to after they split up nearly fourteen years ago.
“Did you ever hear of this guy before?” Darcy whispered in Beryl’s ear.
Beryl nodded, her gaze stuck on the man she’d almost married.
shehanne moore 