Talking Love With Lisa J. Lickel

My guest blogger today is Lisa J. Lickel, another Prism Book Group author with her own true life story about love. 

Lisa J. Lickel

From the time boys became more than “tag” targets I was never without someone of the opposite sex to hang out with, call on the phone, escort me to dances or movies, even when Mom was the chauffeur. I was a drama queen flirt, histrionic friend, and disingenuous church group groupie. I’d love to say it changed in an instant when as a middle teen the Holy Spirit provided the answer to that infinite question of whether Christ was for real. Decades later, I am still working out who I am on many levels. That story won’t get the final edit until it’s over.

In between, I went to college and joined not one, but two Christian groups, fell in love with the music, studying anything and everything, and the boy with the wispy blond mustache and highwater pants from one of the faith groups who prayed with me for John Denver’s soul. Seriously. We won’t know for a while if poor John received the benefit of our intervention. When the mustached boy didn’t run screaming after meeting my family for the first time when we got snowed in and ate turkey three days in a row, and his dad laughed in good humor when I dropped and broke dishes on the way from the table to the sink the first time I met his folks, I knew things would work out fine.

Two grown up children and an odd assortment of grands—girls, boys, and kitties—later, life is full circle as our oldest son heeded the call to seminary and now serves as area director for the many branches of the campus faith organization his dad and I attended. Son number two followed in his father’s footsteps, attempting to encourage a better world through public education. “Love is not proud” is not an easy description to avoid when it comes to introducing family.

Love has shown me all the attention I need has always surrounded me, filled me, poured out of me in ways I don’t have to control or manipulate, or understand. The Lord of life is in charge. My job is to leave behind a story that boasts only of God’s great mercy and grace exemplified in what He has done for me.

Check out Lisa’s contribution to Prism Book Group’s new Love Is series…

Everything About You

“Love is not proud…” 1 Corinthians: 13:4

She needs a movie set miracle, he needs cash...can a farmer morph into a movie star in five days? 

If Shelly has her way, Danny will become America’s next heartthrob and she’ll get her own promotions company. He’s already gorgeous, a little naive, and needs to work on that accent. To Danny, Shelly is on the pompous side, but holds the key to his real dreams...if he can figure out all the rules, say the right things for the daily vlog session, keep his heart strings in place, dodge Shelly’s vicious former boyfriend and the movie star diva. 


Shelly’s about to lose a lot more than her heart if she can’t get a handle on her wounded pride and learn who to trust.

http://www.prismbookgroup.com/EverythingAboutYou.html

http://www.amazon.com/Everything-About-You-Lisa-Lickel-ebook/dp/B01BYIUBKA

The Cover Model

At the Liberty States Fiction Writers conference this past weekend I met the young woman who modeled for the cover of Irons In The Fire. Angelina Cavanaugh sat with me at the book fair and chatted about her life. Her lovely image now graces far more than two hundred book covers at this point. She has delightfully curly hair, which she said took her three hours to straighten when it came time to model for the cover of my book.

It was a real pleasure to meet her. I'll have to write about a heroine with curly brown hair in another book. :-)

The Man of Her Dreams . . . and Her Biggest Nightmare

Deborah M. Piccirelli is another Prism Book Group author. Her book Love Comes Calling has received wonderful reviews. Read some of them below.

Deborah M. Piccurelli’s book, Love Comes Calling, is a delightful read! I loved reading every line and plot twist of this story. The characters are endearing, the plot captivating and the story not only well-written but unique! By writer@heart

I love it when a story captures me right from the start, and Love Comes Calling by Deborah Piccurelli did just that. . . . Deborah Piccurelli has created a lovely story that is so much more than just a Christian romance. It’s a story of how a person can change and be transformed by God’s forgiveness and love. It’s also a story of hope, grace, forgiveness, and overcoming fears and obstacles. The author has masterfully woven together all of these elements resulting is an absolutely beautifully love story that is a joy to read. By Dali

What an awesome story! Honestly, I didn’t want to put this story down — it held my interest from beginning to end. By Donna's BookShelf

Deborah M. Piccurelli writes with just enough prayer and God to make it real without  overdoing. Love Comes Calling has a perfect combination of romance and Christianity  with likeable characters and a good plot. It was easy to become a part of the book and  cheer on both Derek and Charlie. Love Comes Calling is a great book for both young and  old and would make a fabulous Lifetime movie. Love Comes Calling is a winner that will  leave you smiling and feeling warm and fuzzy.  Reviewed by Trudi LoPreto for Readers' Favorite Visit Deborah's website at www.deborahmpiccurelli  Read more about her book at PRISM BOOK GROUP or buy it now at AMAZON.

Chapter One from KISS OF BLARNEY

It's almost St. Patrick's Day! Below is the beginning of KISS OF BLARNEY, my story about Ula, an Irish princess hidden in the Pine Barrens of New Jersey. Shay, the hero of the tale, is burdened by geise, a set of personal rules which must be obeyed. Otherwise misfortune or even death could result.

Chapter One 

Shay could swear someone was watching his every move. A prickly sensation lingered along his shoulders, and he rubbed the back of his neck while standing at the bar in Paddy’s Pub in Green Creek, New Jersey--a half a world away from his birthplace in Ireland.

He now called Green Creek home, but he often felt as though his Irish heritage had followed him there. No doubt, the blame lay with his geise. His da had insisted that as a descendent of the Irish kings, Shay must be given geise--even though he happened to be living in the twenty-first century. All the legendary Irish kings had been given geise, a set of rules tailored for the individual, which must be obeyed. 

If a man did not conform to the geise, it was said that misfortune or even death could result. 

Most of the time, Shay considered his situation absurd. Being related to a bunch of illustrious, long gone--as well as bloodthirsty--Irish kings did not put bread on the table. Becoming a mason had been a far more lucrative career for him. Nevertheless, his father had ingrained the geise into his mind and Shay could not rid his thoughts of them. Since there was a blizzard outside, and he was in a pub, one commandment in particular came to mind. 

Thou shalt not drink strong liquor when snow blankets the sod. Shay wiped the cold sweat from his brow as the echo of his father’s warning kept him on edge despite the fact that he opted to drink beer. 

However, he decided his unease could also be due to the current situation at the pub. Tonight, stranded parade marchers jammed the largest Irish pub on the Jersey Shore. Green Creek’s famous St. Patrick’s Day Parade had been cancelled at the last minute due to the major snowstorm. As the white stuff continued to pile up, the marchers bided their time drinking whatever Paddy had to offer while his supply dwindled with each passing moment. The town’s electricity had gone off at one in the afternoon and everything had come to a standstill. Shay noted that several of the patrons were completely plastered, and he knew drink could bring out the worst in people.

...misfortune or even death could result. 

Taking a small sip from his beer, he narrowed his eyes and glanced around at the tables now illuminated only by candles. 

“What are you dreaming about, man?” Shay’s buddies, Trevor and Liam, slapped him on the back--none too lightly, but Shay’s muscles had been fused into steel by his years as a mason so it did not hurt. 

“I’m dreaming of my one hundred twenty chimneys,” Shay lied. “Aye. I’d be out there now laying the footings if it wasn’t for this rotten weather.” 

“You’ve a guaranteed fortune.” Trevor brightened. “It’s only fair you’ll be remembering your old friends with another round of beers--we who knew you when all’s you had was a shabby suitcase and a cockamamie story about being a descendent of kings.” 

Shay glared at his friend and hardened his tone. “You’ll not be making fun of my father’s tale.” 

From his stricken look, it appeared Trevor realized he had ruined his chances for a free beer. “It’s not everyday we have someone walking into this pub, getting drunk and telling us he’s related to royalty.” 

“I was down on my luck that day and a wee bit homesick as well,” Shay admitted. “I’m thinking now you didn’t mean to get me drunk that day, but I hadn’t had a bite to eat.”


Liam shoved a bowl of pretzels right under Shay’s nose. “We were only helping out a newcomer to our fair town.”


Shay reached for the pretzels. His father had been an honest, hard-working man--and if he liked to tell fairytales he wasn’t much different from the rest of the Devlins. They all liked to think there was magic hidden beneath every blade of grass in Ireland. There were those in his clan who even claimed to be descendants of the Tuatha De Danaan. Funny thing was, most of the old Irish families believed the same nonsense. 

Still, some nights here in New Jersey, so far from Ireland, when the moon was full and the air was soft with mist, even Shay longed for a bit of that old enchantment. However, there was no mist outside tonight--just snow--tons of it. The nerves bunched up in his shoulders. 

“Too much time in the pub and we’ll all be seeing leprechauns.” Trevor gave a hearty laugh. 

“Shay’s worked hard these past two years and a hard working man deserves to get drunk now and then. Especially, when he’s got his fortune made.” Liam grinned. 

“You’re right.” Shay raised his glass toward his friends. “We’ll be forgetting the tough times today. Paddy, another round.”

Paddy, the owner of the pub, shoved a mug toward him. Shay glared at the green liquid inside. Squinting, he held his drink closer to the pale light coming from the battery lantern on the bar. “And what are you doing giving me this evil-colored potion?” 

“That, me boy, is in honor of the day,” Paddy announced. “It’s green beer.” 

Shay detected a stony look in Paddy’s eyes. However, with the feeble lantern light, the flickering candles and the two beers Shay had already consumed, his eyesight could be suffering from more than simple strain. 

“I’ll be asking for a hearty pint of Guinness, if you want to be celebrating good St. Patrick.” 

“In America, green is the color for everything reminding us of the old sod.” A note of annoyance came across in the pub owner’s words. To be sure, his reserves must be getting low.

“They’ll not be knocking back such a putrid looking beverage in Ireland today.” 

“Then you can be going back there if you’re not liking the customs here.” Paddy’s jowls vibrated with an ominous tremor from his frayed nerves. The storm continued to rage while all the candles on the tables melted into small stubs that would soon burn out. Still, none of the patrons took the opportunity to leave. 

“It tastes the same as any cheap lager,” Trevor licked his lips after downing a bit of the brew. “Close your eyes and you won’t be noticing any difference.” 

“I’ve got some green bagels to stave off your hunger before you’ll be heading home.” Paddy’s meaning couldn’t be missed. “I’m having a sale on the bagels. Three for a dollar.” 

“Must be getting stale,” Liam muttered low. 

Shay shrugged his shoulders. His dog, Bran, would be wanting some company on this bitter evening and a hearty blaze in the fireplace would provide a great deal more warmth than the vile beer in Paddy’s Pub. At any rate, he’d be keeping himself out of harm’s way. 

He turned, intending to bid his buddies goodnight when the door to the pub opened, letting in a blast of wind that blew out some of the candles and sent many of the others wavering. A cry of protest went up from some tartan-clad customers nearest the door when they were left in darkness. 

Shay let out a laugh. “Maybe we have a banshee coming to haunt us for drinking such a foul brew.”


Clad in a long cloak, a petite figure moved toward the bar. The face of the stranger lay in shadow under a capacious hood, and at her side she carried a large, old-fashioned tapestry bag. Upon nearing the bar, her pale hand reached up and swept off the hood, unleashing a mass of rich red, curly hair that glinted in the candlelight. Dazzled by the sight, Shay blinked. 

“I don’t think she’s a banshee,” Liam whispered with a note of awe in his voice.

Read more of this tale at Amazon, Smashwords, or Barnes & Noble!

What I Learned From Woodblock Printing

I took a course in woodblock printing once. Above is a woodblock I made depicting the lifesaving station at Sandy Hook, N.J. During the semester, I carved out two other woodblocks. I took the course at night in Jersey City, forty-five minutes from my family home via the Turnpike and the Garden State Parkway. I worked teaching first-graders during the day. 

As I was happily carving away at my pine board one night, the professor announced the time for class was almost over. I was working on one section and I wanted to finish it before I had to leave. I dug out slices of wood more quickly and less carefully. My hand slipped. I was using so much force, my hand--with the knife in it--hit the stone table, bounced, and hit my thigh. 

Yipes! One of the other students gave me some BandAids. I quickly cleaned up and drove home. However, the wound continued to ooze. On the way home, I decided a trip to the ER was in order. So I stopped in at the local hospital near home and got a few stitches. 

The wound healed, but I had a hole in my favorite jeans. I embroidered a purple heart on the spot where the knife dug into my thigh. 

I learned two lessons from the incident. The first is that I should never rush to finish anything with a knife in my hand. Second, I decided that woodblock printing was not where my passion lies. I enjoy painting and sketching so much more. But most of all, I love writing. :-)

Talking Love With Nancy Shew Bolton

Please welcome Nancy Shew Bolton, my guest blogger today with another Talking Love post!

Ah, love! Such a topic!

For me, I had a close, loving family growing up, but we hit some rough times when my siblings and I were all teenagers in the 1960’s, and the closeness often became strained and rocky, especially with our Dad who felt pretty overwhelmed with his outspoken, stubborn children. How I longed for the uncomplicated days when we were smaller!

I’d always gotten along well with boys, and often preferred their company. But due to a childhood trauma, as I grew older, I was wary of any romantic relationships, and figured I’d never marry since the whole dating process appeared pretty scary to me. Though I perceived interest from various boys during high school, I kept a friendly distance, protecting myself from the titanic hurts I watched my siblings suffer as they navigated through their dating years.

Then, in my junior year, when I was seventeen, I became re-acquainted with a boy who’d once lived next door to us years back, and who I’d hardly seen in recent years. He had soulful, dark blue eyes, and a marvelous, quirky sense of humor which captivated me. He didn’t show any of the annoying romantic attention that always made me wary, and I delighted in humorous bantering with him, and sharing comic observations about everything. He was such fun to talk to.

Somehow, he snuck through my giant defenses, and I found myself fascinated at the thought of getting to know him as more than a friend. Though I resisted it once I realized he was becoming romantic toward me, it grew more difficult to push away the strong feelings I had for him. To his credit, he waited and maintained our friendship while the attraction deepened. When I finally opened the door to my heart, he rushed in and though we’ve had our rough times, now five sons and 40 plus years later, he still makes me laugh and is my other half.

We also shared our spiritual journey toward new birth in Christ in our twenties, and God has been a huge part of our ongoing relationship. I am well and truly blessed with love, and children and we even have two grandchildren now. We’ve never had a regular sort of life, but I’m comfortable being rather an oddball, and so is my husband, who first taught me to embrace my eccentricities, and enjoy them, just as he’s always enjoyed his and mine.  God makes all kinds of quirky folks, and I’m so happy to share my life with my husband John, though honestly sometimes he drives me nuts!!! I wouldn’t have it any other way!

Check out Nancy’s contribution to Prism Book Group’s new Love Is series…

A Work in Progress

“Love is kind…” 1 Corinthians: 13:4

There’s something cooking outside the kitchen…. 

They’ve worked together for two years, but that’s all they have in common. Like oil and water, they just don’t mix. Julie thinks he’s a shallow flirt, Mark thinks she’s a cold fish. Despite their mutual dislike, they’ve carved out a civil work relationship at the restaurant. But after each of their inner worlds suffer a jolt; the careful, polite kitchen routine becomes a stew of conflicting emotions. Things are about to get interesting.

Buy the book now at  http://amzn.com/B01AGMJGHO

A Scene from KISS OF BLARNEY

KISS OF BLARNEY is the story of Ula, an Irish princess, raised in a hidden location in the Pine Barrens of New Jersey. When her only companion, a druidess, is kidnapped by the evil druid, Balor, the princess must leave her secret cottage to seek help. And who better to help her locate the druidess than the Irish Wolfhound who just happens to be owned by the handsome man who saves her virtue at a pub?

Shay Devlin wants nothing to do with the beautiful Ula--especially not once he realizes she's out to steal his unruly dog, Bran--but there's no way he and his geise will allow him to turn her out into the snow, alone and unprotected. Too bad everything about the mysterious dog snatcher tempts him to break every rule of his sacred code.

Though their love is forbidden--for prophecy says Ula will marry a man with black eyes and Shay's are blue--they battle the druid who wants not only Ula, but the kingdom she is destined to rule.

In the scene below, Shay realizes he is cursed, but he thinks he can outwit fate.

Shay glanced around the garage. He did not see any snowshoes. Where had that woman put them? He checked a few places where she might have hidden them, but the snowshoes seemed to have vanished. Muttering a few curses, he rolled the snow thrower out of the garage.

A gusty wind bit at his skin but he hardly noticed. The audacity of that woman still had him reeling. Angry at his own body for reacting to her touch, he wanted to rid himself of the hormones she had stirred up. He intended to push the snow thrower and his body to the limits. He cursed himself for being so tenderhearted and bringing her home so she wouldn’t get into any more trouble.

Then he thought of her small waist, those delicate feet of hers, that fiery hair--the softness of her flesh when he had held her, the hint of violets that swirled about her, the tender valley between her breasts….

Bran whimpered and derailed Shay’s obsessive train of thought. That woman could send him to the psych ward. Glancing at his pet, he noted how miserable the animal appeared.

“You’re supposed to be a courageous dog. I’m wanting to see you laugh at the weather.”

Bran whined.

“I’ll not have a wimpy dog,” Shay complained. “Or one that lets crazy women steal them away.”

Bran hung his head in utter wretchedness.

“Serves you right for falling in love with her,” Shay chastised the dog. “Do you think it’s going to be fun hunting in this weather? And what is she hunting for? Have you asked her that?”

He should have asked her. No. He should have run in the other direction.

He should have listened to the geise. It made a lot of sense not to bring a woman into the house. Right now, Ula could be helping herself to….

He stopped to think a moment. She seemed inordinately interested in his appliances, but aside from
those work-saving devices he did not own anything worth stealing--except for his tools and his dog--and his truck. Judging from the fiasco in the pub, she did not have a license. Odd.

Shay cranked the knob so that the chute would throw the snow to the right side of the driveway. Then he yanked on the cord to start the snow thrower. Nothing happened. Swearing, he gave it another pull, but the engine refused to turn over. It had gas in it. It had been working last week. It had a brand new spark plug in it. There should not be anything wrong with it.

In a fury, he pulled again on the cord—and again until his arm burned from the exertion.

“Dammit!” He cursed as he rolled the snow thrower back into the garage and got out a snow shovel. Still enraged, he pitched the shovel into the first snowdrift and the handle snapped in two.

Shay stared at it in disbelief. Bran let out a howl and the sound cut through Shay like a fine blade.

…misfortune and even death.

“I am cursed is it?” He asked his dog as he stumbled back against the wall of his house. “Doomed because I have broken one of my geise. Doomed because I won’t let her have my dog.”

Bran let out another howl and scratched at the door.

“You’d leave me here to my death?” he asked his pet. “After I’ve trained you, fed you, cared for you and paid so much money for the vet bills that I know he could not have purchased his Porsche without my business.”

Bran whined and scratched at the door once more.

Shay stared out at the solid white landscape and felt his heart sinking. Somehow, it did seem as if the geise was working against him. It did not make any sense, but there could be no other explanation. The damper should not have slammed shut. The snow thrower should be working. That snow shovel had a lifetime guarantee.

He brightened as an idea formed in his mind. Opening the door of the garage for Bran he decided that anything was worth a try under the circumstances. He did not need any more broken dampers, non-working snow throwers, or broken snow shovels. He would end the curse of this geise the way he had handled the other one last night--in a devious manner.

Sibling Love

My guest blogger today is Julie B. Cosgrove. Please take the time to read her own true story of sibling love.

 I guess most sisters bicker as they grow up. We have a tendency to be a tad jealous of each other. “How come she gets to…” and later, “Why do all my boyfriends notice her?” Even later, “Why doesn’t my husband treat me like hers treats her?” or “”Why are her kids so well-behaved?”

My sister and I are six years apart so by the time I entered my teens she was married. I felt a deep loss and for a long time I felt the odd person out. She and my brother’s wife were closer in age, so they bonded. They always huddled at family events. I felt the pangs of exclusion like the wimpy little kid slumped on the sideline bench whose muscles would never fill out his uniform.

Until my husband died suddenly in the shower getting ready for work. Though five hours away, my sister dropped her life and rushed to my aid. She boarded her animals at the vets, packed a bag and drove to my door. I honestly cannot tell you how long she stayed with me. Certainly until after the funeral five days later. Having lost her husband a year previously, she guided my numbed mind and aching heart through the planning, the visitations and the arrangements as I sniveled for days on in overwhelmed by it all.

When I sold the house and moved to a one bedroom apartment, all I could afford at the time, she returned. We spent hours rubbing masking tape onto the floors mapping out where furniture would go and plotting what I could bring and what I should leave behind for the estate sale. She then monitored the estate sale like an award winning  car salesman, raking in the bucks so I could afford the moving company.

My brother, an attorney, drove in to handle all the legal affairs pro bono without blinking an eye. All I had to do was show up at the courthouse and swear my husband to be deceased—by far my highest hurdle. Declaring him legally dead before a magistrate made it real, too real. My brother stood by my side as my knees quaked. His even-toned professionalism became my boulder. I watched, wide-eyed and tear-blinked as he handed off paper after paper to the court clerk. Documents all identified by letters and numbers which I never understood.

Growing up, my brother seemed a phantom. Eleven years older than me, he was a teenager locked in his world by the time I could toddle. Then came the college years away. When I was in third grade, he walked down the aisle. After that, he moved away, had a child of his own and built a life. Eventually I did the same. For decades we acknowledged each other like shadows at family gatherings. But that day at the courthouse, he became flesh and bone to me.

God purposes good from tragedy. My husband’s passing brought me closer to my siblings and showed me what family-bound love is all about. Five years later, we are able to communicate at a deeper level, share our feelings openly, and be there for each other through this rollercoaster called life. Now, that’s true love— a love akin to no other on earth.


Check out Julie’s contribution to Prism Book Group’s new Love Is series…

“Love does not envy…” 1 Corinthians: 13:4


Twin sisters, Erin and Ellen, covet each other’s lives and husbands. Their festered envy has not only kept them at arm’s length for almost two decades, it has placed both on a precipice of divorce— something they’d never admit to each other.


Yet after two weeks together with their spouses, as they sort through their mother’s belongings following her funeral, they discover the flaws in their sibling’s “grass-greener” lives. But will that revelation help each sister appreciate her own husband and lifestyle as truly according to God’s plan? Or is it too late for a change of heart?

Available at http://amzn.com/B01ACFD3BK

Take Time to Wonder

Hubby ran into one store yesterday but I opted to sit in the car and watch the big fluffy snowflakes fall. I am too busy most of the time getting stuff done, hurrying through one task after another. I rarely have time to contemplate, but it was nice to take a little bit of time out and ponder about snow as I sat in the car.

There's going to be some snow in the book I'm currently writing, The Cowboy's Miracle. So it was good to simply think about snow--the beauty of it, the sort of tranquility that settles over everything as it falls, and the danger of slippery roads.

I got out my camera and tried to take photos of the snowflakes before they melted on the warm windshield. I did capture one. :-) You can see it faintly in all it's six-pointed loveliness.

Fortunately, the temperature zoomed up last night and all the snow was gone by this morning. I don't have to shovel it.

Do you sometimes take time out to think about this wonderful world and all its intricacies? Try it. Just sit down, appreciate everything you can see, and let peace settle in your heart.