Wednesday, November 30, 2022

Review Tuesday Moved to Thursday: A Reluctant Santa by Adriana Kraft – #HolidayRomance #MatureRomance #ReviewTuesday @AdrianaKraft

A Reluctant Santa cover

A Reluctant Santa by Adriana Kraft

Extasy Books, 2022

Despite the impression you might get from the majority of romance books available, some people are older than forty. Furthermore, the craving for love – as well as the desire for sexual pleasure – do not suddenly vanish as one ages, though the blind, hormone-driven frenzy of young lust might subside. If anything, mature romance is more nuanced and emotionally satisfying. People with some experience of life usually understand themselves and their needs better than twenty-year-olds. Most people in their fifties, sixties or beyond know something about relationships that work, versus those that do not.

And of course everyone knows that older men, and older women, make better lovers...!

I’ve written a few mature romance tales myself. As an official senior citizen, I’m always on the lookout for stories that handle love and sex between older people with realism and respect. Thus, when I read a pre-release snippet from Adriana Kraft’s holiday tale A Reluctant Santa on her blog, I was eager to get an ARC.

A Reluctant Santa chronicles the early stages in a relationship between Carol, a widow, and Cliff, a divorcé, both in their early fifties. Set up on a blind date by their friends, they’re surprised but pleased to discover the level of comfort and connection they feel in one another’s presence. There’s a spark of physical attraction, too, but both are cautious about acting on this. They’re not shy, just deliberate. Carol, in particular, is quite blunt in specifying that she wants comprehensive STD test results before she’ll indulge in intercourse, but that she’s happy to engage in oral or anal activities while they’re waiting for the test outcomes. (I found this a bit of a stretch, actually, since many STDs can be transmitted by any genital contact, but this serves as a device to slow down their sexual relationship and build erotic tension.)

Holidays, of course, and especially the Christmas season, are emotionally fraught. Carol and Cliff both worry about spending holiday time together, building their own expectations as well as those of the people around them. The author does an excellent job conveying their conflicts. They want to be together and rejoice in their apparent compatibility, but hold back from assuming anything about their future.

Twenty-somethings are quick to label their latest amour as their soul-mate. (I was certainly guilty of this when I was that age.) Older people know better.

A Reluctant Santa has a fun, romantic ending, but I found myself wishing the story were longer. Perhaps Adriana Kraft will pen a sequel to explore the next chapter in this couple’s journey.


Is it ever too late to find happiness?

They’re in their fifties. Grief-stricken (her) and battle scarred (him) from their previous loves, they don’t want to risk more heartbreak, ever. They’ll have to take it slow, talk it through, test the waters carefully. Can they make it happen at this speed, get it done in a short story, and reap the benefits of sizzling sex at their age? Why not?

A new release from Extasy Books, available December 2nd.

What They’re Saying

A Christmas cracker - "A short, sweet and sexy Xmas romance that will bring festive hope to all the over 50'slove and a fulfilling sex life is not just for the younger generation.”

Pre-order link:


Tuesday, November 29, 2022

Incognito is now available in audio! #AudioBook #EroticRomance #MFRWHooks

Incognito Audio Cover

I just got the news that my multi-partner erotic romance Incognito: Secret Lives, Forbidden Loves is now available as an audio book. If you like to listen to your stories, this book is a real deal: over nine hours of steamy romance! And you can get the book for free, if you sign up for a new account at

Here’s a snippet to whet your appetite.


Shy and serious by day—insatiable by night.

During the day, Miranda Cahill works diligently on her doctoral thesis. At night, she has sex with strangers. Her secret life explodes when she realizes her masked partner at a kink club and the charismatic colleague courting her are in fact the same person – the one man who can teach her to accept her diverse desires, as well as to trust her heart.

The Hook

Passing a classroom, she glanced through the glass-paned door and saw Mark Anderson in front of two dozen students. She stopped to watch him. Although she could not hear his lecture, his face was animated. He smiled often, laughed occasionally, gave his students complete attention when they spoke. Pacing from one side of the room to the other like an actor on a stage, he moved with lithe grace. He used his hands, gesturing expansively one moment, clenching his fists dramatically the next. Occasionally he ran his fingers through his tousled brown locks, sweeping them back off his forehead.

Miranda found herself transfixed. His performance ran the gamut from the melodramatic to the comic. Just like his Dickens, she thought. There was an ache in her chest as she realized how attractive he was, how accessible he seemed. Not at all like the arrogant, mocking gentleman in her dream.

He was totally focused on his class, but suddenly he looked over at the door. Did he recognize her standing on the other side of the glass? She felt the intensity of his gaze, and it seemed that their eyes locked for a long moment. Miranda was embarrassed, as if she had been discovered engaging in some forbidden act. Blushing, she hastened away.

Mark found her fifteen minutes later in the lounge, drinking a cup of coffee, skimming a Xeroxed manuscript and trying to calm the silly beating of her heart. “Miranda!” Pouring himself some coffee, he sat down next to her. “What did you think of my first lecture?”

His manner was so friendly, she couldn’t help answering his warm smile. “Actually, through the glass I couldn’t hear anything you were saying. I was just admiring how much you were able to communicate with body language.”

Ah, yes, the fruit of my years in amateur dramatics. You might not realize that you are looking at the favorite leading man of the Kenosha Community Theatre. Why, everyone in southern Wisconsin had heard of Mark Anderson!”

You’re from Wisconsin?”

Alas, yes, but I’ve been trying to remedy that failing. Graduate school in San Francisco and London. Six months working on my dissertation on a remote island in Nova Scotia. Six months ‘sabbatical’ in Thailand. And now lovely Boston, which I am enjoying more every day.”

Miranda somehow got the notion that this comment had a personal dimension. She ignored the discomfort associated with that thought and forced herself to continue with the conversation.

Where are you living? Have you found a decent apartment?”

Actually, I’ve got a great place, on Pearl Street.”

In Chinatown?”

Exactly. On the third floor, above the Jade Garden Restaurant. It’s an old building, with tall windows and wooden floors. I look out on an alley, so it is relatively quiet. The only problem is, with the cooking smells that filter up from below, I’m always hungry!”

They both laughed, and Miranda felt marginally more relaxed.

What about you, Miranda? Where are you from?”

Born and bred in Cambridge. Spent my childhood playing in Harvard Yard.”

Miranda Cahill—you’re not related to Herman Cahill, the Shakespearean scholar?”

My father. He’s retired now, living in Florida. Obviously, I couldn’t do my graduate work anywhere but here, in his department.” Miranda sighed. “All the expectations are a bit of a burden, though. No one mentions it, but everyone knows that I’m his daughter.”

I’ll bet you were named after the character in The Tempest,” said Mark with a laugh.

His favorite play,” nodded Miranda. “It is a good thing that I wasn’t a boy, or he might have named me Prospero!”

So, what does your father think about your unconventional thesis?”

He refuses to comment. He can be something of a curmudgeon sometimes. In fact, I think he finds it embarrassing, but titillating.”

Well, I can understand his perspective.” There was an awkward moment of silence. Miranda stared at the bottom of her coffee mug. Mark finally spoke.

Look, I’ve got to run. I have a student conference in five minutes. But I’d love to talk some more. Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight?”

Miranda hesitated, nervous all over again.

I’m as good a cook as I am an actor, if I do say so. Do you like spicy food?”


Then I’ll cook Thai. Please, don’t disappoint me, Miranda.”

He looked so earnest, so open, and so darned attractive, Miranda could not say no. “What time?” she asked.

How about eight? It’s 17 Pearl Street, apartment 3B.”

Can I bring something?”

Just your lovely self,” said Mark. Then he noticed her blush, and made his tone more matter-of-fact. “You could bring a bottle of wine, if you felt like it. Red.”

Miranda smiled, sensing that he understood her ambivalence. “I have a bottle of Côtes de Rhone that my father sent for my birthday. I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.”

Seems very appropriate.” Mark glanced at his watch. “I really have to go, but I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

See you tonight,” said Miranda. Then she sat by herself for another ten minutes, waiting for her heartbeat to return to normal.



Buy Links


Kinky Literature:

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Audio - Narrated by Freya Victoria



Be sure to visit the other authors participating in today’s Book Hooks hop!

Monday, November 28, 2022

His thirst for revenge might kill them both - #UrbanFantasy #VampireRomance #BroodingHero @KateHillRomance

The Darkness Therein cover


Jocelyn has chased his nemesis for centuries. He swore that nothing or no one would stand between him and revenge on the creature that destroyed his life. That same rival leads Jocelyn to the one person who can reconnect him to the human race.

Art student Charlie has no idea that her family history binds her to a creature of legend--until he appears in the form of a tall, beautiful man with a thirst for revenge. The last thing she wants is to follow his orders, but if she intends to stay alive, she has no choice.

Note: The Darkness Therein has been previously published. This re-edited version contains additional scenes.


She blocked his overhead strike and lashed out so hard and fast with the end of her staff that she finally found her mark directly over his heart. The impact forced him to his knees. Clutching a hand to his chest, he leaned forward. His hair fell over his face, blocking his view of her overhead strike. It fell across the back of his head and knocked him downward so that he scarcely had time to break the fall with his hands. Instinctively his leg lashed out and swept her feet out from under her, sending her crashing to the grass.

Charlie hit the ground with a grunt and remained there for a few seconds, catching her breath. Jocelyn recovered first and sprang to his feet, offering her his hand. She took it, her gaze fixed on his.

Excellent,” he said. “You stunned even me.”

You weren’t expecting it.” She hated the quiver in her voice. Her hands trembled with the surge of emotions he’d aroused. Now that she’d calmed a bit, she realized why he’d been so awful. He’d deliberately taunted her into fighting him without holding back.

No, and I haven’t underestimated anyone in a very long time,” he admitted. “None of us are ever too old to learn.”

I’m sorry if I hurt you.” She tried pulling her hand from his.

Don’t worry about it. You needed to know you can fight us. Edrik is powerful, but you’re not necessarily at his mercy, not as long as you’re my apprentice.”

I couldn’t ask for a better teacher.” She said with heartfelt honesty.

Nor I a better student.” He dropped her hand, collected their weapons, and placed them against the wall. “I think that’s enough for tonight. You may go inside if you want. I’m staying here for a while longer to practice.”

Do you mind if I watch?” Not only did she find his athleticism aesthetically pleasing, but she learned from observing his technique. Settling herself on the wall, she stretched her arms and shoulders before she became so involved in him that she stared, motionless.

In the center of the yard, he practiced kata, a pre-planned series of movements resembling a powerful, graceful dance, though it was actually a mock fight against an imaginary opponent. She’d never seen anyone perform with his liquid grace and subtle power born from natural talent as well as centuries of practice. Watching the play of muscles beneath the black tank top that clung to his perspiring body, she imagined how it would feel to be enveloped in his sinewy arms.

As if sensing her thoughts, he turned to her, his dark eyes reflecting the torch flames, his lips parted slightly.

Lightning flashed in the distance. He gazed skyward just before fat raindrops fell through the trees. He approached, but to her surprise, instead of reaching for the staffs, he stepped between her legs, took her face in his hands and covered her mouth in a possessive kiss. Charlie’s heart raced. Moaning softly, she closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his lean waist.

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About the Author

Kate Hill is a vegetarian New Englander who loves writing romantic fantasies. When she's not working on her books, Kate enjoys reading, working out, watching horror movies, and researching vampires and Viking history. She runs the Compelling Beasts Blog that is dedicated to antagonists, antiheroes, and paranormal creatures. Kate also writes as Saloni Quinby.

Visit her online at Join her newsletter at

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Sunday, November 27, 2022

The genesis of a transformation – #Gratitude #Affirmations #Giveaway

Mariëlle S. Smith (Guest Blogger)

365 Days of Gratitude started with a friend sharing the daily gratitude prompts he’d been using for I don’t know how long. At the time, I’d been trying to create a gratitude practice, but nothing would stick. Until I started working with those prompts. Suddenly, returning to my practice each day became easy, and I started looking forward to taking those five minutes to sit down with my journal.

As my practice developed, I began to leave out some of those prompts my friend had shared with me. Others I modified, and I also brought in some new questions to answer, until I found a gratitude practice that fitted me perfectly.

My own practice brings me so much. It slows me down and reminds me to breathe deeply. It stops me from pushing myself too hard, too often. It brings me joy. Happiness. Appreciation, especially of the things that are so easy to take for granted. It reminds me of all I have going for me, no matter how horrid my day has been.

Seeing what my own practice did for me inspired me to create the 365 Days of Gratitude Journal. I found the practice so transformational, I couldn’t not share it with the world.

So I did, and it’s been wonderful to see people use it, and to hear how it’s transforming their lives as well. I even had people tell me they took the journal to their therapy appointments and how their therapists raved about it, saying they’d be recommending it to their other clients. I don’t think there’s a better compliment to be had and I’ll admit I had a little celebration the first time someone shared their therapist’s response to the journal.

About six months after the first volume was published, I got a nudge to create a second volume, in a completely different style. That’s how this volume, which users call the ‘pink one’, came about. I’m often asked whether I’m going to create a third volume, but I have no immediate plans to do so. I am toying with a charity edition to raise money for the many cat charities here in Cyprus and I’m also working on getting the journal translated in multiple languages—the first volume is now available in Greek and I’m already talking with my German translator—but I’ll be honest: I haven’t thought beyond that.

If the nudge comes, I’ll answer it, that’s for sure. I love creating these journals too much—and the work is much too rewarding—to ignore such a call if or when it arrives.


*** Now available in black-and-white AND full colour! ***

‘The more grateful I am, the more beauty I see.’ Mary Davis

Gratitude is not just about ATTITUDE.

Gratitude is about PRACTICE.

But how do you create a gratitude practice that sticks?

After the success of her first 365 Days of Gratitude Journal, writing coach Mariëlle S. Smith brings you Volume 2. Same journal but with an entirely different look!

After years of barely surviving her own emotional minefield, Mariëlle discovered the transformative power of practising gratitude. But, like no one else, she knows that cultivating an attitude of gratitude is easier said than done.

365 Days of Gratitude, Vol. 2 is an undated, guided journal. Complete with inspiring quotes, daily prompts, and recurring check-ins, it was designed to help you create a sustainable gratitude practice too.

Commit to the life-changing power of gratitude today and order your copy now!


I’m not here to sell you on gratitude. There are many articles and research papers I could be citing to convince you just how great practising gratitude is for you. I think you’re already aware of that, though. Perhaps you’ve read some of those articles and papers or maybe you just know it somewhere deep down—or not so deep down.

I’m not hooked on gratitude because it works wonders on my blood pressure and promises to help me sleep better. Although it probably does that, too.

I’m hooked on gratitude because it enables me to perceive everything in life as magical again. I’m hooked because I’m not the same person I was since I started practising it. And because I slip and return to being that anxious, burned out, overachieving workaholic as soon as I stray from the gratitude path—which happens far more often than I care to admit.

Gratitude is a commitment for life. I created this journal to help you commit and turn your gratitude practice into a sustainable one.

About the Author

Mariëlle S. Smith is a writer, writing coach, and editor. She lives in Cyprus, where she organises private writer's retreats, is inspired 24/7, and feeds more stray cats than she can count.

Contact Links







Purchase Links

All purchase links can be found on


Deluxe edition Amazon:

Barnes & Noble: Black-and-white edition:

Deluxe full colour edition:

Mariëlle S. Smith will be awarding a $25 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.


a Rafflecopter giveaway

Saturday, November 26, 2022

Charity Sunday for Shelter – #Homelessness #CharitySunday #FreeBook

Charity Sunday banner

It’s only a few days after Thanksgiving. I’m still musing on how fortunate I am – and how many individuals don't enjoy the same blessings. In particular, during the holidays I can’t help but think about people who are facing the Christmas season without a roof over their heads.

Shelter is something that many of us take for granted, but for some, it’s a luxury they literally cannot afford. The pandemic and the world-wide financial crisis have made the problem even worse.

Homelessness is a systemic problem that can only be solved by informed public policy. Alas, there’s no charity that I know which will increase the probability that local, regional or national governments will take the necessary steps to make affordable housing available to all.

However, there are many organizations that work to solve the immediate problems that face the unsheltered. One of my favorites is Rosie’s Place, a multi-service community center in Boston that offers women emergency shelter and meals, a food pantry, ESOL classes, legal assistance, wellness care, one-on-one support, housing and job search services, and community outreach. I’ve been an intermittent donor to Rosie’s Place for more than forty years. Indeed, if you go back through the Charity Sundays I’ve sponsored since 2017, you notice Rosie’s popping up at least once a year – often during the holiday season, when so many of us feel called to return home.


I’ll donate two dollars to Rosie’s Place for every comment I receive on this post. In addition, I’m giving away a copy of my holiday short story Slush to anyone who asks. Just tell me in your comment what ebook format you prefer.

Slush was the first book I ever self-published. It’s a holiday romance about a wealthy, entitled guy who gets mugged on Christmas Eve (in Boston, as it happens) and is rescued by a homeless person.



Hey, mister – you okay?”

The youthful voice filtered down the deep, dark hole to Ian’s flickering awareness.

Urgh.” That was his own voice, a groan that kicked up pounding echoes in his head. Irritated by his own incapacity, pushing the pain aside, he tried again.

I – uh – I don’t know...” He forced his heavy eyelids open, blinking to dispel the maddening blurriness, and tried to focus on the pale face hovering over him. “What – what happened?”

I think you were mugged. I found you unconscious in the alley, lying in the gutter next to some fancy car.” The teenager had a thin face with a toothy grin. A knitted Bruins cap pulled low over his ears hid the kid’s hair. His breath condensed into white clouds when he spoke.

A shiver wracked Ian’s body. Even that slight movement exacerbated the throbbing at the back of his skull. Damn, it hurt! And it was freezing in here!

Where am I?” Ian tried to sit up, impatient as always with any kind of weakness. “Ow – shit!” He sank back onto something yielding, breathing hard. A damp smell of mold assailed him, mixed with hints of motor oil and wood smoke.

Better not move,” the kid counseled. “You might have a concussion.”

Ignoring this advice, Ian managed to work himself into a half-sit. The softness beneath him was an old mattress, covered with a stained woolen blanket. He leaned against a plywood wall. Cold seeped through the thin barrier from the winter night outside, all the way through his coat and his shirt. His back muscles cramped and he shivered again. He glanced around the dim, crowded space, noting that the other walls and the floor were bare concrete.

Here – try this.” The younger man grabbed a thick wad of newspapers from a pile in the corner. “Tilt forward – yeah – that’s right.” He slipped the papers into the space between Ian’s back and the wall. They worked surprisingly well as insulation. The kid smiled, showing those even white teeth once again. “Better now?”

Ian nodded, then regretted it as the pain in his head surged. “How did I get here?”

The teen’s laugh was high and girlish as he gestured toward a rusty supermarket cart parked near the door in the plywood partition.

You’re joking!”

Nope. A sled might have been better on a night like this, though.”

But how... why...?”

The kid gazed at him, hands on his hips. “I couldn’t leave you there in the slush, could I? You would’ve froze to death, no question.”

Ian peered more closely at his savior. The teen – well, he might have been twenty, twenty one at most – looked plump in his miscellany of sweaters and sweatshirts. Underneath the bulky layers, though, he was slightly built. His hands, wrapped in orange mittens, were small. Bright red long johns showed through the holes in his ragged jeans. Despite the inclement weather, he wore no boots, only dirty sneakers, which looked soaked through. That observation made Ian realize how wet and cold he was in his own clothing.

He shivered again. “Don’t you have any heat in here?”

The kid shrugged. “I could light a fire, I guess. I don’t like to do that too often – makes it more likely someone will figure out I’m in here. But I suppose nobody’s going to be prowling around on Christmas Eve, ‘specially when it’s so miserable out.”

I hope you’ll visit the other bloggers participating in today’s Charity Sunday. Please, please – leave a comment and do a little to help homeless women in Boston. Don’t forget to let me know if you want the book!

Thursday, November 24, 2022

Action, humour, quirky characters and romance... #Medieval #Fantasy #Romance @DarylDevore

A Voice in the Air cover

About the Book

Leading an army of faeries and pixies into battle against mountain trolls was not what Cadi expected when she accepted the task of rescuing Ewen - the son of the Overseer of the Faeries.

Squire Ewen followed his liege into battle with a head full of romantic notions of knights, heroics, and damsels in distress. Being captured by a troll, thrown into a cave, and awaiting a hideous death was not how he had foreseen his adventure to play out.

Can Ewen stay out of trouble long enough for Cadi to rescue him? Will Cadi overcome her doubts and fears and bring her beloved Ewen home to Plucks Ridge?

Or will the petty evilness of The Scorned One defeat all and destroy the magickal realm?

If you love action, humour, quirky characters, and romance, then Daryl Devoré’s latest medieval fantasy romance – A Voice in the Air – is a must read.


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Excerpt – Opening scene

A cloud of dust rose above the road. The men were coming home. Those who lived. A chill shuddered through Cadi. Those who lived.

Would many return?

Would Ewen?

Calls sounded throughout the village of Plucks Ridge. “They return.”

They are coming!”

The men are back.”

Can ye see them?”

Women and children streamed from the homes and shops into the village square. The mass moved to the east, gazes searching the horizon for the sight of a loved one.

The soul-satisfying scent of freshly baked bread drifted past Cadi’s nose as Marwyn, the baker, stood next to her. His neck stretched to see over the crowd. His only son had gone to fight the creatures.

She visualized the last moment she saw Ewen, Marwyn’s son, seated proudly in his saddle, showing a brave face to his father’s worried one and his sister’s tears.

Would he return?

There!” A child’s voice rang out.

The crowd surged forward. Gazes scanned the vista. Ears strained to hear the pounding of hooves. Fists clenched. Fingers picked at sleeves. Nervous feet shuffled in the dirt. Souls trembled, terrified to learn the truth.

The first rider entered the village, not with the elation of returning, but with a slow, mournful clop-clop of an exhausted beast.

Sianna screeched then raced to him. Four young ones tumbled along behind. Parry slid off his mount, collapsing into his wife’s arms. His face and clothes were bloodied. His demeanour defeated. Sawly, the eldest son, grabbed the reins, leading the horse away.

At the sight of Parry’s injuries, a hush settled on the crowd. Cadi stepped aside. She had no husband, father, or son to greet. Ewen was not hers. She dreamt of the day when a knight’s squire and a barmaid became betrothed. She had privately wept when he’d left to fight the – dare she even think the word? When he’d left to fight the trolls.

She had heard the word whispered in the pub. The local men had gone to fight not a human enemy, but creatures too big and vicious to be imagined.

The Father Abbot sternly preached that there were no trolls, no dragons, nor no faeries. No magickal creatures walked the earth, only humans. Angels and demons were beings of God and Satan. She’d learned to silence her tongue after witnessing the brutality of the punishment for doubting the Father Abbot’s word.

A gasp from the crowd brought Cadi out of her thoughts.

Six more horses entered the village square. Six more wives or mothers screeched with gladness.

Then no more.

The crowd waited.

Hopes dwindled.

Fear consumed souls.

Thirty-three men had answered the call to fight. Seven broken men returned.

Damnation to the trolls.

Keep up with Daryl!

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Wednesday, November 23, 2022

Let me not forget... #Gratitude #Thanksgiving #ERWA #MFRWOrg

Joined hands

Image by Michal Jarmoluk from Pixabay

Today is Thanksgiving, of course. Since my family members are half a planet away, I won’t be celebrating with turkey and pumpkin pie. (My husband is allergic to poultry anyway, which has always made the holiday somewhat fraught!) It’s a work day for me, indeed one of the days when I have to endure my two and a half hour commute (there and back).

That’s fine, though. As tough as the trip sometimes is, it reminds me how fortunate I am to have found my current job, which is truly a perfect fit for both my talents and my personality. I’m willing to put up with the negatives in order to enjoy the positives, which honestly weigh far more heavily on the scale.

So I can focus today on the true meaning of Thanksgiving – gratitude. My life is full of blessings: decent health, love and companionship, relative financial security, satisfying and challenging work, and a fascinating, sometimes exotic but usually comfortable environment.

In particular, though, I want to say thanks today to all my writing friends and colleagues. In the twenty-plus years I’ve been publishing, I’ve become closer to some of my fellow authors than I am to my “real life” friends – even though in many cases I know them only through the Internet.

I’ve been a member/contributor/hanger-on at the Erotica Readers and Writers Association for almost my entire “career” and a member of Marketing for Romance Writers for almost as long. Both groups have been a tremendous source of enthusiasm, support, knowledge and yes, love. It has been a privilege getting to know these creative, offbeat and generous people.

In the last three years, the ERWA Storytime critique group has been a lifeline. The other members have suffered through close to three full-length novels with me, offering suggestions and corrections chapter by chapter. As I approach the end of the final Toymakers Guild book, I realize how much I’ve depended on their feedback and encouragement.

I’ve tried to give back whenever I can – critique groups don’t work unless everyone participates – but honestly I don’t know if it’s an even deal. That doesn’t really matter, of course. I am a huge believer in Writers’ Karma. It’s not about a bargain or an exchange. You help whomever you can. You get help back, not necessarily from the same source. But it’s all part of the flow of creativity and grace.

So if you’ve ever written me a review, or shared my promo with my readers, or given me a marketing tip, or helped me wrestle with some creative quandry – thank you!

I sincerely hope you’re as deeply fortunate as I am.