The hero isn't always the good guy, or girl.

Holiday Shorts Cover

Writing update 9/18

Here’s the stuff that got done this week:

(no link yet) Mayhem was just posted for pre-orders.

Holiday Shorts (the Passionate Ink Anthology) IS posted for pre-orders and is available at a discounted price until 10/18.

Naughty is nice, and this sugar has spice.

Thirteen spicy stories in one delightful package are coming down the chimney to set your holidays on fire. These oh so naughty yet nice stories are sure to entice, entertain, and engage your sugar plums. From historic liaisons to biker Santas and wicked wonderlands, there’s a treat perfect for everyone’s stocking.

Authors Ryley Banks, C.E. DeRosier, Jena Doyle, W. D. Drames, Raisa Greywood, Sylvie Haas, Jordyn Kross, Candice LaBria, Cindy Redding, Maggie Sims, Marie Tuhart, Cadence Vonn, and Calia Wilde have joined together to create this sizzling seasonal-themed collection. All proceeds for this anthology will be donated to ProLiteracy. This organization is the leading resource and champion for adult education and literacy worldwide.

Ghostly Bones is STILL in progress (sorry paranormal fans those pesky articles are giving me fits). And a side character started whispering in my ear two nights ago. Darn him! (and her)

So… you are getting a peek into something that probably won’t hit until LATE 2023 or maybe 2024, but here goes:

[Kid]

The diner was empty. Good to see that the Winchesters were still driving off business. Some things never changed. Even after all the years, the place smelled of freshly fried potato wedges and simmering pit beef.

The waitress came out from the back. “What’ll ya have, handsome?”

Well, if that wasn’t a change. I took my time scanning the woman standing in front of me. Little Crystal Winchester filled out fine. Always knew she would. If that clan got one thing right, it was creating God’s perfect woman. Eve before the fall. Black hair, blue eyes, pale skin, big boobs, and hips you could pound into for hours. And then that same clan raised her with a sharp tongue, bitchy attitude, and an eternal hatred for all Macmillians. The fact that she didn’t recognize him was a bonus. Maybe this time he’d get to eat a whole meal before being chased out.

Last time, her daddy took out the shotgun.

“The beef sandwich and some home fries, please?”

“Your drink?”

Her smile spread those cupid-bow lips, giving me a tiny glimpse of white teeth.

“Coffee, black.” The drive to Hagerstown was another four hours without construction. But that was a fool’s dream. It was the ass end of July and road construction wouldn’t wait.

“Your funeral.” She swung her body around and reached over the counter door for the pot on the burner. The aroma held a tell-tale tang of an hour roasting on the plate. It would probably go down like battery acid.

“May I talk you into a fresh pot?” If memory served, Alfie Winchester skimped money on decor, wages, and anything non-food related. That meant the odds of getting a fresh pot of coffee were only good if he drank the whole damn scalded kettle.

“You ain’t from around here if you’re askin’ that.”

She was fishing. Sure he’d put on at least thirty pounds and grown a beard. But she should recognize a Macmillan by their beard. “No offense, sweetheart, but ain’t the customer always right?”

“Not if they is a lying, cheatin’ Macmillan. You’re lucky my daddy went fishing today, Billy Jacob Macmillian. Else you’d get that shotgun blast in the ass you’ve been askin for all these years.”

“Crystal Ann…”

“Don’t sweet talk me none. You here because of Lulu Mae?”

She would have to bring that bitch’s name into things. Good old Winchesters, always looking to bury a knife into an open wound. “Just passing through.”

“‘Did ya visit her grave?”


There you go. This was the first pass right out of the whispers. Names may change, but the