I am definitely not a political person, but today I woke up with an email in my inbox containing photos that prompted this blog post.  It was from a friend who I originally met 30 years ago.  He sent me some photos which tore at my heart..

War is hateful, cruel, and most of all sad, but we humans seem to go to war all the time. We never seen to learn to live and love in peace and harmony together.

Today I received photos from a place I used to live.  That place was Kibbutz Mefalsim. 

It was a place where I made wonderful friendships that have lasted thirty years.  It was a place where I grew up, and learned to rely on myself.  But most of all it was the people that made this place.  People with a passion for life and living, who joined together because they wanted to make the world a better place, a sanctuary. 

Today that sanctuary has been desecrated by violence.  It has been bombed. 

I don't know if my friends are alive, or dead.  You see, reporters aren't telling us the whole story. We're only seeing one side.  It seems to me that the media is following a PR game here.  The tragedy is that on both sides, homes, buildings, and sadly, lives are being lost.  But why do we only hear what happens in Gaza?  Don't ALL people matter?  

Today, if you only do one thing, that should be to go and hug the ones you love.

To quote one of the most famous song writers of all time  "GIve peace a chance."

Jane Beckenham

I'm very excited today.  You see I love historical novels.  The first romance book I ever read were historicals, those Barbara Cartland Regencies, moving onto books like the Catherine Series, Angelique and the Marianne books. Now I'm excited announce that today we've got Emily Bryan guesting on my blog.

She's had a busy year with two historicals released, with covers, I do declare are as swashbuckling as Errol Flynn. 

Emily tells us that several characters from PLEASURING THE PIRATE have returned in VEXING THE VISCOUNT, a story that takes place ten years later. The heroine in VEXING THE VISCOUNT is one of the pirate's orphaned nieces. She had great fun imagining the intrepid Daisy Drake all grown up and off on her own adventure. She never quite got over her girlhood fascination with the darkly handsome Lucian Beaumont. Now that he's Viscount Rutland, she won't rest until she's helped him find the lost Roman treasure he seeks. Whether he wants her help or not!  

So here it is, Emily's next book:

VEXING THE VISCOUNT

Release date: 2/24/09

Buy Link: http://...com/9kcbn5

Blurb: Daisy Drake is leading a double life! By day, she's Lucian Beaumont's unwanted assistant and by night, she masquerades as the masked courtesan, Blanche La Tour, a Frenchwoman who agreed to give Lucian lessons in sensual love!  There's only one problem. Daisy speaks fluent French and can read ancient Latin without moving her lips, but she doesn't know the first thing about the pleasures of the flesh! Good thing she has the real Blanch La Tour's very explicit memoirs for guidance.

Lucian Beaumont, Viscount Rutland, longs to see his family's standing returned to its glory days, before his father lost their fortune. And he thinks he can manage it, if he can only discover the hiding place of an ancient Roman payroll.

Daisy never forgot her girlhood fascination with Lucian, even though his father has a score to settle with her uncle. Now that they're all grown up, she's determined to help the viscount find his Roman treasure.

Whether he wants her help or not!

Excerpt:

Item: One clay lamp

after the fashion of an erect phallus

-from the Manifest of Roman Oddities,

found near London, England

3^rd July, in the Year of Our Lord 1731

Chapter One

"Hmm! I wonder if that's life-sized," Miss Daisy Drake murmured. She leaned down to inspect the ancient lamp on display in the corridor outside the Society of Antiquaries lecture hall. Talking to herself was a bad habit, she knew, but since none of her friends shared her interest in antiquities, she often found herself without companions on this sort of outing.

"Of course, it would be on the most inaccessible shelf in the display case." Solely to vex her, she suspected. Daisy scrunched down to get a better look at it.

The clay lamp was only about four inches long, but in other respects, so far as Daisy knew, was perfectly life-like. The terracotta scrotum served admirably for an oil cruse, but even though she knew the ancients decorated their homes with such unseemly things, she still wondered about how the lamp worked. She opened her small valise and drew out paper, quill and inkpot in order to take a few notes. "Where does the flame come out?"

"Right where one would expect," a masculine voice sounded near her.

Daisy's spine snapped suddenly upright. The crown of her head clipped his chin with a thwack and she bit her tongue.

"Jupiter!" One of her hands flew to her throbbing mouth, the other to the top of her head where her cunning little hat was smashed beyond recognition. Her sheaf of papers fluttered to the polished oak floor like maple leaves. The small inkwell flew into the air and landed squarely on the white lawn of the man's shirtfront.  

"Oh, I'm so dreadfully sorry." Daisy dabbed at the stain with her hanky and only succeeded in spreading it down his waistcoat. A black blob dribbled onto his fawn-colored breeches. She decided not to chase that stain with her handkerchief.

At least, thank heaven, plastering the man with ink covered her unmaidenly interest in that lewd little lamp. It was clearly a mistake to come to the museum today, but the topic under discussion at the Society of Antiquaries was the possible discovery of an ancient Roman treasure. The lure of an adventure drew her like a lemming to the sea.

"How clumsy of me!" She made the additional mistake of looking up at the man. Her mouth gaped like a cod.

Lucian, she almost said aloud. When she saw no trace of recognition in his dark eyes, she drew her lips closed by sheer strength of will.

He'd grown into himself since she'd seen him last. His fine, straight nose was no longer out of proportion to the rest of his face. As he rubbed his square jaw, Daisy saw that the little scar on his chin was still visible, a neat triangle of pale, smooth skin. She'd recognize that anywhere.

After all, she'd given it to him.

His dark hair was hidden beneath a dandy's wig. Oh, she hoped to heaven he hadn't taken to shaving his head as some did. Daisy's Uncle Gabriel was a dogged opponent of the fashion. Said it was nothing but French foppery. Since Uncle Gabriel's opinions were only slightly less authoritative than a papal bull, the aversion to wigs had rubbed off. Besides, hiding a head of hair like Lucian's was a sacrilege. Or ought to be.

An ebony wisp escaped near his left ear.

Good. Daisy breathed a sigh of relief. His dark mane was one of Lucian's finest points, after all. Not that there weren't plenty of others.

His lips twitched in a half smile.

"An interesting piece, isn't it?" He was still the same old Lucian. Still direct, even at the expense of propriety. He wasn't going to play the gentleman and pretend he hadn't caught her ogling that Roman phallus.

"Indeed." She met his gaze directly, determined to make him understand her interest was purely intellectual. "Obviously a cultic object of some sort. It is certainly a curiosity."

"It is gratifying to find a young lady who is . . . curious."

Daisy lifted her chin in what she hoped was a confident manner. "Of course, I'm curious. Such items make one wonder what the people who used it were like." 

"I suspect the ancients were more like us than we want to admit. People have been born into this world with the same wants and needs since Eden. Though I'll grant you, our taste in home decoration has changed," he said with a laugh.

"Actually, I read a treatise only last week on the new fashion of tassels. The writer felt they were merely phallic symbols in subtle form."

"Hmph. I shall never look at a tassel the same way again."

His eyes narrowed in speculation. Daisy hoped he might show some sign of remembering her, but it had been more than a decade since they'd met. She'd been a flat-chested ten-year-old and he'd been a haughty woman-hater of twelve. With soulful eyes and a blinding smile.

Now he turned that charming smile on her without a hint of recognition in his intense gaze. "You must possess an unusual library."

The library Daisy frequented most often belonged to Isabella Haversham, her great-aunt. Isabella had once been a famous courtesan. But even now that she was a married lady—the wife of an earl, no less—she still entertained philosophers and artists and "free thinkers" with regularity. Lady Wexford might be tainted with scandal's brush, but an evening in her company was far more diverting than squirming through the tortured clavichord recitals that took place in other parlors around the city.

Daisy wangled an invitation to Isabella's soirees as often as she could. For that reason, as well as her great-aunt's library, Daisy suspected her education was considerably broader than most young women her age.

"Innocence and ignorance need not forever clasp hands," Isabella was fond of saying.

Daisy looked pointedly back at the lamp. There was no use denying she'd been studying it before. She might as well put a bold face on it.

"I was wondering if there is any kind of mark on that lamp," Daisy said. "One that might indicate who the maker was."

"He left no mark," Lucian said.

"He? So you believe a man fashioned it?"

"Men were generally the artisans in antiquity," he said with confidence.

"Hmm. That surprises me," she said with wide eyes. "I can't imagine a man wanting to set one of those alight."

Lucian coughed out a laugh. "But you can see where a woman might have reason to."

"Certainly. Male domination of nearly every field of endeavor springs to mind." As well as possession of the memory of a gnat, she added silently. "But the lamp poses a host of questions."

"Ah, yes, and you raised an intriguing one." One of his dark brows arched, a reminder that he'd overheard her. "I'd be happy to help you discover the answer."

Was he suggesting something improper? If he was, it would serve him right if she gave him another scar. 

"You owe me no further assistance. Not after I ruined your shirt. And your waistcoat. And your—" She shouldn't have allowed her gaze to travel the ink's path down the front of his breeches. For a moment, she imagined an appendage shaped like the lamp affixed to his groin and felt her cheeks heat. To cover her embarrassment, she sank to the floor to retrieve her scattered notes.

"Think nothing of it." His voice was no longer the adolescent squeak she remembered. "I should be more careful where I put my jaw. I do hope you have not suffered an injury to your head."

The way his deep baritone rumbled through her, the fact that she even had a head temporarily escaped her notice.

"Please, allow me." Lucian set down the valise he'd been carrying and knelt beside her. He helped her reassemble her pages. Then he offered his hand to help her up and she took it.

Had someone loosed a jar of June bugs in her belly?

"Thank you, my lord," she murmured, for lord he was.

Lucian Ignacio de Castenello Beaumont. Son and heir of Ellery Beaumont, Earl of Montford. Daisy assumed Lucian was now styling himself Viscount Rutland, one of his father's lesser titles, since the earl was still very much alive.

But Daisy remembered Lucian as 'Iggy.'

His ears had turned an alarming shade of red when she called him that. 'Iggy' was not dignified, he'd complained. As if a skinny, dirty-kneed twelve-year-old was capable of anything remotely like dignity.

But Lucian was no longer twelve. He was a man. And the last time Daisy heard his name bandied about in Polite Society, the sober matron doing the talking lowered her voice, but the words "reclusive rake" and "wastrel" were unmistakably used.

Neither of which did anything to slow her racing heart, Daisy admitted with a sigh.

She accepted the stack of papers from him, casting about in her mind for the right thing to say. "There's no salvaging your ensemble, I fear. Please permit me to have a new suit of clothing made for you."

She could afford to be generous. After all, she'd discovered the family fortune beneath the stones of Dragon Caern Castle just when other members of the nobility were losing theirs in the South Sea stock swindle.

"I wouldn't hear of it," he assured her smoothly, though she knew Lucian's father had invested heavily in the failed company. Perhaps his mother's family was still solvent. She'd been a noblewoman in her homeland. All vestiges of Lucian's Italian accent were now gone. Daisy thought that a terrible shame.

"I've been meaning to retire this suit in any case," he informed her. "The style is tres passé, n'est-ce pas?"

That would be a pity since the cut of that green frockcoat does wonderful things for his shoulders and as for those bree— Daisy caught herself before her thoughts completely ran away with her, but lost her fight with the urge to flick her gaze to where his breeches molded to his thighs.

He caught the direction of her gaze and an amused grin tilted his lips. "My! You are a keen observer, aren't you?"

"Forgive me. Ruining your suit has upset me," she said, her cheeks flaming. "I'm acting like some pudding-headed debutant." Instead she was 'firmly-on-the-shelf' spinster of one and twenty.

"If you were a debutant, I'd have remembered you," he said.

Daisy doubted it. Especially since he showed no signs of recognizing her yet. Surely she bore some resemblance to the young girl who followed him about like a puppy so many years ago. His family had only spent a week in residence at Dragon Caern, but it had been the most frustrating, most splendid, most memorable week of her young life.   

"However, if you want my advice," he continued, "your chances of remaining unmarried will decrease if you try not to douse every man you meet with ink."

"Perhaps remaining unmarried is my choice." She frowned until she noticed the way he flashed his teeth at her, clearly teasing. Lucian was the sort of man a woman might forgive anything so long as he smiled at her.

Daisy bit her lip to keep from babbling further. A guilty blush heated her cheeks. She sidled away from the case where the phallic lamp was on display. 

Lucian looked around the nearly deserted exhibit hall. "It seems there is no way for us to be properly introduced, but perhaps you will allow me the honor of giving you my name."

Final proof that he truly didn't recognize her. Her belly spiraled downward in disappointment.

How was it possible that she could carry his image in her head for all these years while he completely forgot that Daisy Elizabeth Drake even existed? Bristling with indignation, she took another step backward to put more distance between them.

Before she could remind him that he should already know her name (and quite well, thank you very much!) the door behind her swung open and whacked her soundly on the bottom. She stumbled forward and he caught her in his arms.

She was pressed tight against him, suddenly engulfed in his masculine scent, a clean whiff of sandalwood and soap. Beneath her splayed fingers, the musculature in his chest was rock hard. Her breath caught in her throat.

"Are you injured, Miss?" he asked.

"Only my pride." Daisy pushed slightly against him as a signal he should release her. She wasn't about to admit that her derrière throbbed.

"No, I fear we have another casualty," he said.

Daisy followed his gaze to her décolletage where some of the ink from his shirt and waistcoat had been transferred. Part of the stain marred her pale blue stomacher and part darkened the mound of her breast that rose above it.

"Pity. An alabaster bosom such as yours should never wear black." He drew a fingertip along the froth of lace at the neckline she'd always thought of as modest, but never would again. "Alas, I forgot my handkerchief this morning or I should return the favor and try to wipe it off."

The thought of his hand on her skin with only a thin layer of cloth between them made her belly quiver.

"There you are, Rutland." A monocled gentleman peeked around the door and waved Lucian over with urgency. "We've been waiting for you."

Daisy startled and jumped away from Lucian. She recognized the gentleman as Sir Alistair Fitzhugh, head of the Society of Antiquaries. She'd petitioned for admission several times only to have Sir Alistair black-ball her membership on account of her gender. The man cast a quick dismissive gaze over her and turned back to Lord Rutland.

A baron's niece counts for very little when measured against a viscount, she supposed.

Fitzhugh's monocle popped out and dangled from its silver chain when he noticed the large, oddly-shaped ink stain on Lucian's clothing. "Good God, man, what's happened to you?"

"It was—" Daisy began.

"My fault entirely," Lucian finished for her. "I will be in directly, Fitzhugh."

Lucian turned back to Daisy. "Perhaps once I've delivered my presentation—"

"Hold a moment," she interrupted, stunned. She'd expected an Oxford don type would be leading the discussion. "You're the speaker?"

He nodded with a wry grin. "When I'm allowed to be."

She covered her mouth with her fingertips. When had Lucian become an expert in Roman antiquities? Or more specifically, lost Roman treasure.

"As I was saying, I hope we may continue our discussion at a later time. I'd enjoy learning what else such a charming young lady finds . . . curious in these dry halls." He retrieved his valise, made an elegant leg and shot her a wicked grin. "And for your information, the answer is no."

"No?" Her brows nearly met in a puzzled frown.

"It's not life-sized." 

A Note from Emily Bryan: Thanks for letting me visit with your readers, Jane. If I'm not already one of your myspace friends, please pop over to http://www.myspace.com/emilybryanromance and friend me. I'm delighted to be able to offer a free signed copy of VEXING THE VISCOUNT to one of your commenters today. Please check back tomorrow for the name of the winner!

Happy reading everyone, and a very happy new year.  Don't forget, read lots of books!

Jane Beckenham

Okay, so who is counting down the number of sleeps till Christmas? Come on, own up!  Me, me, me! .

Since it's already Wednesday 17th here, it means there's 8 sleeps to go - given that NZ get's Christmas first! Lucky us.  But of course that means the shopping and preparation have to be done first too! And in 100% humidity it 'aint no fun, believe me.

Any way... for those of you curled up with a blanket and in front of a warm fire while it's snowing outside, how about a mystery book for Christmas.  And I know just the author to bring it to you.  Introducing, Kim Smith

AVENGING ANGEL
A Shannon Wallace Mystery: Book 1

Mainstream Fiction: Mystery/Suspense
Release Date: December 18, 2008

Shannon Wallace is having a bad hair week.  She's been ditched by her job, dumped by her boyfriend, and implicated in his murder.  When she finds out her very private video collection is missing from the crime scene, it is all out war to find the disks before the cops do. The problem is, the killer has them. And he's watched them.  Now Shannon's at the top of his most wanted list

Excerpt:

My Aunt Nancy always told me to dress in my best clothes when I went out, because I never knew whom I might meet. This time, I hadn't done the best I could to make myself presentable. Jeans, tee shirt, and a ponytail didn't qualify for modern chic. When the detective opened the door to the Homicide Office, I wished I'd worn a skirt and heels. In a moment of clarity, I understood my aunt's concerns about going out half-ready.

The sexy, Hispanic man who raised an eyebrow and patiently waited for me to state my business was none other than Salvador Ramirez, formerly of Mississippi Junior College, the same school I attended back in the day. Of all the eligible men at college, he was the most highly sought after. Partly because he'd won the "sexiest legs" contest two years in a row, and partly because he had a bad boy quality, which made all of the girls want him.

Especially me. And damn the luck, I got a shot at him. When I discovered our date was based on a dare someone posed, I retaliated by publishing excerpts of his personal journal in the college's monthly newsletter, The Bugle.

"Mr. Ramirez," I said, trying to look harmless. "Of the award-winning legs."

His expression changed as he looked at me and I knew he remembered our rocky past. My heart leapt into my throat. This was not the face of a man happy to see an old chum.

"Shannon Wallace, of the vigilantes for journalism," he said, deadpan. "Mama said there would be days like this."

Nope. He was not a happy cop.

He waved me into the room. "Come in."

The entire office was a mess, most of it concentrated on two desks littered with papers.

"What are you doing here? Looking for a few good men to belittle in a new publication? Should I hide the personal notes on my cases?" he asked.

Sarcasm. I smiled. It was a beginning. He hadn't forgotten, so that meant he intended on seeing I didn't get a chance to repeat my past mistakes. Dandy by me. I just wanted to plead my case, and escape a free woman. If I never crossed the threshold here again, my feelings wouldn't be hurt.

"I think you've held a grudge, but it was all in fun."

"Fun?" He scanned the hallway before shutting the door. "You ruined every chance I ever had of getting a decent date. I never dreamed you would print my private journal for Christ's sake."

"It was no journal. It was a freaking scorecard."

He frowned at me and turned away, muttering something in Spanish that sounded like curses.

Suddenly turning the details of my situation over to him didn't seem like such a great idea. Had he harbored a desire for revenge all these years?

Dwayne's words came to mind. I couldn't have done it; criminals were innocent until proven guilty and all that jazz.

Would Sal see that?

"I'm not here to do an expose on your life, Sal. I'm here about my own troubles. I need to tell a cop about a man who was murdered. But if you aren't interested..."

He stopped clearing file folders from a metal folding chair and pinioned me with his Nestle's cocoa-colored eyes. "Murdered?"

"Yes. Richard Fine. Is he your case?"

"You know he is. Or have you given up your journalistic aspirations?" He shoved papers into the files. "Have you graduated from theft to murder, now?"

I sat there for a moment trying to squelch the anger that surfaced.

"Would you stop being so disagreeable about what's past between us and listen? You might get some information that could help you. I never intended to hurt you. It was a joke."

"I don't like your jokes."

That was the final straw. "And I don't like being made fun of. How much did they pay you to take me out on your little 'dare date' that night?"

He straightened, gripping the back of a nearby folding chair.

Checkmate.

He carried the chair to where I stood, and I got a better look at him. He was a good deal taller than me, and even under the yellow Oxford shirt I saw he was well rippled with muscles, maleness, and menace. Sal seemed quite a different person from the jeans, golf shirts, and practical jokes days. The cologne was the same though.

Aramis. I took a deep breath in appreciation.

The angry fire I'd stirred showed in his eyes. He skidded the metal chair a few feet forward. It made a scraping sound as it landed perfectly, facing his desk.

"Sit, Miss Wallace. Tell me why I should hear your story. And keep in mind I'm due for a meeting in about ten minutes."

I sat and waited while he joined me behind his desk. It felt rather official all of a sudden. He crossed his hands and leaned forward, ready to hear my story.

"I was at Rick's apartment at midnight. And when forensics finishes checking out his place, they're going to find my hair and other assorted things."

"Will they find your fingerprints on a knife?"

I thought about his question. We hadn't done much cooking at Rick's apartment, but there was the off chance that I had handled a steak knife. Or cleaver. I closed my eyes, and prayed Dwayne was right. I just knew I wouldn't look good in a state uniform.

"They'll find them on a lot of stuff. Do I need a lawyer present?"

Many thanks to Kim Smith for sharing her wonderful book with us.  Be sure to check it out at http://www.mkimsmith.com or Red Rose Publishing

Hope you're all warm and cosy, and if you're down my end of the world, then the air conditioning is working.

Happy holidays everyone

Jane Beckenham

DESPERATELY SEEKING SANTA

For the last few years I have been teaching creative writing to a handful of students.  One of those, Elaine Souster came to me about a year ago, wanting to write, but unsure where to even start.  Elaine is a delight, always so positive and enthusiastic, soaking up everything in her craving to learn more.  The other day, Elaine came to class with a new story she wanted me to read.  This story, Peace and Goodwill is that story.  It absolutely delighted me.  She'd not only written a really sweet story, but had researched all the information etc, she required.  I promised, that after we had critiqued it, and she had done some revisions, I would publish it in my blog.  So here it is, and if you've a few minutes to spare, please take the time to comment for Elaine. 

Peace and Goodwill

By Elaine Souster

 Jodie sat at the end of her hospital bed and stared at the wall. She clutched a large brown bear, cuddling it close as she ran her fingers up and down the soft fur on its back.

Her lucky mascot.

In and out of Starship hospital for most of her short life the routine was very familiar, but she wasn't sure how she could handle it this time. On Christmas Day she would be without her family and already she felt lonely and forgotten.

She knew her parents would be with her on Boxing Day when they arrived in Auckland. She looked forward to seeing her younger brother and sister. They would spend their days seeing the sights and sounds of the city, and then visit her in hospital at the end of each day.

 She couldn't wait to hear what they saw and where they had been. Their chatter would cheer her up.

 "Hello. We can't have you daydreaming." Heidi, her favourite nurse interrupted her thoughts. She pointed to Jodie, waggled her finger at her and laughed.

Jodie shot her a grin.

"That's better. I've got something for you." She carried a box filled with Christmas decorations and plonked it on the floor.  The lid flipped open and bundle of sparkling tinsel in silver, red, and green sprung out the top.

Heidi popped out the door again and came back with a large tree and placed it by the wall. "We can't have it too close to the bed," she explained. "The nurses and doctors might trip over it."

"If they hurt themselves they could end up in a bed next to me," Jodie giggled.

"I heard you will be ten on Christmas Day."

"Yes, and I have only ten more sleeps to go," Jodie announced with delight.

"So we have ten days to make you feel better and for you to decorate the tree. Are you up to it?"

"Oh, yes. Let's surprise my family."

She looked in the box and her eyes widened and she saw so many decorations she didn't know where to start. Excited she bounced on her bed.  "Can I start now?"

"Whoa, there girl. First we have to do what the doctor ordered." Heidi made her sit in a chair and calm down. "I'm going to take your temperature and pulse." They did it in silence and when Heidi finished, Jodie couldn't contain herself for another second.

"You have an accent. Where do you come from?" she asked.

"Sweden. It's a long way from New Zealand," Heidi replied.

"Will you be home for Christmas?"

Heidi shook her head. "No, not this year, but I will be with friends. There are a lot of people who work at the hospital that don't go home. We'll make a Christmas together."

"I know, I know, what you can do. You can all put your country's favourite decoration on my tree and share it."

Heidi smiled. "That's a great idea."

"We could add a new country every day." Jodie wanted to start right away. "Now, what's your favourite?"

The nurse rummaged in the box and lifted out two small gnomes with long flowing beards and on their heads they wore red pointed hats with dangling tassels.

"These are important in our country.  Everyone has them."    She sat them on a large branch of the tree. "There. That's a start. Let's see what you're given tomorrow."

The next morning Jodie had her treatment early and she lay on her bed, grateful it was over.

A cheery face peeped round the door. "I'm Tina from Africa and I nurse in another children's ward. I hear you have a tree that needs some decorations." Jodie saw her arms were full of bells, candles and strings of paper rosés.

"I've bought these decorations for you, we use them on our tree at home."

Jodie eagerly sat up.  "Yes. Yes, please."

    "You stay on your bed I'll put them on the tree." She busied herself and when she had finished she stood back and admired it.

"It's a beautiful tree."

From her bed Jodie blew Tina a kiss of thanks as she turned, waved, and hurried back to her ward.

It was doctor's rounds the next day and one of them carried a bag over his arm.

"Hi, I'm Brian from England and I hear you have a special Christmas tree. It's cold back home and I'd rather be here for Christmas."

From his bag he pulled out branches of holly, mistletoe, and heaps of white snowflakes and placed them in her lap.

Jodie clapped her hands in delight as Brian bowed to her like a knight in shining armour, and then saluted as he left to finish his rounds.

The next morning she woke early as she was having another treatment. She tried to take her mind off it as she gazed at her sparkling tree.

It was day four and the children from other wards had been in to see the tree. They chatted and laughed as they had hung colourful decorations on all the branches that their little arms could reach.

Later that morning, Mary from Tonga brought in morning tea, sat on her bed and opened her basket. It was full of candy and balloons to adorn the tree.  Mary told her about the Christmas traditions in her village.

"The men in our village cut coconut shells in half and fill them with oil.  They light them and place them in doorways, on ridges of roofs and along the walls of the churchyard. In the dark they make a milky way of dancing lights."

"That, I must see one day." Jodie said with enthusiasm.

"I hope you will." Mary smiled at her as she picked up Jodie's mug and pushed the tea trolley out the door.

The next day Jodie chatted with Anna, her physiotherapist and while Anna massaged her legs, she asked.  "Will you go home for Christmas?"

"I live with my family in France, but I won't be home this Christmas. Did you know everybody is talking about your tree, so I thought you could have these?"  She handed Jodie some delicate china figures of the Holy Family, and little Saints.

"In France our figurines are called 'Santons' and they're displayed at Christmas time," Anna explained and tucked her in bed.

Today was Jodie's, sixth day in hospital. She talked with a male nurse from Australia as he lifted her onto the trolley.

"Your not far from home. Why are you here in New Zealand?" 

"I've come for Christmas to spend some time with my mother who is in the hospital. I do this work voluntarily to fill in my hours."

He pushed her along the corridor and stopped at a storage room. "Wait a minute." He opened the door and disappeared inside and came out with three Christmas wreaths made of small dark green leaves and deep red flowers and laid them on her trolley.  "These flowers and leaves grow on our native 'Christmas Bush' tree back home and now they can hang on your tree."

He delivered her to x-ray and Jodie hardy had time to thank him before he was gone, off to pick up another patient.

As the days passed, Jodie felt better. Her tree still had room for more decorations.

Bill a young American came in to see her when he collected the rubbish. He was in New Zealand on a working holiday.  He presented her with a beautiful wrapped gift. Jodie opened it and there were ten, delicate, silver glass balls.

"They're beautiful." She held them up at the window and they twinkled in the light.

"You're the same age as my sister, back home. I'll miss her this Christmas." He planted a kiss on her forehead and pushed his cart out the door

She was up the next day arranging decorations on the tree when a young Maori strolled into her room. Jodie had seen him in the corridor and remembered his name, Rangi, an intern studying at the hospital.

"I just had to come and see your tree," he said.

He sat on the floor and gave her some branches of Pohutukawa, covered with bright red flowers.

"Do you know the story of the pohutukawa tree?" he asked.

"No, but I'd love you to tell me."

"Our legend tells of a young Maori warrior who went to heaven to avenge his father's death. Falling to the earth his spilt blood was made to look like a crimson flower on a tree and now that tree marks the entrance of a sacred cave where our spirits depart on their way to the next world."

He spoke to her gently, soft and low like a song. Jodie didn't see him leave as her eyelids fluttered and she drifted into a peaceful sleep.

One day left and her tree would be finished. Jodie heard a familiar voice in the corridor. Her door flew open and there stood a true Kiwi. It was her favourite aunt, her mother's sister, Maureen.

"How are you, my girl?  Sorry I couldn't get here sooner." She gave Jodie a big hug. In her hand she had a large Father Christmas with a red floppy hat. She sat him on the floor at the foot of the Christmas tree.

Her aunt leaned over and pulled a cord at Santa's neck. He waved his arm in the air and nodded his head in time to the music as he sung, "Santa Claus is coming tonight."

Delighted, Jodie waved her arm and sung with him. "Thank you aunty, he's gorgeous."

"Glad you liked him. Christmas day tomorrow, see you then, love." She was in and out like a breath of fresh air.

It was the last day tomorrow and Jodie worried that she had nothing for the top of her tree. It was dark, too late now. So she curled herself up in her blanket and closed her eyes.

Early in the morning she woke, eager to see what Santa would bring her. He would come with the nurses as they sang Christmas carols around the wards.

Today was Christmas day and also her birthday. She was so excited to be ten. What a wonderful day it would be. 

Blissfully happy, she lay on the bed and looked up at the tree. Her eyes widened.

On the very tip, of the tree, with her wings softy folded, sat an angel.

Merry Christmas everyone.

Jane Beckenham

www.janebeckenham.com

So far, it's just like an ordinary story. Add plenty of sexual tension and you have erotica. That's right. No sex scenes necessary. Sexual suspense (or even sexual suggestion) is all you need to make your writing erotic.

For example, consider the following recipe I use in the sequel to "A Slave of My Own Desire  (Red Rose Publishing, 2008):

Ingredients:
1 can sweetened condensed milk
2l orange soda
1 can sweet cider
1 packet Orange Sherbet
1 pumpkin

Steps:

To make the pumpkin into a punch bowl, cut off the pumpkin's top and set aside (for the lid).

Insert one finger into the opening and rotate slowly clockwise, counting to 10. Stop. Crook the finger and continue the clockwise motion, counting to 15. Insert another finger and repeat until the flesh is soft and ready.

Scoop out the seeds, leaving an inch-thick layer all around the inside.

Make two holes in the lid of the condensed milk. Carefully lick its thick milky sweetness off the tin knife. Glide your finger around the tin and suck it dry.

In short spurts, pour the condensed milk into the hollowed-out pumpkin.

Add cider and orange soda. Stir with your fingers. Let your partner lick off the wetness.

Open the packet of sherbet. Pour onto wet flesh and watch it fizz.

Add one ice cube.

Lock the door (or not!) and have the best Halloween ever!

Title: A Slave of My Own Desire

Author: Eve Summers

Buy now:

I'm so excited. My first ever Christmas story is about to be released from Red Rose Publishing....Here's the blurb.

What's in your Christmas Stocking?

DESPERATELY SEEKING SANTA

Dreams and fantasies are just that for Mandy Brooks, assistant manager of Wentworth's, an upmarket department store.  Work always gets in the way. But then that is exactly how Mandy likes it. Until Christmas comes round again and she's forced to play the part of Mrs Santa.

Christmas day five years ago, Tate Sullivan left town. It was also the day Mandy ditched him at the altar. Forced back because of his father's death, he knows he's got unfinished business with Mandy Brooks. He wants her back in his bed on his terms, his way.  He's out for revenge.  It's meant to be sweet, isn't it? 

Check it out at Red Rose

Happy reading

Jane Beckenham

                     Today I have the priviledge of introducing  K.T. BISHOP

Tell us a bit about you, something that will surprise us?

I'm a first-year author who lives on the Florida Gulf   Coast. By day, I'm a modern-day Clark Kent, a sportswriter. It's a job I've had since 1992. 

Okay, so now I'm wondering if you're the new Superman too?

My fantasies have varied over the years. When I was five years old, my goal was to rule the world and become the next Napoleon (who's short like me). When I turned 15, I wanted to be a performer like Prince after the greatest movie ever, Purple Rain. By the time I turned 17, thoughts of throwing the game-winning touchdown pass and earn millions sounded good. With none of those options available, I turned to writing.

Why do you write, what is it that makes you do it?

I've always had a fascination for writing, even during my elementary school years. The talent was obvious as a fifth grader in 1981, writing a report on President Reagan for my cousin, then a freshman in high school. I got mad when she only got a B-plus. Everyone around me was amazed at my talent, considering I wrote it in church (forgive me God)—laughs.

Who is your favorite character from one of your books, and why?

In the book, PICKING COTTON, M.L. Cotton is my favorite character. Good-looking and a quarterback, considered the most glamorous of all positions. My readers will get to know about him later.

My current piece, HOW TO CURE A CAJUN COLD, has a cool, debonair dude named Arnaz Booker, torn between being a reporter, going to medical school and a Southern Belle. Talk about a complicated storyline.

If you could have dinner with six people, alive or dead , who would they be?

President John F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King Jr., my two favorite heroes. The media portrays Barrack Obama as the second-coming of these icons, I don't think so. While we don't know much about the President-Elect, Kennedy and King fought for equality for everyone.   My grandmother would be another, to thank her as well as tell her how much she's missed. If not for her, I'd be in a foster home. Even though I have a few struggles right now, it's better than being homeless.  Mira Sorvino, Vivica A. Fox and Viva Guerrero are the others. If I died alongside either, that would be the way to go.

Tell us a bit about your writing process?

My off days are Sunday and Mondays, I write endlessly and furiously then. When my three-year-old niece isn't coming into the study trying to help me write the great American novel, I get peace during the time. I usually write on my dinner break or between games I am covering. Sometimes, a good thought or idea usually hits me at the wrong time. I used to think that was weird until Lionel Richie said years ago, his ideas come from the bathtub.

What is your current release?  And how did this book come about.

HOW TO CURE A CAJUN COLD was derived from my college days at a historically black college, Stillman College. I met a girl from Xavier University in New Orleans at a Pre-med camp in 1990. It was love at first sight during that sultry, hot summer in Nashville. That was the best year of my life. I always had dreams of attending the University of Alabama all four years, but didn't work that way. I took courses at Alabama, which became 20 percent of my college education.

This is definitely one HOT cover!

Santa's coming... what do you hope to get in your Christmas stocking?

Money to pay bills (LOL), a thriving economy where people buy my books and the cash rolls in.

How can readers find you?

Book is available at www.redrosepublishing.com

www.kenibird.blogspot.com; www.myspace.com/kenibird.

For a look at How to Cure a Cajun Cold, http://www.redrosepublishing.com/bookstore/product_info.php?products_id=199

 Blurb:  How to Cure A Cajun Cold

Arnaz Booker plans to spend the summer of 1990 promoting his entry into the Phi Beta Sigma Fraternity and taking it easy after a difficult spring semester. Little does he know, one of his professors has nominated him to attend a Pre-Medical program at Fisk University. Though reluctant to go, he eventually attends.

On the opening day, he meets Isis Rogers, a pretty Xavier University student. Despite Arnaz's attention and compliments, Isis is insecure and their first meeting ends in disaster.

Arnaz wants a second chance but is Isis capable of shedding her insecurities long enough to give it to him?

Now, since winter is coing, and it's the season for a cold, you need a cure. and I reckon this book is just the medicine.

Thanks KT for dropping by.

Happy reading

Jane Beckenham

www.janebeckenham.com

Laura Lee signing a book for Melody Knight

Saturday 15^th December dawned a lovely day and with the help of my daughter, Yana, we had everything all organized on the home front by about 10 a.m. – great – gave me time for writing before everyone arrived!

Cozying up, Laura Lee and Yvonne Walus

This was to be the 'Christmas' meeting of the Romance Writers of New Zealand, Auckland Chapter, and our guest was Laura Lee Guhrke, who was visiting NZ.  I offered to host her and fellow writers at our house for an afternoon tea of chat, and hearing about Laura's writing.

It was lovely hearing about her process. The trials of being picked up by two big gun US publishers, only to be dropped, then find a home at Avon where she has been for some years now.   Also interesting was hearing about her process, sounded long and painful to me!  But interesting to as other writers, such as Nalini Singh, Yvonne Lindsay, Frances Housden, Tessa Radley, Yvonne Walus and Melody Knight add there ideas and what works for them.

Handing out Christmas goodies, books of course

Happy reading everyone

 Jane Beckenham

What will be in your Christmas stocking?

DESPERATELY SEEKING SANTA

Merry Christmas

Morning everyone, it's a beautiful cloudless sky down here in New Zealand today - well my part of it anyway, spring hopefully is finally here and the warm weather not far away.  It sort of comes and goes a bit, so you're never sure whether to wear warm layers or not... 

Now, onto the important stuff.  I'm so excited to introduce this author.  This is what book sellers are saying about her....

Liz Rozanski, Friends Again Bookstore, Mgr...:

...Kim is an exceptionally talented writer with keen insight and a deliciously wicked sense of humor. She is a teacher, mentor, sometime editor and critic, and the best friend an aspiring writer can have. She is more than willing to share her talents with others...

So without further ado...(drum roll !!) Kim, gidday, from downunder (that's kiwispeak for ya)...tell us a bit about you, something that will surprise us?  

I am a huge fan of Minnesota Vikings football J yes, not Tennessee Titans, MV's and that is because I fell flat in love with Fran Tarkenton when I was a teenager, and YES that does tell a lot about my age. Can't help it, now I am a lifelong Viking.

Why do you write, what is it that makes you do it?

I write cozy mysteries with an edge. I don't have elderly, tea-sipping sleuths who own cats and crochet.  My gal, is a fiery young woman who is about as naïve as they come. She learns a lot in the book Avenging Angel, and I promise my readers you WILL see growth in the end J

Who is your favorite character from one of your books, and why?

Oh, I have to say my fav is my sidekick character of Dwayne Brown. He is Shannon's alter-ego, and common sense in most cases, and resembles fairly well one of my best friends at my job.

If you could have dinner with six people, alive or dead (LOL), who would they be?

 Six? Oh. Um. Abraham Lincoln, because he was a cool old dude, Bernie Mac because he was a great comedian, Christopher Reeve because I would love to tell him how he inspired me, my father because he was the only saint I ever knew, my mother because I want her to know that I got a book published like she wanted me to, and my ex-husband for just a few minutes to say how hard it was to tell him goodbye. Whew. That was a tough question.

Tell us a bit about your writing process.

Believe it or not, I don't have much of a process. I guess I developed a sort of process during Nanowrimo because it was important to get a certain number of words out, but I just sit down, read what I wrote last time, consider where I am going with it, and go to it. After I finish a book, I go through it and get rid of excess, and fill out the places that are lacking. Then I go back through and use a book I bought a few years ago on self-editing and try to adhere some of the rules to my writing. Once that is done, the story or book goes into a drawer for rest until I can face looking at it again. Then I want someone else to read it and crit it and give me a new vision for it, then it's off to edit again. 

What is your current release?  And how did this book come about.

My current book is due to be out in 2009 and is titled Avenging Angel, a Shannon Wallace mystery. I do not have cover art yet, but the artist and I are closing in on something that I think I will be over the moon about. This book came about originally when an idea occurred to me to write a story about a girl who goes to work for a man who wants to have a detective agency but couldn't get his license, so they do detecting under the radar. It was a good start, but the story went in a completely different direction once the characters came on screen. I don't know if it was a good thing or not, but I just held on the reins and they took over the buggy.

Santa's coming… what do you hope to get in your Christmas stocking?

This year I really want to give back. I get stuff all year long, and don't lack for much. I would love a Sony Reader, but it is not a show-stopper if I don't get it. I would like to do Operation Christmas Child this year, just to make someone else's Christmas a huge day.

How can readers find you?

Lol that is the easy stuff. http://www.mkimsmith.com, (website) http://www.mkimsmith.com/blog (blog) http://writingspace.blogspot.com (blog) http://murderby4.blogspot.com (group blog with three of the best suspense, thriller, mystery writers in the whole UNIVERSE!!!)  

Blurb:   Shannon Wallace is having a bad hair week. She's been ditched by her job, drunk as a skunk, dumped by her boyfriend and implicated in his murder. When their very private video collection turns up missing from the crime scene, Shannon has to find them before the cops do. But the killer has taken them, and he's watched them. Now she's at the top of HIS most wanted list!

REVIEWS

about Avenging Angel ...wonderful story, masterfully blending action, humor, and suspense ... from Ron Adams, author of KEY LIME SQUEEZE, LAKE EFFECT...

Avenging Angel, is a welcome addition to the cozy mystery genre.  Full of hilarious situations and a mystery that will keep the reader guessing, the story takes place in a well drawn world peopled by characters brimming with authentic Southern charm.  Smith's writing is down to earth, real and honest.  Avenging Angel is as refreshing as a tall glass of icy sweet tea on a summer afternoon.

Thanks Kim for dropping by... I wanted to post Kim's cover, but she doesn't have cover art just yet...but go to her web site she has a really cool pictorial display, sort of an online collage of inspirational photos that represent her book.

Until next time.

Happy reading

Jane Beckenham

www.janebeckenham.com

Today, I'm very excited to have wonderful author Shiela Stewart visit and tell us all about her writing, her books and life in general.

Shiela, tell us a bit about you, something that will surprise us?

Well to start with, I'm a paranormal romance author with a deep love for anything spooky. I currently have eight books published, two of which are a series. My latest books are in the Darkness series about good and bad vampires and a city cast in darkness. Each book begins where the last left off, more or less. I've been writing since as far back as I can remember. As a youth I would tell elaborate tales to my cousins or friends and as I grew, my imagination continued to branch out.
I've been married to the same wonderful man for twenty three years and have known him since I was seventeen. We have three wonderful children, ages 20, 16 and 13. I am an animal lover which is evident if you enter my house. I have five cats, one black lab dog, six fish and three turtles.

Hey a lady after my own heart…we're animal nuts too, 2 cats, 1 dog and assorted fish.  But I'm not sure I want to meet up with you on a dark street, all that spookiness…well, maybe if I can bring my own knight in shining armor.

Tell something that would surprise you?

Hm…. I can speak Low German. Not surprising enough? Okay, how about….I wanted to be a dancer when I was younger. Still not surprising enough. Okay…I'll dip deep into my past and see what I can come up with.  How about…I sometimes have visions that come true. Still not juicy enough. Okay, fine, here you go. My first step into the dating world was with a female. Surprised now?? LOL

Yep, surprised me…

Why do you write, what is it that makes you do it?

Well if you ask my friends and family they'll say because I'm a freak. LOL   I tend to like the darker side of things, like vampire, demons, ghosts and so forth. I also love a good scare, for myself, and scaring others. Ask my children, they'll tell you just what a jokester I am. LOL I write paranormal because it's what's in my heart. The romance to it is from the dreamer in me. What is life if not for a happy ending? You can have the scariest story happening but as long as there's a happy ending you feel so much better.

I grew up in a haunted house, grew up with stories of haunting, clairvoyance, premonitions and so forth. And I guess living on a farm in the middle of nowhere helped. I used to imagine all the scary things that were hiding in the darkness, in the trees, in the barn and what would happen if they came out of hiding. I've always had a vivid imagination.

Who is your favorite character from one of your books, and why?

I don't have just one particular favorite. I have several and I'll share them with you now and why I like them so much.

C.J. Dowling from Secrets of the Dead: His determination to find the truth is very appealing. As is his need to help others. But what I like most is his dry sense of humor.

Cassie Evans from Discovery in Passion: She is a blonde who has had to fight off the stereo type every blonde lives with and stayed strong. She's a self sufficient woman determined to get what she wants and doesn't let anything stand in her way.

Victor Davis from Escape in Passion:  He is by far the best looking of all of my characters and he knows it. LOL He's a flirt, a womanizer with a wicked sense of humor. If I ever broke the law, I would want Staff Sergeant Victor Davis to arrest me.

But the question is… is your beloved the inspiration for your heroes!!

If you could have dinner with six people, alive or dead (LOL), who would they be?

Well, here comes that darker side of me now. All the people I would want to have dinner with are dead.

1: King Henry the 8^th: He's fascinated me for a long time now. I would love to sit down to dinner with him and ask him everything from why he really had Anne Boleyn beheaded, what he thinks about the fact that his daughters both became queen and that we now, have a queen, not a king reigning.

2: Anne Boleyn: She's fascinated me for a long time as well. There are conflicting reports about her saying in one turn that she slept around a lot during and before her marriage as well as conspiring from the beginning to weave her way into King Henry the 8^th's bed and become queen all while plotting behind his back to take him out. Or the other accounts of her not being as much of a trollop who really didn't conspire behind the kings back, who was an innocent victim of the King simply because she couldn't bare him a male heir. I really want to know who the real Anne is.

3: Queen Elizabeth the first: Was she really a virgin? How did she feel about having a mother who was beheaded by her father? What was it like to reign for so long without ever marrying or having a child?

4: Marilyn Monroe: This is a case that has intrigued me for as long as I can remember. I would love to sit down with her to find out who the real Marilyn was. And of course, to find out who really killed her or if she did indeed commit suicide (I never believed this was the case. I believe she was killed)

5: Elvis Presley: I just want to listen to him sing in person. I was never able to before he died. Also, I'd like to find out what it was that drove him to drugs.

6: My son: I was never given a chance to get to know him before he was taken from me. I would love one meal with him just to hold him and tell him just how much I truly love him.

Tell us a bit about your writing process

There has to be hard beating dance style music on for me to really get into writing. I especially love the new song by Lady Gaga: Poker Face. That one always gets me in the mood to dance and when I've done dancing, sit and write.  The life of a writer is rather boring, at least mine is. I sit in my comfy chair, lap top in front of me, cold drink (usually a pop) to my left, dictionary open, thesaurus open and internet ready. I tend to write from 9 in the morning, after the kids and hubby have left the house, until 3 when the kids come home. I also do promo's during that time, reply to emails, work on my website and so forth. Of course, I do all of this in an elegant evening gown with my hair perfectly coiffed and make-up immaculate. (snorts) Yeah, right. LOL

Okay, we know you're really in your jammies!

What is your current release? 

And how did this book come about.

My current release is the third book in my Darkness series titled, Embracing the Darkness.  This book came about on a whim. When I wrote the first book in the series, Seducing the Darkness, I really had no intention of submitting it. It was one of those stories I just sat down to write for the fun of it. I was bored one day, had this crazy idea about a female vampire (Trinity Ford) spurned by her lover who sets out to protect her city from her own kind. In the process, she finds out someone is trying to blot out the sun and using innocent virgins to do so. But when I discussed it with my friend and fellow author, Melanie Anderson she insisted I send it to her to read over. So I did, not thinking much of it. She wrote back a few days later urging me to submit it. I laughed it off but she persisted even to the point of discussing it with my editor during a book chat. That set the wheels in motion. Now I had not only Melanie urging me to submit it, but my editor and publisher as well. What is a girl to do? So I sent it in. My editor read it, suggested some changes and asked if I could make it a series. Well, Bam! The next two books came to me in such a hurry I hardly had time to write them both down.

Embracing the Darkness is about Trinity's best friend, Jonah Moore and his struggles with becoming a vampire and losing his wife and unborn child.

Here is a blurb of the book:

Once upon a time Jonah Moore had it all. Then his  wife and unborn child were taken from him, leaving his life darker than when Chaos and his evil vamps stole the sun. Now, Jonah's lost the will to face another day, which could be a problem, considering he's just been turned into a vampire and is now destined to live for eternity.

 As a nurse, Raven Moony was used to tending to the needs of others. Until an accident changes everything… When she is abducted and forced to tend to Chaos' needs, she is more than ready to give in and willingly accepts her role as his slave.

 Then Jonah enters the picture and she finds herself fighting for his safety and freedom as well as her own. Can she convince Jonah he should go on despite her own doubts? Can they open their hearts to love and learn that there is indeed life after death?

Shiela Stewart's third novel in The Darkness series continues the heart stopping, action packed battle of light against dark. Enter a world where light shines from within and love always triumphs…even in the face of pure evil.

Santa's coming… what do you hope to get in your Christmas stocking?

A vacation. LOL I so desperately need one.

How can readers find you?

I'm everywhere, just Google my name and you'll see. LOL

 But if you want information about me and my books, you can go to my website at www.shielasbooks.ca  All my books can be purchased at www.lindenbayromance.com or www.allromanceebooks.com

To join my Newsletter simply email me at shielas@shaw.ca  with Newsletter Subscription in the subject line.  I also have a blog where I not only share my life and my stories but share some fabulous authors works as well. It's called Dark Cravings and you can check it out by following this link:

Thank you so much for this interview, Jane. I had a ball.

Well, that's your introduction to Shiela.  I figure having been brought up in a haunted house sure has given her a great insight into scary paranormal.  And perhaps I need to take up frantic dancing to get into the groove next time if hit writer's block.

Thanks Shiela for dropping by. 

Happy reading everyone.

Jane Beckenham.

www.janebeckenham.com