Now It Feels Real!! The Postman Just Arrived Arrrgh!! @Didi_Oviatt #newrelease #kdsuspense #amreading

wp_20170730_002.jpgNow it all feels even more real, to see my latest works in paperback, not just on Amazon in e-book. To feel it physically in my hand makes my heart race! Didi Oviatt and I done it!! Our debut work together  in one anthology all 50,000 odd words of it. So proud to have this author’s name on a cover with mine, she’s extremely talented and  a friendship has grown.  The covers look fantastic, even if I say so myself. Really chuffed with both books.  Didi and I will be back at the end of July… which is like next week! With Kim and Didi’s Suspenseful Collection spinning tales for you. I look forward to it.

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I’m Just Teasing… #amreading #kdsuspense

Of all the stories I wrote with this suspenseful chick across the pound Didi, this has to be up there as one of my favourite! Never seen before, bonus story #1 Guilty As Charged, In Self Defence…. Our Catherine is quite a character, and the ending will leave you with your mouth open. 🙂

Teaser:

Monday June 1st, 2016, California Supreme Court.

In the lady’s room, I look myself over. I feel good. I take in all the minor details. The sharp fringe of my blunt bob, minimal make-up, my best well-tailored black Chanel skirt suit, sky high red bottom Christian Louboutin heels. Perfect. I feel confident I’ve got this in the bag. I was raised a strict catholic by my mom, I bow my head in prayer before I walk out. Today as confident as I feel I’ll need God on my side. The prosecution lined up a good case. Naturally they have played on her as a money grabbing whore. She was a Las Vegas showgirl, doing what she had to do before she met that bastard. That does not give her a motive for murder… I hope.

***

“All rise please. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we’re here to hear the case of Mrs. Dennessa Chevelle. On trial for the murder of Ronald Chevelle.”

I watch an officer move over to Mrs. Chevelle, and hand her a bible to place her hand on. She gives her plea of not guilty and the show begins. The prosecution swim around her like sharks. A jumped up over confident suit, with way too much hair gel takes the center stage. He tries to break her down. I clinch my jaw, as my eyes watch him prance around the court room.

“Mrs. Chevelle, is it true you were a stripper before you met your late husband?”

“No, well yes but not a stripper I was a performer in Las Vegas. That’s how we met.”

“Right, right.  A performer.

The sarcastic chump uses quotation marks around performer, as he looks over at the jury. My anger rises.

“And how would you describe your financial situation at the time, stable? Or unstable?”

“I… I did not have much that’s true but I got by.”

All eyes rest on Mrs. Chevelle as he pushes her.

“Mrs. Chevelle, if you could please answer the question.”

A low voice leaves Mrs. Chevelle, she lowers her lashes to the ground.

“Unstable.”

“Unstable you say? Is it fair to say a man like Mr. Chevelle was desirable due to his financial status, maybe?”

The fuckin’ douche, he’s wasting no time. I get to my feet and call out to the judge.

“Objection!”

“Ms. O’Neil, please remain seated. As you were Mr. D’Costa.”

I look over at Mrs. Chevelle and hope she doesn’t fall for the trap.

“No, certainly not. How dare you assume such a thing. He was my husband, not a meal ticket!”

That-a-girl Mrs. Chevelle. I take a seat and breathe a sigh of relief. I look over at the jury. Predominantly female, excellent. I’ll let this shark paint whatever picture he wants of Mrs. Chevelle, in my defence case I’ll hit ‘em with the abused woman story and give them some shit the female jury members never got to read in Hello magazine.

***

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, as you can see the prosecution has tried to paint a picture of a money grabber, a whore and a stripper.”

I move closer to the jury, and slowly walk past the stand with confidence as I talk.

“The woman you see over there in that stand, is none of these things.”

I stop for a beat in front of a female juror around Mrs. Chevelle’s age.

“You see that lady over there, she was an abused woman, mentally, physically and emotionally.”

The female juror moves her eyes over to Mrs. Chevelle, she takes a closer look at her on the stand. Right on cue, Mrs. Chevelle blows her nose into her tissue and wipes her eyes. Perfect. I watch the women in the jury stand some more. Their faces move from pinched up discomfort to shock. Beautiful. I walk back across the room to center stage, and command their attention. ….. TO BE CONTINUED!!

 

A suspenseful novel with a twist. Eight short stories, by two suspense authors, from diverse backgrounds. From opposite sides of the Atlantic these stories have been created. One author started the tale and the other ended it. No discussion, no pre-planning, but yet their stories are seamless. With just creativity and the use of writing prompts, to craft one tale, with two different writers. This anthology of suspenseful, fast paced and engaging tales covers multiple genres. From heart felt romance, crime, fantasy, and steamy historical fiction. There is a story for everyone!

Steamy Historical Crime Fiction: It was The First Time I Killed A Man.

It’s 1972 and New York’s first female serial killer Lisa Vanacilli is in the hot seat again, ten years after her conviction of murder to the first degree and innocent plea. The ruthless but sexy reporter Tiffany Low cracks Lisa for a confession… at a price. Lisa is strong, courageous and says it how it is. This story has been extended due to reader’s demand. And is only for adult readers.

Psychological Fiction: Every Time I Hear That Voice From The Basement.

George appears to be harmless. The local neighbourhood geek on the outside, married to Jolene. In reality, he’s a very disturbed man. His path crosses with Dana, the local check out girl. This is a psychological suspense story with a twist.

Crime Fiction: The Entrance To The Tunnel Is His Only Way Out.

Juan is a wanted man, and an ex-gang member on the run from Atlanta to Mexico. With a hundred grand in cash stolen from his ex-boss, he meets an unlikely fate in Mexico. A fast-paced crime fiction story.

Contemporary Romance: When His Hands Run Up My Thighs I…

Love has no time limit, age limit or use by date. Sarah now in her fifties is reunited with her long-lost love Joshua. They last had contact in 1961. In the present day, thanks to the advancement of technology their paths cross. A heart-warming and modern tale, about long distance love, that will leave you warm inside.

Suspense: We Only Said Goodbye With Words, I Died A Hundred Times:

In 1963 Russian Femme Fatale Mila Petrov is London’s top Madam. Her entertainment house is booming, she has a team of London’s strongest women behind her. Unfinished business from her past creeps up and haunts her. It’s nothing she can’t handle. A suspenseful historical tale, with a strong femme fatale.

Fantasy: The Ones Who Live At The Bottom Of The Ocean, Come To The Surface.

A beautiful coming of age story, featuring sixteen year old Zoe and her mother May-Li. Myth becomes reality, as Zoe finds out who and what she really is. Her mixed descent reveals more than what meets the eye. This fantasy story is set against the backdrop of a Greek island and Hong Kong, China.

Suspenseful Crime Fiction: Guilty As Charged, In Self-Defence

California’s sassy, tough, and likeable defence lawyer Catherine has taken on a case so high profile, if she wins she’ll become a partner of Martin Law Firm. Defending forty six year old Mrs. Chevelle. An ex Las Vegas show girl, now a Hollywood wife, on trial for the murder of her high-profile husband. She claims she’s innocent. Readers are taken on a fast -paced journey on a mission to seek the truth.

Contemporary Fiction: It’s A Man’s Man’s World:

A beautiful modern tale showing the love and appreciation of a woman. James Brown said it right when he said, “it’s a man’s man’s world, but it would mean nothing without a woman or a girl.”

 

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National Novel Writing Month: My Progress Update & Sneek Peek at Romance Set in Paradise Book # 3 #nanowrimo #amwriting #romance

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Yes, thank you Lord family quality time, dinner, bath and bed time are complete. Late evening here in London and now and it’s time to get serious. We’ve just passed the mid-way point of National Novel Writing Month. I’m joining in for the second time. With all that’s happened so far this July, two books released in the space of one week of each other, it’s not surprising that I’ve had little time to work on my third addition to the Romance Set in Paradise series. I’m only 5,000 words into my target of now 20,000. This one’s a super short heartwarming yet steamy story set in Europe this time – Greece. With a more mature female lead.

I’ve been feeling writing stories set in a era that I love the 1950s- 1960s, especially since we used this era a bit over the last few months for The Suspenseful Collection Volume One, I’ve had my head stuck in this time frame. I particularly love the jazz scene I always have. Ya know when all those cool smoke filled jazz bars popped up. This style of music was just starting to kick in in the UK, from research we had our own take on the bebop style of music. I imagine women on stage with elegant dresses singing the blues, with piano and saxophone players in the background. I really like this era.

I’m writing this love story for my characters  using flashback, something I have done before in stories to tell a tale, but not to this area.

Anyways, here’s an unedited little snippet of what I’ve got so far. All writers taking part this July, I hope your word count is doing better than mine! We’ve got two weeks to get stuck in… here goes tonight I am working on it as I plan to have a weekend free of writing and have some much needed fun and celebration two books released in one month? I deserve a drink!

Excerpt: Book #3 Romance Set in Paradise – I’m not tellin’ you the title yet! 🙂

 

1960 Maurice’s Place, Oxford Street Central London

Jane slightly lifts the hem of her elegant black dress as she steps down from the stage. The crowd cheer and clap, begging her for more. She just gave them all she had, while singing a very heartfelt version of Smokey Robinson’s Who is Loving You? As much as she wants to be up there on the stage again, with all eyes on her she must take a breather. Her voice would not last the full week if she keeps singing with such heart, without a rest. Heads turn and smiles come her way as she walks confidently through the crowds. Through the smoke-filled room she heads over to the bar and takes a seat.

“You did great up there, Jane you sounded amazing.”

“Why thanks Jenelle, that means so much coming from you.”

“I mean it, don’t sell yourself short. You should seriously think about coming back with us to New Orleans when we return. We could do with a blue eyed soulful sista.”

Jenelle playfully laughs and places an arm around Jane’s shoulders. A dry martin slides up between them. Jane is still not quite used to the star treatment she receives every time she sings over at Maurice’s Place. She ponders Jenelle’s proposal as she places a thin smoke in its holder. Jenelle fires a match for her to light her smoke. After the first satisfying drag, she leans back in the high backed bar stool and looks around.

Maurice’s place has felt like home to her for almost a year now. At just sixteen years old she left school with decent qualifications, then bummed around for two years deciding what to do with her life. At seventeen years old she scored her first stage role at Maurice’s Place. She works behind the bar three nights a week and spends the other two on stage.

New Orleans would be like a dream come true, she has always loved to sing, but only started to take it seriously over the last year. Maybe New Orleans could give her the big break she wants. The Jazz scene in London is starting to pick up, just a year earlier Ronnie Scott opened up a new Jazz room in Soho, but thoughts of being on stage in the USA leave Jane with a twinkle in her eye.

The lights in the room dip, hushing the crowds relaxing in the comfy sofas and high back chairs, sitting around small round tables. All eyes move to the centre of the room. A group of three men set themselves up on the stage. One lead singer, one saxophone player and one piano player. The smooth vocals of the male lead singer float through the air, Jane is mesmerised by his showmanship and voice. But it’s the saxophone player who piques her interest. She studies him as his skillful fingers move over the his instrument. He’s lost in the music, he pulls Jane in.

“So what do ya say Jane?”

The corner of Jenelle’s lips turn up slowly as she watches her friend under the spell of the musicians on stage. Jane’s eyes are fixed on the saxophone player, her smoke has long reached the end and burnt out. Yet she holds it posed between her fingers as if it’s still smouldering. Jenelle laughs to herself and moves her hand over Jane’s vision, to snap her out of her daze.

“Earth to Jane, earth to Jane anyone home?”

“Gosh, I’m sorry Jenelle, did you say something?”

“Look at you! All caught up in the music… or is it Mr. Sax player?”

Jane moves her eyes away from the stage, and joins in the girly laughing with her girlfriend. Tipping her burnt out smoke in the ashtray, she reaches for another one. Before she answers Jenelle’s question she studies Mr. Sax on stage playing his tune some more, and sips her martini.

“My, he’s handsome don’t ya think Jenelle?”

“More than handsome, he sure can play too.”

“Hmm, I’ve never seen this band before have you?”

“Not here no, they have played over at Ronnie Scott’s a few times. I was over there just last week. They brought the house down at Ronnie’s!”

Jane meets Jenelle’s eyes.

“ Really, they were over at Ronnie’s place. Gosh, I can imagine, they sound great.”

“You never answered my question, what about New Orleans? I’m serious.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, of course?”

“You think I could make it over there? Would I be welcome in your community Jenelle?”

“Jane, don’t worry about skin colour, it’s not about that it’s about the music, the voice, the stage presence. All of which you have honey, don’t let that racial segregation shit get to you.”

“Hmm I guess so, you’re right.”

“Plus, that Martin Luther King, he’s doing all he can to help everyone in the USA move forward.”

“You’re right, let me give it some thought.”

“You do that, I’d love you to come over.”

Both ladies smile at each other and toast their martini glasses.

TO BE CONTINUED! 🙂

Out Now On Pre-Sale: Just .99p /.99$ On Amazon For A Limited Time.#amreading #romance #newrelease

Blurb:

Lover’s Retreat is book #2 of the Romance Set in Paradise Series of stand alone modern, steamy, suspenseful and romantic stories. All set in exotic locations around the world.

For thirty seven year old recluse Yasmin O’Neil, life feels like one crisis after another. Her husband left her five years ago, she starts to suspect she’s losing her hearing, and then her mother is diagnosed with cancer. When her mother passes away her fortune changes. Yasmin is fifty thousand pounds richer from her mother’s estate. Yasmin takes her fate into her own hands after years of being a recluse, she rediscovers herself at a spiritual retreat in Sri Lanka south Asia, before she plans to spend the next six months travelling around the world. In Sri Lanka, Yasmin’s path crosses with Michael Thomas, an army soldier on his own path of self discovery. With their luke warm initial encounter the pair don’t hit it off straight away. After some push and pull the two are finally on the same page. Their encounter turns from luke warm to a steamy sizzling hot.

In Lover’s Retreat two very different characters originally on different paths, embrace the need for change and companionship. Set in the back drop of paradise, palm trees and untouched nature of Sri Lanka, these two lonely souls gain more than just self discovery they gain a soul mate.

Release Date: 20th July 2017

On Pre-sale now just .99p / .99$ until the flash sale ends  on the 31st July. Click Links Below.

Amazon.com

Amazon.uk

 

Ebook-Cover-Amazon-and-Smashwords

Released July 20th 2017

 

 

Week #3 Let Me Tell You A Tale… The Entrance To The Tunnel Is His Only Way Out #kdsuspense #amwriting #flashfiction

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You voted  in the writing prompt ” the entrance to the tunnel is his only way out.” Link in with us and write your own story. Use #kdsuspense , share it ,or post it below however you want and  we will find you.

  Didi and I responded to your vote. Remember we never discuss who writes what, or how the tale should go. Author A starts writing and stops randomly, and then hands  her work to Author B to finish, we put our work together, giggle and press publish… tada!  It’s week #3 people! A super short story this week. Our main man Juan is on the run….. in Mexico what has he done?

The entrance to the tunnel is his only way out….

 

 Scene One Author A

The entrance to the tunnel is his only way out, Juan is stuck between a rock and a hard place as they say. He has no choice but to run through the dark tunnel. He ditched his ride and now he’s a foot soldier, something he hates.

 He’s a wanted man. He successfully crossed the border into Mexico on the run from Santos, and his men. For three whole years he stayed faithful to the Atlanta Thugs, a family he was happy to be part of. He kept his oath of respect, honesty, loyalty and brotherhood. He trusted Santos and followed his rules as a devoted gang member. He always remembered the Atlanta Thug’s code of conduct when it came to money…In God we trust, everyone else pays cash. It made him laugh the first time he made his oath and repeated the words after Santos.

This time Santos crossed the line one too many times. He was fed up of being the runner, the fall- back guy, the one standing on the street corner, pushing merchandise to crack heads that would do anything for a hit.

A rush of adrenaline runs through his veins, as he runs through the dark tunnel, with a hundred grand of unmarked bank notes in his duffle bag , a joint, and a gun he’s not afraid to use.

He’s seen it all, gangs, drugs, prostitution there’s not much that fazes him. At thirty five years old, by now Juan hoped he’d have his shit together. The life of a thug pulled him away from academic achievement. His mother begged him every day to give up this life and make something of himself. Her voice echoes through his mind as he runs along. I never brought you here from the ghettos of Brazil Juan, for you to get caught up in the very thing I’ve tried to protect you and your brother from.

He whispers as he approaches the end of the tunnel.

“Sorry mama”

Once outside he leans against the brick wall at the foot of the tunnel. Looking around he checks there’s no one within sight. He crouches down and lights up his joint. Taking a long well- deserved pull, he figures out his next move. Santos and his men could be anywhere by now, once they realised they’re  a hundred grand lighter, and he is nowhere to be seen the manhunt would kick off. All Santos had to do was give him a bigger slice of the pie, promote him up the ranks rather than see him as just a runner. He brought it on himself.

Juan has plans, big plans with his new found wealth. He’d hide out in Mexico for a while, maybe a few days before he puts stage one of his plan into action.Fully buzzed from the strong joint he walks toward the road he can see up head. He navigates a few bushes in the dark as he makes his way over a fence.

“Where the fuck am I?”

Juan’s eyes dart around keeping a close eye out for Mexican gang members, wanting to know exactly who the fuck he is? And why the fuck he is on their tuff? If need be he’d drop his southern accent and pretend he’s a Mexican, sure he could put on a Mexican accent. He lost his Brazilian Portuguese twang years ago, when he immigrated to the USA  with his mother aged sixteen. At six foot two, tanned skin, with low cut jet black hair he could pass for a Mexican–  he hopes. Juan is a lady’s man in every way, “Pretty Boy” the Atlanta Thugs named him. The ladies swooned over his good looks.

Satisfied there isn’t a Mexican in sight that would question who he is, he raises his hood and walks along. The road is quiet not a soul in sight. He eyes the many cars he walks past deciding which one he should claim. Right now, Juan needs two things a cheap hotel and a ride.

Scene Two Author B

Juan adjusts the heavy duffle bag on his shoulder trying to ease the burden of its weight as he makes his way down to the street. The place is dirty with holed pavement, no sidewalk, and a rancid smell of dead animal permeating the air. Slyly, Juan checks the doors of each car he passes, hoping to come across anything that isn’t locked. A black four door BMW with slightly tinted windows opens, allowing Juan to slide himself into the comfortable gray leather seat on its driver’s side.

It’s much nicer than the piece of shit he’d been stuck driving for the last few years. Just another reminder of how badly Santos had been pissing around with his time and dedication. Making a mockery of him. The fucker deserves this surprise. Juan only wishes he could see the look on Santo’s face when he finds out the entire east side lock box has been drained. Being stuck on the run in a car with no AC had made it  a long miserable trip, especially without any sleep. Now that the night has settled in, Juan can feel his tired body starting to shut down.

The BMW’s push button starter fires the vehicle to life, telling Juan that they keys must be inside somewhere. There is no sense searching for them now, he has to get out of this neighborhood before the owner notices it’s gone. Border towns are dicey enough as it is, the last thing he needs is to get busted stealing a car. Especially a car this nice out of such a shit hole part of a small and clearly poverty stricken town.

Juan only briefly wonders what kind of ranking or status the owner of this ride must have in the community. Not only to have the balls to drive such a luxury, but to also leave it unlocked, there must be some sort of intimidation in order. It could easily be a cartel member, especially so close to the border. The thoughts are quickly pushed aside. It can’t be any worse than the shit storm he’s already caught up in. At least this car will move fast if need be. He’ll ditch it in a town farther south for something else.  

With tightly balled fists Juan makes an effort to quickly rub the sleep from his glassed over pinched together eyes. God, he needs some energy. He reaches into his duffle bag, pulls out a half empty bottle of whiskey, and gulps down a few bubbles before throwing the car in drive and speeding away. There’s a distinct blur of headlights streaming together in the distance. Juan can only assume it’s a main road of  some sort, hopefully a highway.

He’s able to get out of town undetected, and in luxury car. The headlights he had seen were in fact from a highway, and it now wound and twisted through a long sagebrush filled flat. The cars he passed were few and far between. As far as Juan could tell no one has been following him. He’s in the clear and not a soul in the world knows his location. He relit the half burned joint stashed behind his ear, and enjoys the taste of it, while he cruises farther and farther down some back highway of Mexico.

After a couple of hours drive the pull of his eyelids heavied to a nearly unbearable measure. Juan has no idea how close he is  to any kind of a city to be able to find a cheap room. He also knows that if he doesn’t sleep soon then his body will completely shut down. He has to find a place to pull over. The comforting cradle of his leather seat is calling to him.

Juan watches closely for a place to pull off and rest. It didn’t take long to come upon a narrow winding dirt road. He takes the turn with caution. There are  no headlights in sight – no one to see where he’s driving. As long as there are enough hills and trees to conceal the car then he could sleep for as long as he needs before moving on. Hell, he could even wait until the darkness of night consumed the sky again, before he has to go anywhere. It’s the best idea he’s had since he decided to take Santo’s money in the first place.

A sharp bend in the dull sandy road leads the car to an abrupt stop. It’s concealed by tall untouched desert shrubbery. Juan leans his seat back as far as it will go and lets the sleepiness of his eyes consume is entire body. He drifts off into a deep, much needed rest, with one hand reached over to keep a secure hold on the money filled bag on the passenger seat.  

A sweet scented smoke fills Juan’s nostrils waking him. There’s a sharp pain in his arm just below the shoulder, and he’s unable to pull his eyes open fully. They squint and blur as he struggles to regain consciousness. Juan’s vision waves and swirls with streaks of smoke altering the clear blue sky above him. He opens his mouth to let out a painful moan.  It’s caught in the back of his mouth and nothing comes out. Not a sound. A dry throat is closed up tight allowing nothing but air to pass through. Why can’t he talk, and what is  the pain and smoke?

Juan tries to move his limbs and speak but an overbearing weight as heavy as bricks pulls his eyes back shut, and darkness again takes control of his mind. Juan’s body relaxes and he drifts into a strange place, it’s somewhere between wake and unconscious. Perhaps his body is in a state of shock from the loss of blood, or perhaps it’s from the potently brewed Navaho Hopi Tea that was forced down his throat. Most likely it’s a mixture of both that has Juan at the complete mercy of a stout elderly indigenous woman, that happens to be feeding a fire with stacks of cash.

The woman looks up suddenly, her burning violet eyes pierce into Juan’s. Wrinkly leathered skin covers a square face with beady eyes and large high prominent cheekbones. Her chubby and very wrinkled right hand holds out  a plate. On that plate sits a few giant slabs of freshly cut bloody meat. The woman lets out a roll of laughter. The sound of her scratchy voice cackles loudly, breaking through the quiet of the day like the strike of lightning.

Juan again tries to sit up, only to realise that his body is tightly strapped down to a long flat board. Thick leather straps have him bound around the neck, waist, thighs, and an arm. But, only one arm. There is no need for his left arm to be tied. Juan wriggles around in his restraints. Panicked, he quickly comprehends that his arm is completely missing. In it’s place is a hefty dirt colored rag that’s caked with blood and alcohol. Juan tries to scream out in pain, but is unable to. A thick strip of tape holds his mouth shut, with a small gaging cloth shoved inside.  

The sizzling sound of dripping fat falls onto the fire, from a makeshift grill sitting over it. Then again with the cackling laugh. The woman stares at her prey, ready to feast.

Boom! Now who  saw that ending coming?? Join us next Tuesday for another story. Tomorrow the voting for next week’s prompt, will be over on Didi’s blog.  This week we’re switching the prompts up a bit to keep you all on your toes.Get your votes in before this Friday !!

Read previous stories here. a dark historical  flash fiction crime story, (18 + reading)  and one suspenseful tale.

This interactive writing challenge is simple and insanely creative. It’s a group effort and we are so glad to have you join in the writing fun!!  I hope you’re ready to challenge Didi and I by choosing which prompts we can transform into stellar suspense!  Give us your best shot!  You vote on our weekly prompt, and we provide the entertainment. It’s that simple!  The super easy steps are as follows:

STEP ONE: Every Wednesday well post a voting pole with a few prompts to choose from.
STEP TWO: With the click of a button, you cast your vote on a prompt. (voting will stay open for three days.)
STEP THREE: READ AND ENJOY!  Every week on the following Tuesday we will post the short story that transformed from the very winning prompt you chose!
 
All comments on the story posts will be open. We love feedback, and I’m willing to bet you will never guess who wrote what!!   Therein a challenge of your own! (Yes, one of us writes in British English, and one of us in American. We are well aware, and ready for some trickery. Trust me, we are brilliant at adapting styles.)
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Bedtime Reading Or Coffee Break? #amreading

 

 

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Hi guys,

Well, it maybe the middle of the day for you depending on your time zone?? Here is some bedtime or coffee break reading. Just a short note to say it is now a hundred times easier to download a two – four chapter preview, of anyone of my books, on my author site.  I have a new page! … called “chapter preview” oddly… yeah how original Kim  :).  Knock yourselves out if you’d like to dip into some feel good romance, romantic suspense or even something a little steamy.  Soon there will be some crime / thriller heading your way. Stay tuned. Click here.

Happy reading!

 

Miracle Challenge Week #10: #4 An Old Letter- Poem

Write a story/poem using prompt theme: An old letter

Another year has passed, you’ve been gone for so long,

No where to be found, silence is the sound,

Our letters are all I have, I keep them as they remind me of the love we once had,

Love is blind, and it can sometimes be unkind, if I said to you let’s press rewind would you?

Do you still love me?, sometimes I feel like I love you, but you up  and you,

Left, so now these it’s just  an old letter that I have left,

Everything happens for a reason, they say love changes  just like a season,

To me my love for you is fixed not like a season, solid, and as deep as the ocean,

Together forever,

Ever lasting that’s what thought. But this is not the only war that I have fought, so I will go on one day I’ll burn this  old letter,

Rid my heart of your words of art, I’ll move on and find  me a  brand  new start.