Wednesday, August 30, 2017

Welcome Jean Grant

Writers feel inspired everywhere. It may be from daydreaming, my most common culprit, or from travels, daily living, personal stories, and drives along scenic roads or during the morning commute. Sometimes subconsciously we weave parts of our own life story into our books.
My mother passed away when I was 25. Although I’ve been blessed with an amazing mother-in-law and motherly aunts, I lack the ability to call my mom to ask her questions about parenting or when I need to ask about her family’s medical history or to just chat, seeking a comforting shoulder. My heroine in A Hundred Kisses, Deirdre MacCoinneach, has suffered the same fate, except her mother died when she was a child and Deirdre has a special ability to sense the lifebloods – the emotions and auras – of those around her. She lives in a time where women with such ability are thought to be witches. Her father is no help, for he carries his own memories and scars of losing his soulmate.
So what’s a determined lass to do? Well, seek answers from a long lost aunt on a distant, mystical Scottish isle of course. Deirdre refuses to let life’s misgivings get in the way of happiness. Perhaps there she can reconnect with her kin and find the piece that has been missing in her life. There, she can embrace her gift. There, she can feel her mother’s spirit once again.
Likewise, what’s this writer gal to do? Well, of course, dedicate my first novel to my mother. A poet and artist herself, I know she’d be proud…for her spirit lives on in me and my writing.


Two wedding nights. Two dead husbands.
Deirdre MacCoinneach wishes to understand her unusual ability to sense others’ lifeblood energies…and vows to discover if her gift killed the men she married. Her father’s search for a new and unsuspecting suitor for Deirdre becomes complicated when rumors of witchcraft abound.
Under the fa├žade of a trader, Alasdair Montgomerie travels to Uist with pivotal information for a Claimant seeking the Scottish throne. A ruthless baron hunts him and a dark past haunts him, leaving little room for alliances with a Highland laird or his tempting daughter.
Awestruck when she realizes that her unlikely travel companion is the man from her visions, a man whose thickly veiled emotions are buried beneath his burning lifeblood, Deirdre wonders if he, too, will die in her bed if she follows her father’s orders. Amidst magic, superstition, and ghosts of the past, Alasdair and Deirdre find themselves falling together in a web of secrets and the curse of a hundred kisses…


She sensed no colors in the murky, lifeless water, and it was freeing. All breath escaped her. Muted visions passed before her eyes—her mother, her father, Gordon, and Cortland. Just a moment longer, she thought…
Suddenly, a burst of warm light invaded her thoughts as air filled her lungs. Red-hot hands burned her shoulders and ripped her from her icy grave. She breathed life into her body. She coughed, gagging on the change.
Muffled words yelled at her.
Oh, God, so hot. His fingers were like hot pokers. Her head pounded as she slowly returned to the present. Heat radiated from her rescuer. Somebody had pulled her from the water.
“Hush, lass. You nearly drowned.”
His voice was as soothing as a warm cup of goat’s milk on a winter’s day. A red-hot glow emanated from his body. Never before had she felt such a strong lifeblood, and it nearly burned her. She struggled in his arms to get free. She blinked, only seeing a blurry form before her. “Release me!”
She splashed and wriggled, and he did as told. She clambered to the shoreline. Numb and shaken, she began to dress. It wasn’t easy as she fumbled with slick fingers to put dry clothes over wet skin. She instantly regretted her naked swim. She pulled on her long-sleeved white chemise first.
She faced the forest, away from her rescuer. He quietly splashed to shore. His lifeblood burned into her back. He wasn’t far behind, but he stopped. She refused to look at him until she was fully clothed, not out of embarrassment of her nudity, but for what had just happened. He released a groan and mumbled under his breath about wet boots. His voice was not one of her father’s soldiers.
When she put the last garment on, her brown wool work kirtle, she squeezed out her sopping hair and swept her hands through the knotty mess. She fastened her belt and tied the lacings up the front of the kirtle. Blood returned to her fingertips, and she regained her composure. Belated awareness struck her, and she leaned down and searched through her bag for her dagger. She spun around.
She gasped as she saw the man sitting on the stone-covered shoreline, his wet boots off. Confusion and the hint of a scowl filled his strong-featured face. She staggered back, caught her heel on a stone, and fell, dropping the dagger. Dirt and pebbles stuck to her wet hands and feet, and she instinctively scrambled away from him.
His glower, iridescent dark blue eyes, and disheveled black hair were not unfamiliar. Staring at her was the man she had seen in her dream—it was the man from the wood.
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Jean M. Grant is an author, former scientist, education director, and mom. Her niche in fiction is romance and women’s fiction. She also enjoys writing non-fiction articles for family-oriented and travel magazines and is seeking publication of an autism-angle children’s picture book series. Jean spends her free time tending to her flower gardens, tackling the biggest mountains in New England, and advocating for autism awareness. She is currently writing the prequel for A Hundred Kisses.
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Twitter: @JeanGrant05

Monday, August 28, 2017

The End of Summer

This is a big week for me.

It’s the first week without The Princess and I’m adjusting to being a family of three (actually, since Banana Girl is at band camp, I’m not sure the adjustment has begun). I’m trying not to text my requests and nags too much, and I’m trying to let her initiate the contact, even though I really, really, really want to know what’s going on. Walking by her room is jarring—not only is she not in it, but it’s CLEAN! Between the emptying and organizing I made her do before she left, and the vacuuming and dusting the cleaning ladies did as soon as she left, it doesn’t look like her room. I almost miss the One Direction cardboard cutout.
Someone left this on the road in front of my house. Every time I see it, I wonder where the kid is, kind of like every time I walk by her room, I wonder where The Princess is. Sigh.

I have a book releasing on Friday. In the Moment is a standalone (not part of a series) and I can’t wait for people to read it! It’s not my first book release, but it’s just as exciting as if it were. I’ll be on social media all day promoting and celebrating, so stop by and visit me.

I’m hosting a Facebook party on Friday as part of my celebration with lots of other authors. Feel free to pop in, say hello and win some books and gift cards.

And, I just signed a contract for the second book in my Serendipity series (Addicted to Love was the first book)! I filled out the manuscript information form, which goes to my editor and lets her know to begin her first round of edits on the manuscript. That means I should be getting her edits in about a week. I also filled out the cover art form with my vision for the cover. I’m hoping it will closely resemble Addicted to Love, since it’s a series and I’d like all the books in the series to look cohesive. Based on the timing, I anticipate the new book, Five Minutes to Love, to release in the late winter/early spring (barring unforeseen circumstances).

So, we’ll see how everything plays out. Enjoy the end of your summer!

Wednesday, August 23, 2017

Please Welcome K.K. Weil!

Thanks so much for having me today, Jennifer. I’m so happy to be here!
When I was thinking about a setting for Some Whisper, Some Shout, I knew I wanted to write something a little different. I’m a native New Yorker, and my other books took place in NYC. I loved writing about that setting, but for this one, I was looking for a change. I knew I wanted to make my heroine, Jolie, run a small restaurant through which she could do charity work and help the homeless. So I thought, what would be a good location for that kind of story?
It didn’t take long for me to come up with the Jersey Shore. I’ve been living in New Jersey for years, and the Shore has so many fun things to offer, especially with its boardwalks. A little fast-food shop tucked into a fictitious Shore town seemed perfect. Like Jolie, I grew up on the beach (in NY though, not in NJ), so it was easy to write about her connection with and draw to the ocean.
I suppose the next question would be where the idea of a creperie came from. Well, years ago, I took a wonderful trip to Paris. While I was there, I tried all different kinds of crepes in lots of places all over the city. But my absolute favorite one wasn’t in a fancy restaurant. It was from a tiny crepe truck on the side of the street. I bought a crepe from the vendor and just walked the Paris blocks, exploring, for what seemed like hours (though my delicious crepe probably only lasted seconds J). When I thought of that memory, the decision to make Jolie’s shop into a creperie was easy.

One of the most fun parts of writing Some Whisper, Some Shout was coming up with funny, silly names for the crepes. Jolie likes to wait for inspiration and then she uses a play on words for each unique crepe, like “Quiche Exclaim”, which has similar ingredients to a normal Quiche Lorraine, but she adds some spicy peppers and tabasco sauce to give it kick. I loved sprinkling the crepe names throughout the book to give it a little something extra.

Devices. Jolie’s got tons of them. Coping mechanisms that ensure she’s not falling victim to the mental illness that’s taken hold of both her brother and father. Helping the homeless gives Jolie much needed consistency. But when a stranger struts into her Jersey Shore creperie, writing cryptic songs on napkins and then disappearing, her world becomes anything but routine.
Reed can play the soul out of his saxophone, but he’s hiding something. Why else would he reveal so little about himself, or plan one secluded, albeit eccentric, date after another? And what’s in that backpack he carries everywhere? Then again, with her distressed brother missing, an estranged mother returning home, and a feisty grandmother acting weirder than usual, Jolie can’t decipher whether her suspicions are valid or dangerous delusions.
When inexplicable slashings of the homeless occur in her otherwise safe town, Jolie’s devices begin to fail.
“Come here.” Reed took my arm and pulled me toward him. Then he eased my shoulders down so I was sitting in his lap, straddling him. “Tell me.”

“Tell you what?” It was such an obvious stall tactic I would have laughed if I weren’t so sad and embarrassed.

“Jolie.” He watched me and waited for me to speak with that same expression he wore the first time he spoke—as if he already understood me. It made no sense. It was impossible, but it made me want to open up to him in ways I never did with anyone else.

“You must think I’m…”

“Crazy?” He chuckled.

That word. That word that I despised, that struck my last nerve. “No, not crazy.” I stood from his lap, but he was too fast. He held my hips in place until I sat back down on him of my own accord.

“Okay, not crazy,” he said once I was back where he wanted me. “How about stunningly beautiful?” He kissed my lips tenderly.

“I’ll take that one.”

“So do you want to tell me now?”

“I thought you said I didn’t have to,” I said, but, oddly, part of me hoped he’d push.

“You don’t.” He brought his face away from mine and waited for me to lead the conversation. He wouldn’t shy away from the topic. If I didn’t want to talk about it, I’d have to change the subject. For the first time, I wanted to discuss Tristan with someone other than Mamie.

“My brother is sick.” I couldn’t look Reed in the face. Instead, I found a small chocolate stain on his shirt that he must have gotten from one of Mamie’s pastries, and traced over it with my pointer. “He’s got”—I hadn’t spoken the word in so long I didn’t know if it would still fall from my lips—“schizophrenia.”
Reed sighed against my finger. “I’m so sorry, Jolie.”

“He was diagnosed at nineteen as soon as he started exhibiting symptoms. We knew what to watch for because, well, because my father had it too.”

He took my hand and brought my fingers to his lips, holding them there. I fought to keep the tears from my eyes. I’d already broken down once tonight. I didn’t plan on doing it again

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The Wild Rose Press  -

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Author Bio:
K.K. Weil grew up in Queens, but eventually moved to New York City, the inspiration for many of her stories. Weil, who attended SUNY Albany as an undergrad and NYU as a graduate student, is also a teacher. She enjoys writing her own dramas and lives near the beach in New Jersey, where she is at work on her next novel.

Monday, August 21, 2017

T-4 Days

The Princess leaves for her first year of college Friday.

Did you know we have to buy things for her? Like for her dorm room and clothing and towels and bedding and decorations? Did you?

Because I thought I did. I’ve been saying we need to go shopping since she sent her acceptance (and our deposit) via email in April. But for some reason, I, an English-speaking mother, was apparently speaking Swahili. Cool! I didn’t know I had that talent. Wonder what other hidden ones I have.

She’s been going working every day and going out with friends almost every night. I’ve suggested we take a day here or there and get some shopping done. If she was in a good mood, I was ignored.

I finally was able to convince her to do a little bit a few weeks ago—okay, the “little bit” is questionable when it comes to fitting into my car. But we still have a lot more to do. And no matter how often I suggested it, well, you know. I’m only her mother after all.

And then I started getting panicked texts from her while she was out with her friends.

Mom, we NEED to go shopping!
When would you like to go?
How about tonight?
No, I’m going out.
No, I’m going out.
This weekend?
Stop pressuring me!

Fun times.

We’re going today, because she went with her friends and saw all the things they were buying and realized she’s going to have a heck of a time showering without anything to shower with.

Please send chocolate.