Saturday, December 31, 2011


Okay, so here it is, New Year’s Eve. I’m spending it with a favorite friend of mine, Captain Morgan and waxing philosophical.
I’ve been fighting depression for weeks.  I ask myself, why?  I think I’ve figured it out.  I’m tired of not getting what I want.  Is that selfish?  If so, then so be it, I’m selfish. Deal with it.
The key in getting what you want is to know exactly what you do want.   This sounds simple enough. Right? However, you’d be amazed to find how difficult a question this is for people.  They can tell you what they don’t want but stumble over what they do want.  (I have to apologize for the Captain.  He isn’t a writer and doesn’t give even one tiny Yo-ho-ho on how many words he repeats.)
Here’s an example of what I’m talking about: people say, “I don’t want to be poor.”  Wrong!  Say instead, “I want unlimited abundance to come to me in a very joyful way.” (You have to put that disclaimer in there, “in a very joyful way” because your favorite uncle might die in a car crash and even though you inherit all his money, you miss him something fierce.  Thus the meaning of the old saying, “be careful what you wish for.”)
Another example: “I don’t want to be fat.”  Wrong!  “I want to be slim, trim, and healthy.”  See where I’m going here?
Am I rambling?  Sorry.  It’s the damn Captain.
The thing is, I’ve been saying this mantra for years and my bank balance is still zip.  The scale still moans when I step on it.
I’m tired of it, damn it!
I just can’t imagine that God created us to struggle so. Think about it. Why would He want His children to suffer?   If He liked seeing this, then He wouldn’t be God, would He?  (Captain Morgan is so logical.) God wants us to be happy!  If  you follow this reasoning, then another old saying, “you create your own reality” is absolute.
According to the Miyans’, 2012 is the end of the world.  Good! I've had it with toiling from 8-5 in a dead-end, God awful boring job.  Let it be the end of me worrying how I’m going to pay my bills. Instead of me always thinking about what I don’t want, I will focus all energy on what I do want.   And, believe me I have a list a mile long.
Do you?
Ask yourself on January 1, 2012, "What do I want?"

Okay, that’s enough  deep thinking. 
Right now, I want another drink.
Happy 2012 everyone!

Saturday, December 24, 2011


Tomorrow is Christmas and hundreds of people everywhere will receive their new Kindles from Amazon.  Then what?  What books do they download?
Here are my top three picks:

For the historical fiction/Civil War buffs, and paranormal fans:  Soldiers From the Mist by me, Ruth Burkett Weeks is a must read. The Civil War is the backdrop for the story of three men and three promises—two were broken, one should’ve been. Trapped for eternity because of these promises, the ghost of Charles Ely haunts the Ozark Hills in search of the fourth promise that will set them free.  Soldiers is two stories in one. It is the real life story about how the author communicated and worked with the ghost of Charles Ely in the telling of his story.

For all the women fiction lovers out there: Redneck Goddess by Pam Foster will leave you laughing all the way to New Year’s and beyond.  Goddess is the story of a backwoods country girl (named after a candy bar) from Noisy Creek, Georgia and her hot Latino lover, Julio. Read about Goo-Goo’s struggle with her redneck family to accept her golden-skinned boyfriend while trying to win the Redneck Goddess Beauty Pageant. 

Bayou Jesus by M.G. Miller is Southern Gothic at its best.  Bayou Jesus dares to ask the question, “If Jesus returned as a black man in the Deep South during the Depression would mankind accept him for the King of Kings?”  Dark and thought provoking, Bayou Jesus will haunt you long after the last page is turned.

Merry Christmas and Happy Reading!

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

"Does Father Still Beat You?"

Peter’s eyes closed and his fists clenched.
“I’m a son of the South and she is a demanding mother. Even though sympathetic to the North, Mama Dixie will insist on my allegiance. I’m an officer and will be called to command. Mostly boys I fear. War always takes the young first. I’ll be responsible for their very lives.” His shoulders slumped.
“I fear the task is too great. How can I save them, Mother? It frightens me to my very core.
“Son.” Her voice came soft. “If war happens, you’ll not be responsible for it or over who lives or dies. That is God’s decision. Your compassion for your fellow man swells my heart with pride.”
He whirled.
“Compassionate? Do not think me so. If pushed. If threatened. I’m more than capable of violence. Hard and premeditated, if need be.”
Thunder rumbled in the distance. At storm brewed and rain clouds ushered in not only a change in weather but in his attitude as well. The air crackled with tension and a dark, uneasiness swirled with the wind. Lightning flashed and so did his eyes.
“Does Father still beat you?”

Lieutenant Peter James Montgomery is a tortured man who drinks to forget a promise made in cold-blooded anger—a promise that should’ve been broken.  Is the responsibility of  Unit 547  his atonement or punishment?
Read Soldiers From the Mist and find out.
Soldiers From the Mist by Ruth Burkett Weeks
                                                      Available on Amazon Kindle.  Download now!

Soldiers From the Mist

Friday, December 16, 2011

A Charlie Brown Christmas

Madison's prompt for this week's Friday fiction made me sad.

           “Christmas was your favorite time of year.
I hated the holiday. But not you. Every year you’d insist on putting up a damned tree. Had to be real. No artificial tree for you, no sir. I hated it.  Pine needles littered the floor. Jim Cat climbed the branches, tipping it over. You’d laugh.  Every year, The Christmas Story and It’s a Wonderful Life.  Ebenezer had it right—bah humbug!
Strange how your grandfather clock stopped when you passed. Never had the heart to start it again. But I did put up a tree this year. Oh, I know, it’s sad looking and droopy, but then again, so am I.  Next year will be better, I promise. But for now, it’s the best I can do.
Merry Christmas, Winnie, I miss you.”     


Breaking News!!!! 

Soldiers From the Mist is now available on Kindle.  Just in time for Christmas!!!

Three men, three promises--two were broken, one should've been. Trapped for eternity because of these promises, the ghost of Charles Ely haunts the Ozark hills and serches for the one that will set them free.

Make your first download to that new Kindle Fire, Soldiers From the Mist by Ruth Burkett Weeks.

Tuesday, December 13, 2011


Sometimes simplicity is a soothing balm to the ragged heart:
Sunday night my brother, great-nephew, and niece honored a Burkett Christmas tradition—we  loaded up  the Tahoe and drove around the neighborhoods looking at Christmas lights.
My great-nephew is three years old and is smarter than all of us put together. No kidding, the little scamp can work his I-Pod like it was nothing. I don’t even know how to put my cell phone on vibrate.
As we drove to Fayetteville to marvel over the Lights of the Ozarks, I sat beside Logan in the back seat and laughed at his story about his imaginary friend, Josh, who lives far away at the WalMart in Springdale. On a roll, he then told me he worked at JB Hunt. When I told him I worked just down the street from him and that someday we should do lunch, his giggles melted my heart.
Lights of the Ozarks
Logan and Pa-Pa are great buddies.  (Another thing that melts my heart.) Both share the love of music and lights. Rocking out to country-western songs like,”Going Out with My Boots On, and I Like to Move It, Move It”, Logan kept us in stitches and entertained.
On the way home, we honored another tradition—Pet Smart.  Pa-Pa often takes Logan to Pet Smart to look at the fish, birds, cats, and snakes. Even though Logan informed me he doesn’t like snakes, he still insists on Pa-Pa lifting him up to gaze into the slimy, slithery snake cage. I asked him what the snake’s name was and without missing a beat he said, “Fooey.”
That Sunday the only thing we spent was time—golden time together doing something as simple as going to the pet shop. 
So, if you find yourself depressed over this holiday season and struggling with the insanity of shopping, buying, paying-for, and dealing with Christmas crowds, I recommend taking time out and going to see the lights—or to Pet Smart to visit Fooey the Snake.

Monday, December 12, 2011

Coming January 20, 2012: THE REDNECK EX

             REDNECK EX
Summer Leigh is jolted back to the Ozarks from Alaska to help her coon-hunting, bull riding, ex-husband, Dwight. The last time she helped Dwight, he flicked her aside like an empty can of Skoal. What will she find this time? The man she fell in love with years ago and a second change for love and family or heartbreak and sorrow deep in the backwoods of the Ozark hills?
If you like good ol’ boys, wit, charm, snarky women, and rekindled love, The Redneck Ex by Claire Croxton is a must read. 

Coming Januray 20,2012 from The Wild Rose Press: The Redneck Ex by Claire Croxton.

Friday, December 9, 2011

Confessions of a Closet Bacon Eater

This week's flash fiction from Madison is very unique.  I couldn't tell what her son was doing in the picture until I read her caption that he was frying bacon on a space heater. What kind of a story could I make up about this?  Read on and find out.

My name is Bob.  And I’m a baconholic.
It started innocently enough— bacon and grape jelly on a toasted sandwich for breakfast.  I know now Mom wasn’t to blame. She just wanted me to have something hot and filling in my stomach before going to school.
Next it was bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches for lunch.  Then bacon cheeseburgers for supper.  But I wasn’t worried.  I could stop any time I wanted.
I knew I’d hit bottom when I started cooking bacon over my space heater. That’s when a friend of mine told me about Bacon Eaters Anonymous.
It won’t be easy giving up those crispy sizzling strips of pure pork fat.  I’ll just have to take it one day at-a-time.  

Sunday, December 4, 2011

Jesus is coming! Christmas Day 2011

 Bayou Jesus:
One of the many things I like about belonging to the Northwest Arkansas Writers’ Workshop is that the group is comprised of a variety of writers working on different genres—from westerns to romance and everything in-between.  I thought I’d heard of very type of novel out there until M.G. Miller returned to the fold.
M. G. (Mike) Miller is a Southern Gothic novelist and former fiction editor for a national horror magazine. What is Southern Gothic?  In Miller’s case, it horror that chills your bones and curls your toenails—and his brand of Southern Gothic is not for the faint of heart.  
           Even though I talk a good game, basically I’m a big chicken so my taste doesn’t run toward the macabre but Miller’s God-given talent of weaving tales of shock and revulsion into works of pure genus made me a fan.  Currently he is fine-tuning his new book, Murderous. I can’t wait to get to class to hear what despicable act his character, Caroline has done to her mother this week.
Because I’m addicted to Miller’s unique voice, I read one of his earlier novels, Bayou Jesus.  OMG!  I couldn’t put the book down and read it in one sitting. Bayou Jesus not only is a brilliant piece of writing but is also a book that conjures questions.  Questions about faith, belief and man’s inhumanity to man. The novel dares ask the question, “If Jesus returned today in a different form or way other than the traditional Christian belief, would we accept or deny him?”
Personally, I think he’d be crucified all over again.  The pharmaceutical and health insurance companies would have a stroke if Jesus walked in our midst healing the sick and raising the dead. The economy would collapse. And do you think the power of the almighty dollar would bow down to unconditional love and compassion? I wonder.
What if Jesus returned as a woman?   Maybe that’s already happened.  A viable argument could be made for Mother Theresa. She healed the sick and walked among lepers seeking no fortune or fame.  Hmm . . . sounds familiar, doesn’t it?
If Jesus came back as a stringy-haired teenager with a nose ring and tattoos, would Christians think him the King of Kings?
What if Jesus returned as a poor black man born in the Deep South during The Great Depression.  Would mankind accept him as their Savior?
Read the reissue of Bayou Jesus by M. G. Miller and find out.  Available Christmas Day from Southern Exposures Press exclusively on Amazon Kindle.

Connect with M.G. Miller on line
            Facebook Author Page:  M.G. Miller

Sunday, November 20, 2011

Interview with JAN MORRILL: A real life Samurai Gypsy!

I met Jan Morrill at the Northwest Arkansas Writers' Workshop. Week-after-week I'd sit in awe and listen to her short stories and say to myself, "One day I hope I can write as well as Jan."

Jan Morrill
Jan is an award winning author with short stories and memoir essays in several anthologies and Chicken Soup of the Soul series. She was nominated for the Pushcart Prize for her short story, Xs and Os. She is currently represented by Kathleen Anderson of Anderson Literary Management who is looking for a home for Jan's novel Broken Dolls.

But there is more to this beautiful, talented woman than what meets the eye.

Jan is a loyal, giving woman who gracefully glides through life trying to make the world a better place with her writing that is as elegant as she. I hope this interview will give you a deeper insight into the author I call Samurai Gypsy Jan and who I'm honored to have as a close friend.

Jan Morrill

1.  I always wanted to write and wrote my first story when I was ten years old. How old were you when the writing bug bit and do you remember what your first story was?
I’ve always thought of stories in my head, but until high school, those stories came out as drawings and paintings, rather than in written form. I did keep journals from about 8th grade, but didn’t attempt fiction until I enrolled in a Creative Writing class in high school. That is when I was bitten by the writing bug, and the itch has never gone away.
It’s funny you should ask this question, because just the other day, I found a folder of stories I wrote in that Creative Writing class. I smiled—even laughed—as I read. Here’s the first sentence of one of my stories, titled “Judgement.” It was dated February 6, 1976:
Susan still couldn’t believe the sight of what she had just seen.     
I’m serious. The only thing good I can say about that sentence is, I’ve come a long way.
2.  Your first novel, Broken Dolls is a powerful story about the treatment of Japanese-
Americans during WWII told from the point of view of a little girl, Sachi. What inspired you to write this story? What message do you want the reader to carry with them long after they finish reading?
My mother and her family were Japanese-American internees during World War II. When I first began writing the book, it was a fictionalized account of her years, but the book grew into a completely different story and pulled in a new character, African-American teenager, Terrence. Broken Dolls is about how their lives become entwined with prejudice, revenge and forgiveness.

I hope readers see through the eyes of my characters--Sachi, Nobu and Terrence--the effect of prejudice and misunderstanding. They are all broken dolls, yet the story also shows how one can triumph, even in adversity.

3.  All of us dream that our novels will be made into Oscar winning movies. Who would you like to see bring your Broken Dolls characters to life on the big screen?

You’re right – I have imagined the people I would like to portray my characters on the big screen. It helps to have a physical image in my mind as my characters tell me their story.

The main actor I must have in my movie is Ken Watanabe as Papa. In fact, Mr. Watanabe so perfectly captures my image of Papa that I re-wrote the role of Michio Kimura (Papa) so that Mr. Watanabe would have a bigger part in the movie one day.

I always imagined a younger version of actor, Terrence Howard as my character, Terrence Harris. You can probably tell this by the name I chose for my character. Terrence Howard has hazel eyes. It’s no coincidence that Terrence, my character, also has hazel eyes.

As for Sachi, I often imagine the little girl who played little Chiyo in Memoirs of a Geisha. But of course, she would be too old to play Sachi, who is eight years old at the beginning of Broken Dolls.

4.  What is the best advice you’ve received to date on writing and what advice would you give a beginning writer?

One of the best books (on creativity) I’ve read is The Art of War, by Steven Pressfield. This book discusses resistance, which is the enemy of creativity. Pressfield says, “Most of us have two lives. The life we live, and the unlived life within us. Between the two stands resistance.”

He goes on to discuss author, Somerset Maugham’s theory of resistance:

Maugham reckoned another, deeper truth: that by performing the mundane physical act of sitting down and starting to work, he sent in motion a mysterious but infallible sequence of events that would produce inspiration, as surely as if the goddess had synchronized her watch with his.”

This is just a fancy way of stating what we’ve all heard before. Just sit down and write!

Beyond that, the piece of advice I’d share with a beginning writer is to find a good critique group. It was only after I found the Northwest Arkansas Writers’ Workshop, led by Dusty Richards and Velda Brotherton, that I truly became serious about my writing. I’d go so far as to say if I hadn’t found this group, I probably would never have completed my book. They taught, encouraged and motivated me and I’ve grown ten-fold as a writer since joining the group approximately six years ago.

5.  I call you Gypsy Jan because you’ve traveled the globe. Where are some of the places you’ve been?  How has travel helped your writing experience?

I’ve been to more places than I ever imagined I’d ever go in my life, and I count my blessings for the experience. I’ve been to Japan, China, Russia, Italy, France, Turkey, Greece, Thailand, Brazil, Argentina, British Virgin Islands, Sweden, Norway, Finland, Croatia, Spain, Estonia, United Arab Emirates. Travel has opened my mind to wonder, because I’ve seen so many things that I don’t see in the United States—different cultures, different landscapes, different foods. I often watch a person and wonder how they became who they are. I wonder about their histories. “What if” is a very common question in my mind, both in and out of the country. I’ve written a couple of short stories based on my travels, and while in Thailand, I came up with an idea for a book down the road. First, though, I must finish the sequel to Broken Dolls, which is titled Broken Dreams. After that, I have in mind one more sequel, and possible a prequel. So, the Thailand inspiration is way down the road.

Thank you so much for the interview, Ruth. You asked some thought-provoking questions, and Question 4 in particular, gave me renewed motivation to “just sit down and write!”

Go to: for book trailer to Broken Dolls and much more.

Thursday, November 17, 2011

They Walk Faithfully By Our Side

Of all the pictures Madison has given us for Friday Fiction this one hit home the strongest. It resurected memories of so long ago.  I felt the leather reins in my hands. Heard the creak of saddle leather. And smelled that wonderful scent of horse. There are no words that can describe the relationship between a girl and her horse. Some think it silly, but all us cowgirls know it's the greatest love on earth. My story will not do justice to this picture.  Never-the-less here it is, dedicated to Cowgirls everywhere and the horses that walk faithfully by our side.

I Knew
“No one thought you were born just for me.  But I knew.
No one thought you were a wish come true.  But I knew.
No one thought you’d amount to much.  But I knew.
No one thought your strength would give me courage.  But I knew.
No one thought you could change a shy little girl into a confident young woman. But I knew.
No one thought you’d share my dreams or hear my voice. But I knew.
No one thought you’d be my best friend forever.  But I knew.
No one thought I could love you as much as I do. Even me.
But that’s ok.
You knew.”  

Friday, November 11, 2011

Birth of the Ghost Flower

Here is this week's Friday Fiction's picture. Madsion is challenging us but I love this story even if I say so myself:

The Ghost Flower

                                               Birth of the Ghost Flower
Every one hundred years and only during a blue moon, the mysterious Dalfine joins with her lover, the golden-flamed griffin, Hector.
Hunted for her magic coat of rose petals and dove feathers, Dalfine found sanctuary in the nooks and crannies of Hector’s Shadow Mountain but at great sacrifice. Lonely and sad she’d cry silent tears and wish upon the stars for someone to love.
Longing for a soul-mate as well, Hector followed the trail of iced crystals only to find the beautiful Dalfine weeping by the water’s edge.  Their souls merged as one.
The ghost flower was born.   

Friday, November 4, 2011

And on the Seventh Day . . .

It's a good thing that my friend and sister writer, Madison Woods started Friday Fictioneers. If it wasn't for her prompt pictures I wouldn't be writing anything. I try and think outside the box with the pictures she gives us each week and put a different twist on old titles and ideas.
Here is her picture for this week and my story:

And on the Seventh Day . . .

Theologinas believe on the seventh day God rested, however . . .

Old Man Winter argued that planet Earth would be greater protected if everything was frozen forever in time. No disease, no hunger, no strife--only iced beauty beyond compare.

God reasoned this new world was home to his greatest creation--Man. Without warmth and renewal Man would fall dorment and the evolution of the species would be doomed.

The Old Man refused to listen and turned a cold shoulder.

Not wanting to hurt the elderly man's feelings, God gave in and created four seasons: spring, summer, fall, and winter.

And so, on the seventh day the "Art of Compromise" was born.

Thursday, November 3, 2011

BOOK SIGNING ****************

Come join me and my sister author, Pam Foster for a book signing for my book, Soldiers From the Mist and her book, Redneck Goddess:

WHEN:  Saturday, November 5th
WHERE: Ozark Natural Foods:  Fayetteville, AR
TIME: 1:00

Pam and I will be doing  readings from our books.  Come join in the fun.

Soldiers From the Mist

Redneck Goddess

Sunday, October 30, 2011

The Witch of Moon Hollow

Tomorrow (actually at midnight tonight) Halloween begins. It’s the time of year when the veil between this world and the “other side” is the thinnest and therefore spirits and ghosts are able to communicate more effectively.  Personally, I don’t have any trouble talking to spirits regardless of what date is on the calendar, but I love Halloween just the same.  Why? The answer may surprise you: I really don’t know.
We  didn’t celebrate Halloween that much when I was a kid due to location.  We lived in the sticks (at that time) where houses weren’t close together. Children never came to our door trick or treating. Mama drove my brother and me into town if we wanted to go on the yearly candy fest. Then things got weird and razor blades in candy and apples started showing up. Mama put the hex on everything. But we always craved a pumpkin and put its candle-lit face on the front porch.  I still do.
 In High School drama class I played a lying possessed little brat in the play, The Crucial.  I lived in Salem, Mass. for over five years, and walked in witchy energy every day, but it wasn’t until I moved back home to Arkansas that my interest in the paranormal started to grow.

 I became a Tarot Card reader, a Ouija Board nut and loved things that went bump in the night. Then I matured. The Ouija Board is hidden deep in my closet never to be fooled with again, and I just as soon not meet anything that rattles around in the dark.  
 I still read the cards, however and love the ambience of the paranormal. I know I was a witch in a previous life and was murdered because of that. I believe in reincarnation, ghostly encounters, Big Foot, aliens, black cats, astral travel, Voo Doo, ESP, visions, basically all things paranormal. The “Truth is out There,” somewhere and someday I will learn all of it.
Another reason why I love Halloween is the weather.  The air is crisp, the stars shine brighter, and the night is black as sin. Trees wear coats of yellow, red, and orange. Leaves jump from their branches and scurry across the yard. My blood sizzles. I feel alive.  Everything feels Twilight Zone-ish.  I like that.
About two years ago around Halloween, I had a wonderful dream about a witch. She stood in a clearing, wild wind whipped the trees, lightning bolts scarred the sky.  She raised her arms to the night and conjured.  Wow! I loved that dream. Actually, I don’t think it was a dream. It was me in a different time.  That vision haunted me for months until I finally took the hint and wrote a short story about it.   
The Witch of Moon Hollow has won first place awards and hopefully will continue to do.  Here is just a taste:
A hooded figure stood tall in the middle of the clearing, arms raised high to the star-infested sky. I stood frozen to the spot.
Wind, crisp as a bite from a red, juicy apple, nipped my face and bent tree tops to the ground only to snap them back into place. Thunder cracked. The moon bobbed between the clouds like a silver cork in an inky ocean. Yellow lightning zigzagged to the ground and caught the figure’s face in its flash.
Coal-black hair, loose and long, whipped about her face. Hairs on my arm stood straight up. Lightning tore the sky again. Her voice, clear and strong, cut through the night and rang like a crystal bell through the frosty air:
“I, Morrigan, Warrior Goddess, do hereby command and summon thee:
        From the Sun, I take strength and stamina.
        From the Moon, I take beauty and grace.
        From the Wind, I take power and speed.”
She clapped her hands together three times. For a heart beat everything stood still.
Something came up behind me. Goose bumps crawled up my back like thousands of red ants. No way was I going to turn and look.  

Happy Halloween to all that dare to dream and believe.

Saturday, October 29, 2011

The Legend of Danny O'Shea


Here is my flash fiction for this Friday.

The Legend of Danny O'Shea
Danny O’Shea loved his emerald-eyed Kathleen and promised her a land of milk and honey in the land of the Americas.
“The mountain seams are full of gold, Katie, my love,” he’d laugh low and musical. “One blast can change a poor potato farmer into a king.”
“Tis a grand dream.”  Kathleen smiled. “And what is life without them? Go to America and claim ye fortune.”
“I’ll send for you my love.”
Danny O’Shea was never heard from again.
Some say his ghost haunts the hills still searching for the mother lode and golden dreams, that the sound of dynamite and laughter is carried on the wind.  
 But tis’ only legend.
Or is it?

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Halloween by Pan Cat

All year I gaze out into the starlit night, waiting . . . waiting.  
Crisp air makes my blood boil and skin itch.  My tail and whiskers twich.  Restless, I pace from room to room on silent paws only to return to the window.  “Is it time?” my emerald eyes ask.
She understands.  
She sits beside me, her gentle hand stokes my slick coat.  “Soon, Pan. Soon,” she promises.
The pumpkin is carved. The candles are lit.  She strides toward me on pointy-toed boots, onyx skirts whisper with each step, black hat on her head, broom in hand.
The clock chimes midnight—the witching hour.  The waiting is over.  Time to fly.
She calls me to her side.  Beside her I ride.

Pan Weeks
 Halloween has begun.  

All Hallow' s Eve by Ruth Weeks

Saturday, October 22, 2011


Do you like romance?
Do you like snark?
Are you looking for the next Jodi Thomas? Nora Roberts?
Then Redneck Ex is perfect for you.
Claire Croxton's new novel has it all: laughter, tears, snark, hot men, and wild sex.
Croxton's writing voice is a breath of fresh air that will leave you wanting more!

With one twang of a banjo string, Summer Leigh Johnson's tidy, organized life in Barrow, Alaska is jolted back to the Ozarks when her coon-hunting, tobacco-chewing, bull-riding, redneck ex-husband asks for her help. She has two options: turn her back on him like he did to her eleven years ago, or help. Burdened with the curse of every southern woman--What Would Mama Do?--she goes to his aid. And what does she find? The man she fell in love with all those years ago and a second chance at love and family. The last time she gave her heart to Dwight, he flicked it aside like an empty can of Skoal. This time he's cradling it as gently as he would a speckled pup. It will take a lot more than Dwight's southern charm and good looks to convince Summer to stay.

Coming January 20,2012 from The Wild Rose Press: Redneck Ex by Claire Croxton
for book trailer go

Friday, October 21, 2011

Tripping the Circuit Breaker

Here is the picture and my story for this Friday's flash fiction.  It is the first thing that entered my mind when I saw the picture. I confess however, I had several Captain Morgan's!

It was one of those days—the cat yakked in my shoe, coffee overflowed the pot, work fornicated and multiplied before my eyes, the phone wouldn’t shut up! My brain smoked, dangerously close to overload.
That’s when the circuit breaker tripped—I lost my marbles.
“Lost-marble-syndrome” happens to me so regularly that I never panic. The little guys always roll home after a few moments of running amok. The pretty glass orbs show up in various places: my purse, coffee cup, even on the desk top right in front of me.
Contrary to popular belief, losing one’s marbles isn’t a bad thing. Just like circuit breakers in the home they trip-out for your protection.
Roll on, little marble.  Roll on!

Friday, October 14, 2011

Do Not Weep for Me

My writing friend, Madison Woods has started the "Friday Fictioneers".  Each Friday she posts a picture on her blog and we write a flash fiction story (around 100 words) about it.
Here is her picture for this Friday. And my story.

                                                   DO NOT WEEP FOR ME
I didn’t always look like this—sagging, aged, yellowed, and sad.
In my youth, I was wanted, needed in fact. The first purples and pinks in the swirling autumn skies signaled the arrival of dawn, of a new day fresh with knowledge. 
Laughing children would run to my door. Excited to learn, they’d push their way into my one room; sit at wooden desks, surrounded in scent of quill, parchment, and caulk.The black board against my side offered up sums and letters. Primers in worn jackets whisked their young minds into a world of poetry and prose.
My time is over now. Obsolete. But do not weep for me.
My purpose is eternal.