Thursday, December 29, 2022
Hoping for Good Luck in the New Year
Wednesday, December 21, 2022
My Wish to You!
Thursday, December 08, 2022
Guest Post: CHRISTMAS HOUSE by LoRee Peery
The Plot for CHRISTMAS HOUSE:
A startling discovery after his father' s death forces Foxx Haven to face an unknown past. His life has been a lie. He' s distracted from work for the first time—by his heritage and his new neighbor. Can he fight his attraction to an unbeliever and discover his new life chapter at the same time?
Miniature donkeys and learning about Christ have a profound impact on Pepper. But God has a mighty work to bring her hurting soul and Foxx' s new perspective into alignment. Can hope override hurting souls and enable a happily-ever-after?

Now for a sampling!
Foxx pedaled hard the few blocks to Dad’s―no―his home now. Pepper was a beauty. He relived the meeting with her. Pert and pretty, but way too serious. And secretive. He grinned. She hadn’t liked it, but he’d drawn her out to talk about herself. Her caution made him more curious, but he wanted to know all about Ms. Pepper Rainwater. Unusual, the way both their names weren’t common to the human race.His life had been so crazy lately, following all those months of caring for Dad. Lack of sleep and more apartments to clear before the next tenant. He almost regretted that Dad hadn’t lived in Lincoln, where proximity and traffic kept his driving thoughts turned to his surroundings. Traveling the bike trails in the city, he concentrated on the exercise. Greeted others with a nod, and gloried in the passing air currents he created.
He secured the house and garage, hopped in his oversized SUV, and left for the job. During the commute from northwest of Lincoln, life and people and the past kept hitting him as distractions. Where did Pepper work? Somewhere on this side, or did she head into traffic for a busy commute?
It was much easier to let his mind go blank while on two wheels. Thoughts wove from Fred’s donkeys back to pretty Pepper. Where had she come from, what was her story? Why was he so drawn to her?
And all those months with Dad. Mesothelioma was a killer. Watching him go downhill hurt. It was over. Why relive it? But his memory was relentless. Shortness of breath had led to oxygen tanks. The pain in Dad’s chest hurt Foxx as his elder fought for life. The cough, fatigue, weight loss, swollen abdomen.
“Stop!” He loosened his grip on the steering wheel. “Oh Lord, take it away. It’s over. Dad’s full of joy in Your presence now.”
No sooner than he’d asked, a racing motorcycle cut into his lane from the right. And the light changed. He hit the brake pedal. From then on, Foxx concentrated on his surroundings as he pictured his route to the apartment building where a water heater element needed reset.
Yet Pepper returned to the foremost presence of his mind. The serious woman was a mystery he wanted to unfold.
You can find CHRISTMAS HOUSE at:
AmazonBarnes and Noble
BookBub
Connect with LoRee: www.loreepeery.com
https://www.facebook.com/LoReePeery
Find her publications at Pelican and AmazonThursday, December 01, 2022
Sunset at the Park
Wednesday, November 16, 2022
Why I Get My Flu Shot
Thursday, November 10, 2022
A Foggy Day at the Beach
Thursday, November 03, 2022
Traveling A Cappella
The buggy was just for fun. For genuine transportation, my family used a Rambler station wagon, which is on the right in the photo. My father used that car to get to work and back everyday. We also went to the grocery store, the doctor, and into town. For us in those days, the town was Keyport, which wasn't a big town but it had a bakery, a Chinese restaurant, and a 5 & 10 cent store, Newberry's, which was our favorite store.
Wednesday, October 26, 2022
The Big Duck
I visited Long Island last weekend. I've been to Long Island in the past. However, I never saw the Big Duck until this visit. It was a rainy afternoon and not a good day for the beach or for sightseeing. But it was a good day to check out the duck. There's a little gift shop inside. My sister went inside with me. She bought a mug. I bought a duck whistle. I'll have to see if I can attract any ducks with it.
Evidently, Long Island was a good place to raise ducks at one point but there's only one duck farm left there now. Instead, Long Island has many wineries. I guess it's easier to grow grapes than it is to raise ducks. I did not go to any of the wineries but my sister pointed them out as we drove past them. She had some of the wine at her house and I got to taste it there.
Long Island used to have lots of potato farms, too. Now there are very few.
Times change. The use of the land changes, too.
But I wish I could have seen a bunch of baby ducks.
Wednesday, October 19, 2022
Guest Post: A DREAM OF CHRISTMAS by Erin Stevenson
Erin's latest release is A DREAM OF CHRISTMAS.
The book begins when Finn Donovan answers a late-night knock at the door, there stands Charity Sullivan, the only woman he’s ever loved. He hasn’t seen her since the night nearly seventeen years ago when they shared a magical kiss after a months-long friendship.
But Charity isn’t alone, and her last name is no longer Sullivan. Her four children are with her, and she’s looking for a place to hide. Her marriage just ended, and her former father-in-law, a powerful, dangerous underworld boss, will stop at nothing to keep her from leaving with his grandchildren.
As Finn and Charity’s friendship rekindles, Finn’s protective instincts go on high alert. He’s never stopped loving her, but as an upright, God-fearing man, doesn’t want to take advantage of her vulnerability. Charity is drawn to Finn. She dreams of a future for them, but unanswered questions from the past stand between them.
When Charity receives a phone call telling her that her former father-in-law has discovered her whereabouts, she decides to go on the run again. But Finn isn’t having any of it. He has a Christmas dream of his own, and it won’t come true without Charity and her children.
Now sit back and enjoy an excerpt!
Finn Donovan flipped the sign to Closed, locked the door, and rested his head on the cold glass. He was so exhausted he could barely move.
He’d made it. He’d survived Thanksgiving.
Donovan’s restaurant was an institution on Boston’s North End and had been in Finn’s family for four generations. Robbie and Michael Donovan, Finn’s father and uncle, had taken it over from their parents nearly fifty years ago but were now retired. Between them, they had six daughters—Finn’s sister Mia and their five girl cousins—all of whom still lived in the area but were busy wives and mothers with little inclination or time for the restaurant. Finn was the sole proprietor now.
He pulled away from the door and shuffled to the back, turning off lights as he went. When he entered the saloon doors into the kitchen, a wave of exhaustion slammed into him.
The kitchen looked like a war zone.
It was his own fault. Donovan’s had always closed for Thanksgiving until Finn had taken over last year, and his decision to open on the holiday was just one more bone of contention between himself and his dad and uncle, who couldn’t believe he was giving away all that food. Finn insisted that the neighborhood meeting place would give people with no place to go a warm meal and community fellowship. It wasn’t always about the bottom line.
He’d had help from some of the family today, but once they closed, he shooed them and his crew out. Finn needed to be alone and cleaning the kitchen would be therapeutic for him.
It would also keep him from having to go upstairs to his dark, lonely apartment with nothing but thoughts of the anniversary of this day to keep him company.
Finn took a breath and ran a hand through his hair. The kitchen wouldn’t clean itself. He walked out to the soda fountain and grabbed a plastic tumbler. After filling it with ice, he put the cup under the clear soda spigot but then changed his mind. Tonight, he needed caffeine.
The front door rattled as someone pounded on it.
Soda splashed out of the cup onto his hand. Finn tipped his head back and closed his eyes. No. He couldn’t serve one more meal. But if someone was in need, he wouldn’t—couldn’t—turn them away.
“Hello! Is anyone there?” A female voice.
Finn strode to the door, and his heart stopped. A woman stood on the other side of the door, surrounded by four children, all bundled in winter clothing. Two of them were tall, boys. The younger two looked like a boy and a girl.
“Finn, is that you?”
It couldn’t be. Even in the dim light, in the swirling snow, he’d know those eyes anywhere.
He wrenched open the door. “Come in, come in.” The little group trooped in, bringing a blast of cold air and flurries with them, and Finn closed it behind them. He switched on the light.
Charity Sullivan stared back at him, the only girl who’d ever owned his heart. What in the world was she doing here?
Finn was instantly transported back to exactly seventeen years ago when two souls connected in a way that Finn hadn’t experienced since. Over a period of a few months, they’d talked for hours, held hands, and one night, under a gently falling snow, shared a kiss that shimmered with hope and promise.
One sweet, perfect, magical kiss.
Finn hadn’t seen her since that night.
He stood rooted the spot, drinking her in, and she seemed to be doing the same.
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You can purchase the book at most ebook distributors:
Thursday, October 06, 2022
FREE SHORT STORY: A Shade of Difference
A long, long time ago I wrote short stories for a small romance magazine. It was fun--until the magazine folded. Eventually, I put the stories together into a book, FALLING IN LOVE, which is available in both print and ebook editions.
Once, hubby and I visited Insectropolis, a bug museum in Toms River, New Jersey. It's a fascinating place. Inside was a display with Blue Morpho butterflies shown above, which reminded me of one of my short stories, A Shade of Difference, which I've pasted in below. It's short enough to read in one sitting.
Thursday, September 29, 2022
For Halloween, THE COMPANY YOU KEEP on Sale for $0.99
A reader on Goodreads said, "This book surprised me. I though it was just a romantic novel, but I was wrong. Besides romance, includes other genres like suspense , paranormal and crime. I couldn't put it down until I finished it. I really enjoyed the story!"
Diane Tugman of The Romance Studio said, "With each chapter you'll be drawn into a tangled web of the supernatural."
Anastasia Castella-Young of Mind Fog Reviews said, "I highly recommend this paranormal romance to those interested in demons, spirits, adventure and love. Penelope Marzec hits the mark dead on!"
Nathan placed another log on the cheery blaze in the fireplace. Jennifer lay on the couch, bundled in a wealth of quilts. Her chest rose and fell softly in a steady rhythm. He sat in the chair and took a calming breath. Despite a variety of bruises and a mild concussion, she should be fine, especially since he had volunteered to watch her for the rest of the night.
Michael walked into the room with two brandy glasses. “Here, McDugan. It’s been a long night.”
“Thanks.” He accepted the glass.
Michael paced around the room with his brow deeply furrowed. The younger man was still revved up and running on adrenaline.
“I want to thank you. I really panicked when I saw Jen’s truck up against that tree,” he admitted. “I’m usually cool on a call but it’s different when it’s one of your own...” After a pause, Michael continued in a raspy tone. “You see, our parents died in a car accident.”
He nodded. He’d felt the twist in his gut when he had heard the metal crumple in the crash, but when he saw Jennifer in that wreck it was as if his heart slipped out of gear. He sipped some of the brandy. The warmth of peaches tingled on his tongue and his control nearly crumbled. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he dared another taste. The sample reminded him so vividly of the flavor of Jennifer’s lips that he felt nearly possessed.
He drew in a great breath. For a moment tonight, he thought he had lost her. In that brief flash, raw grief sliced into him. Thinking about it later, he was stunned at his violent reaction. He told himself that simply visiting a wreck stirred up the old horror.
“The police said someone tampered with the brake hoses,” Michael blurted out. “But that’s ridiculous. I know it’s an old truck. But George—” He stopped his restless pacing and paled. “George always fixed it.”
“She said the brakes didn’t work.” He kept his voice low. He did not want to disturb her. She needed to rest.
“Yeah. Yeah. I know.” Michael downed a good portion of the brandy in one gulp. “How much land do you really need?”
He narrowed his eyes, wondering if he had heard correctly.
“Your absolute minimum,” Michael reiterated.
Momentarily speechless with surprise, he nearly dropped the glass in his hand. Did he see desperation in the hard lines around Michael’s mouth? “Your sister has led the fight and worked the hardest to keep me out of Marlpit. Won’t she consider you a traitor?”
“Everything has changed in the last few months. Everything.” Michael swore softly. “My wife is ill. We had another dry summer so we didn’t grow much produce.” He gave a small snort. “Except for peaches. We had plenty of peaches. Now with Jennifer’s truck destroyed, I don’t think there’s any way—” He didn’t finish the thought. A deep scowl creased his forehead and he balled up his fists.
Nathan cleared his throat. Warning gongs sounded in his brain but he ignored them. He had no reason to trust Michael Brant. However, after tonight, it seemed worth the gamble. “Forty acres.”
Michael sniffed. “Why didn’t you tell us that in the first place?”
“I padded my original proposal figuring it would get whittled down to nothing anyway.” Despite the heady liquor, his nerves seemed ready to snap. He’d wanted this for so long.
Michael set his glass on the mantle and stared into the fire, his back to Nathan. “What price?”
He realized he was about ready to crush the glass in his hand. He forced himself to relax. Leaning back in the chair, he tried to look casual. He didn’t want to get roped into a ridiculous deal.
“This is an unusual liqueur,” he said, taking another sip from his glass. “Do you make your own brew?”
Michael’s shoulders sagged. “Nah. That stuff is something Jen mixes up. Peach juice and vodka, I think.”
He glanced at her, still sound asleep on the couch. Wispy tendrils framed her serene face. She looked fragile—and enchanting. A pang of something like loneliness stabbed at his heart. Clearing his throat, he added. “Your sister is quite talented.”
“Yeah. Well, you have to do something with all those peaches before they rot,” Michael commented. He plopped down in the wingback chair and hung his head. He looked beaten.
Despite the smell of victory, a hollow space seemed to widen in Nathan’s heart. This had all become more than a simple business deal. While he had spent months arguing with Jennifer and the people of Marlpit, he would win only because fate and some crazed maniac had lent him a hand.
“Which forty acres are you willing to part with?” He stared into the sweet but potent liquor in his glass.
Silence hung in the air for several tense minutes before Michael answered. “You can have a portion of Abigail’s woods.”
He lifted his head and frowned. “It would take extra labor to clear it.”
Michael stood again as he spoke louder than before. “It’s well up on the ridge so you won’t have any drainage problems. In addition, it’s out of the DEP’s designated area.”
Then something sparked in Michael’s eyes as his voice reached a new crescendo. “Aside from that, the visitors to your fancy theater will have a sweeping view of feudal serfs living as they did in the dark ages! You should be able to raise the price of the tickets for that privilege!”
Jennifer moaned and stirred on the couch. Without conscious thought, Nathan sprang to her side. He touched her forehead. His hand shook. He wasn’t sure if she felt warm or hot. Dammit. She looked too pale.
“Should I wake her like the doctor said and ask her some questions? Do you think she’s all right? How does her forehead feel to you?” His heart hammered in his chest.
Michael rubbed the back of his callused hand on his sister’s cheek. “She’s okay. I should just keep my big mouth shut.”
Relief flowed through him. “She always tries to act so tough but she isn’t,” he mumbled, almost to himself. Then he glanced back at Michael, catching an odd puzzled look as it flitted across the younger man’s features.
“Yeah. Well. She’s flesh and blood, McDugan. Two hundred year old maple trees are a lot tougher,” he whispered hoarsely. “Come on into the kitchen. I’ll get a calculator. Let’s talk numbers.”
Thursday, September 22, 2022
Guest Post: A DIM HOPE by Katie Clark
Katie's latest release is A DIM HOPE. It's the story of Amber and she is in trouble. Her sister is dying—and so is her homeland. The Lifeforce stones that power their world are waning, and no one knows why. When the rulers of the land prepare a scientific expedition to study the place where the veins of the Lifeforce run deep, Amber is forced to travel as a servant with the expedition. Though Amber has longed for adventure, her dream always included her sister. Now her only wish is to return home with a cure before it's too late.
Crops are wilting, food is scarce, and sandstorms, avalanches, and earthquakes threaten to doom the expedition. Besides this, there are more sinister forces at work. Quiet arguments and missing supplies lead Amber to believe their efforts are being sabotaged. She uncovers clues, but the real source of their trouble—and hope—lies in places she never expected.
Read an excerpt!
Amber gripped the rocky cliff wall that rose at the edge of the governor’s pasture. Two horses grazed in the tall, pale grasses nearby. She had crept into the pasture undetected, and now she would do her best to scale the wall without disturbing the horses.
“What are you doing back there?”
Amber gasped and lost her grip. Skin met hard stone as she tumbled from her low place on the cliff and landed on her back on the ground with a thud. Her long brown skirts tangled around her ankles and her brown scarf slipped from its place around her head and into her eyes. Without the scarf, her unruly brown curls spilled around her shoulders.
Her sister stood above her, laughing. Apparently, Amethyst was better at sneaking than she.
“If you must know, I was perfecting my adventuring skills in case I have to take your place on the expedition tomorrow.” She glanced at the horses, who had skittered away several feet. She frowned. “Thanks for the interruption.”
Amethyst laughed and reached down. Amber clasped her hand to haul herself from the ground. “Madame Governor is calling for you. She needs you to go to the village for her. The flowers and milk were not right.” Her pale purple headwrap draped loosely over her left shoulder, concealing her own brown hair. Her long purple robes flitted in the breeze.
Amber sighed at her free time being cut short as they moved toward the house. She tucked her curls back into place and wrapped her scarf around them. The cooler temperatures of midyear gave way to the heat of summer. Soon, the well would run low and the water conservation would begin. The drought would last until next spring, nine long months away. Then the waters would again flow from the mountaintops, replenishing TerraQuadro.
She wanted to enjoy the nice weather as long as she could, but such was the life of a bond slave—her time was not her own. At least, not until she turned twenty-one, two years from now.
They reached the end of the pasture. “The flowers and milk? Why isn’t Mayville taking care of it?”
Amethyst shrugged. “Madame sent Mayville home early to prepare for the festival tonight, and I have to practice with the players, so I can’t go.”
Amber frowned as they reached the two-story wood house—the second largest in the township, bested only by the K’Luren’s. White walls rose toward the sky with dark beams crisscrossing the front, sides, and back. Sand and reeds serving as decoration adorned the perimeter.
“Flowers and milk.” She sighed. “I don’t suppose we could make do with the flowers the miller sent and add our own honey to the milk?”
Amethyst held up her hands in an uncertain gesture. “Madame likes things to be perfect as we all know. She is proud of the Servants’ Festival each year. Don’t blame the messenger.”
“Amber, is that you?” Madame’s voice reached them through the open doorway of the house.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m coming.” She gave her sister one last glance and glided through the doorway. “What can I do, Madame?”
Madame held out a huge basket of flowers. The blossoms were purple—most of the blossoms in Nullaboro were purple—and they overflowed the basket to the brim. Their sweet scent filled the room. “These were supposed to be the larger flowers, not the smaller. I want them exchanged. And the milk.” She grabbed a woven sling from the table. Two jars rested inside, and they clanged together with the sudden movement. “The milk isn’t sweet enough. Have the milkman add more honey.”
“Of course, Madame.” Amber took the milk. Making it to the village without spilling the flowers or the milk would be no easy feat. Still, she wouldn’t question Madame. No one often did as they all loved her so. Besides that, Amber and Amethyst had no choice in the matter. They had worked for Madame Governor for three years, since their mother had died. Madame had taken them in to give them shelter and food—and so they could finish paying off their mother’s debt. Madame was a generous master, one who had allowed the sisters much freedom, even paying them small earnings that they could save for the future.
Amber arranged the milk in the sling across her back to be sure she would not drop anything.
“I’ll return soon.”
Madame returned making marks in her ledger.
Amber headed out of the house and down the lane toward the main village thoroughfare. A moment later, her sister caught up with her. “I can walk with you. The players and I will practice at the sanctuary.”
Amber frowned. “The priest allows that? The sanctuary is holy.”
“Let me amend my words, dear sister.” Amethyst, tall and thin, bested Amber’s shorter, curvier frame by at least three inches. “We are practicing in the yard of the sanctuary. In the back, enclosed by the fence, so as not to spoil the surprise for the servants and villagers tonight at the festival.”
“Ah. I see.” The milk seemed to be gaining weight as they moved. “Care to take these flowers, as we’ll be going the same way?”
Amethyst took the basket from her. “I should have offered. I’m sorry, Amber.” She sighed.
Amber studied her sister. Her best friend. Separated by only a year, they loved almost all the same things. Had almost all the same dreams. The difference between them was that Amethyst was disciplined enough to contain herself and her excitement, waiting patiently for the right opportunities to present themselves. She worked hard, gave generously, and gained love from everyone she met.
Amber, on the other hand, busied herself with making sure no one took advantage of her sister’s kindness. She stood up for her sister, and herself, and she did not keep her desires for travel and adventure to herself, much to the dismay of everyone in the village. Though they often indulged her with chuckles and good-natured compliance. It didn’t hurt that she made the best festival cakes in the whole township, and she shared them freely.
Now Amber looked to her sister. She hadn’t noticed before, but Amethyst did seem preoccupied. “Are you nervous for the expedition?”
Amethyst would be leaving in the morning to travel on a scientific expedition to the Basiin. Madame had allowed it as Amethyst’s service to the scientists would pay off one of Madame’s old debts. Amber longed to travel with the expedition herself, but Madame wouldn’t hear of both girls leaving. Since Amethyst was the oldest—and most likely because she was more disciplined—she was chosen to go instead of Amber.
Amethyst glanced at her. For a brief moment, Amber saw something there—something like fear, or maybe sorrow—but it was gone just as quickly. “I suppose I could be nervous.”
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