Guest: M.S. Spencer

It is my great pleasure to host the talented M.S. Spencer on my blog.  Over the last couple of years I’ve enjoyed a number of her novels where she mixes mystery with enough passion to get your attention.  I’m looking forward to the latest one.  Welcome M.S.

Thank you so much, Mark, for giving me the chance to introduce your readers to my new release, Dear Philomena: Love, Lust & Murder on Chincoteague Island.

Something crashed in the woods.  Was it a deer?  Or something more dangerous? Dagne didn’t care; she just kept running…

Chincoteague is one of a pair of barrier islands off the coast of Virginia.  Its eastern sister, Assateague, is the actual home of the Chincoteague National Wildlife Refuge and of the ponies made famous in Marguerite Henry’s children’s books (remember Misty of Chincoteague?). The refuge sits on the Atlantic flyway, so in spring and fall it is inundated with migrating birds—thousands of ducks and geese descend on the flats—and so too do birdwatchers. Unfortunately for Dagne Lonegan, the flocks of bird watchers hadn’t yet arrived when she took a walk on a deserted trail in the refuge. Alone in the dark, she feels suddenly, unaccountably, frightened. She learns later that her fear may have been justified when the police find a dead body on the trail.

Dear Philomena: Love, Lust & Murder on Chincoteague Island.

I Heart Book Publishing, October 12, 2015

eBook, 72,000 words, Print 209 pp
Romantic Suspense, Contemporary Romantic Suspense, Mystery Romance

M/F, 3 flames

Blurb:

Dagne Lonegan, aka Dear Philomena, advice columnist, hoped that spending a year on the Eastern Shore island of  Chincoteague would extinguish any feelings she had left for Jack Andrews, erstwhile lover and long-time jerk.  It’s just her luck that in her first week on the island she’s entangled in a murder.  Only she doesn’t know it.  Unfortunately, the murderer doesn’t know she doesn’t know.  Strange and dangerous things begin happening to her, disrupting her new romance with Aidan Ellis, the handsome manager of the National Wildlife Refuge.  As if that weren’t enough, Jack arrives to take charge of the murder investigation.

Will Dagne stick with the tall, cool glass of a Ranger or risk falling back into the arms of the man who broke her heart?

Excerpt (R): Reassurance and Desire

Jack stared at the floor and played with his hat. Dagne tried to take a sip of iced tea but her throat constricted with sudden alarm. “You think the murderer killed her on Friday night, don’t you? Maybe even when I was hurtling down the path, scared out of my wits.” Is that where the panic came from? Did I feel her terror? Did I sense the presence of evil only a few yards away?

“No, not at all!” Jack patted her hand in a clumsy masculine attempt to reassure her. It didn’t help. “We’re pretty sure the murder took place somewhere else. The County CIS folks found traces of motor oil on her clothes. The lab is still analyzing them. The current theory is that the murderer originally hid the body somewhere either too exposed or too easily associated with him. She was reported missing three days before her body was discovered. I’m guessing he waited for the hue and cry over her disappearance to subside, and then moved her to the dumpster. The coroner estimated time of death at least two days earlier. Her body had already begun decomposing by the time the K9 unit discovered it.”

The memory of a rancid smell assaulted Dagne’s nostrils. “I remember an awful stench coming from the dumpster when I got back to my car.” She gazed at him, doubtful. “I don’t think I smelled anything when I first parked there.”

“Aha!” Jack threw the now completely disfigured hat on the sofa, and jumped up. “That’s why it’s so crucial that you remember everything you saw or heard that night.”

“But nothing happened!” she wailed. “I didn’t hear anything but deer. If someone else were on the path I would have seen them. Or at least heard them.”

He held out a hand and Dagne slowly took it. He pulled her down on the sofa next to him. “Don’t worry, Dagne. It’s more than likely the killer threw Terri in the dumpster before you even got to the trail and you just didn’t notice the smell. Or he might have been hiding in the brush waiting for you to leave, and what you smelled was ordinary garbage.”

She thought about her irrational terror on the trail, of the comforting sound of an engine, and then the letdown at the sight of the empty parking lot. She gulped. “No, I’m sure I didn’t see anything important. Just deer.”

Jack’s arm went round her shoulders. “That’s all right. We’ve got plenty of leads.” Her head rested on his shoulder. Sure, okay, I’ll let him hold me. For a minute. I can think better this way.

And a thought did come. “Wait, Jack. When I came out of the woods, I only saw my car, but Terri must have come in one, or her killer brought her in one. I did think I heard a car engine.”

Jack squeezed her shoulder eagerly. “In the parking lot?”

“No.” No reason to treat it as more important than it was. “Farther away—I think out on the beach road. Could’ve been anybody at that hour. It wasn’t that late after all.”

“Never mind, you’ve still got a point. We haven’t located the actual site of the murder yet, but we know it wasn’t the dumpster. Someone had to have transported the body there.”

“And it had to be a car. I can’t see the murderer balancing his victim on the handlebars of a bike.” Dagne’s titter hovered just shy of hysteria.

Jack didn’t laugh. “Yes, and that means someone drove it away.”

“Does anyone know who she’d been with the day she disappeared?”

Jack’s hand rubbed her neck, then moved down the arm. His breath smelled tangy, like fresh grapefruit. “That’s the trouble. It could have been one of any number of people. Like I said, Terri didn’t lack for male companionship.”

Dagne tried to stand up but Jack’s face barred the way. “Dagne, have you been thinking about us?”

She thought to push him away, but instead drew him close. His lips hovered near hers, inviting, warm. Oh, what the hell.

A few minutes later, she exhaled raggedly and opened her eyes. “Jack! How…what…?” Jack didn’t answer. She looked down at her naked body and up into his hungry eyes. Carpet scratched her shoulder blades. We must have fallen off the sofa. Ignoring the unforgiving floor, she pulled her arm from around his neck. On its own volition, her hand snaked up between Jack’s legs, unbuttoned the jeans, reached in and grabbed the only thing harder than his thigh muscles. His eyes opened in surprise, then closed, and a wry smile touched the edges of his mouth.

“You always knew how to please me, babe.”

Dagne held on tight and began massaging. Jack’s breathing grew unsteady. Up and down, up and down, gently squeeze, tickle that little sensitive vee with the tip of her index finger. She felt his penis stiffen, saw his chest contract, and heard the slight sigh as he gave in to her. “Oh, Dagne.” He fell to one side, the smile a little broader.

“Oh no, Mister. You ain’t done yet.” She straddled him, hanging over him, and wiggled sensually. Her breasts swayed before his face, inviting attention. Swiftly, he raised his head and caught one nipple in his mouth, sucking and drawing the rest of her down. He let go the breast and took her mouth, his tongue exploring. Their bodies ground together in a slow circular motion, breast to chest, belly to belly. She could feel him harden and grow again, pressing against her, forcing her thighs open.

Passion held her in its grip. She remembered, oh how she remembered, that feeling of helplessness, of desire unloosed. The times when she lost control, when her brain shut down and her synapses flashed with heat and the only thing she wanted was for it to go on and on forever. Always with Jack. Only when she was with Jack. Always, and only, with him. A memory toggled on. That’s how he could hurt you. He knows how vulnerable you are. He’ll hurt you again, Dagne. He’ll break your heart again. Don’t give in to the passion. Stop while you still can.

She sat up and twisted away from him. “No, wait, Jack, that’s enough.”

“Wha’?”

Dagne swallowed hard, willing the hot lust to cool. “Why are you here, Jack? What do you want of me?”

Jack closed his eyes, his features twisted with frustration. “Can’t we talk about this later?”

“I don’t know whether there will be a later.” Her breath came in heavy gusts. Talk me into it anyway, please Jack, please. Jack’s big callused fingers took a handful of her red-gold hair and twirled it gently. He looked into her eyes. He almost looked sincere. She tried to concentrate on his stubbly chin, but her eyes rose inevitably to his mouth, to those lips. It’s no use. I want him.

“Dagne?” His fingers trailed down her back, then cupped her bottom, tickling and rubbing. It was all she could do not to melt into a little pool of bubbling desire. “Let me satisfy you first. I want to make you very happy. After that, you can break my balls. Deal?”

Don’t laugh. Don’t…laugh. A giggle escaped her best intentions, and the hard knot of pain that had risen between them unraveled. She pulled him to her and said, her lips muffled against his softly furred chest, “Deal.”

And the first of three incredible orgasms began to build.

Buy Links:

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Dear-Philomena-Murder-Chincoteague-Island-ebook/dp/B016HDQDCM

Createspace: https://www.createspace.com/5795202

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/584372

AllRomanceEBooks: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-dearphilomenalovelustmurderonchincoteagueisland-1905181-149.html

About the Author:

Although M. S. Spencer has lived or traveled in five continents, the last thirty years have been spent mostly in Washington, D.C. as a librarian, Congressional staff assistant, speechwriter, editor, birdwatcher, kayaker, policy wonk, non-profit director and parent. She has two fabulous grown children and a perfect granddaughter, and currently divides her time between the Gulf coast of Florida and a tiny village in Maine.

Contact  M. S. Spencer here:

Blog: http://msspencertalespinner.blogspot.com OR

http://bit.ly/1aBzraT

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/msspencerromance

Twitter: www.twitter.com/msspencerauthor
GoodReads:http://www.goodreads.com/msspencer
Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/msspencerauthor/

About.me: http://about.me/msspencerauthor

Tsu.co : http://www.tsu.co/msspencerauthor

Linked in: www.linkedin.com/in/msspencerauthor

Author Pages:

I Heart Book Publishing:

http://www.iheartbookpublishing.com/m-s-spencer.html

Romance Books 4 Us: http://romancebooks4us.com/Romance%20Author%20M.%20S.%20Spencer.html OR

http://bit.ly/1d6ehza

Amazon Author Page:

http://www.amazon.com/M.S.-Spencer/e/B002ZOEUC8/

Tilt a Whirl

Years ago I was being interviewed for a leadership position with a company that has a reputation for doing things differently. This wasn't the first conversation.  I was told to plan on spending most of the day there and I would be interviewed with managers from different departments. No problem. I'd done this before. Or so I thought, until I arrived on the appointed day.

That's when I learned that three other candidates were also attending at the same time. We were all in consideration for the same job.  The guy in charge waited until we were all settled around a table to explain it.

"We call it the Tilt A Whirl, and it's just like that carnival ride. Each one of you will be in a separate  room. A manager and an associate will come in and ask you a series of questions pertinent to their department. They will be with you for an hour. When they are done, they will leave and move onto the next person."

Upon reflection, I realized this was a good use of the manager's time and if it made a candidate uncomfortable, that would be helpful in seeing how they would deal with a stressful situation.  When the day was done, one candidate claimed it was the most nerve wracking, harrowing experience of her life. No surprise that she didn't get the job.

Lately, things have been so busy, it reminded me of the Tilt A Whirl.   In early September, I learned that Secret Cravings, the publisher I've worked with for the Jamie Richmond series, was going out of business.  A week later, while attending a writer's workshop, I had the opportunity to pitch my next novel to a literary agent. Meanwhile I continued to polish the manuscript and get it ready for consideration.  This is in addition to working both my full time and part time jobs and looking for a new publisher who would accept books that had previously been published.

But at some point, the ride will slow down and I'll move on to whatever is next.  And in case you missed it, here's an older post about sharing stories you might enjoy.




http://marklove024.blogspot.com/search?updated-max=2015-07-26T09:26:00-07:00&max-results=7

Rockin' the Dinosaur

Truth be told when it comes to technology, I’m something of a dinosaur. While I use a computer for my writing, I’m slow to embrace a lot of the latest and greatest inventions that are supposed to make life easier. I have a cell phone, but it’s not a smart phone. Most weekdays at work I’m stuck in front of a computer, so access to all the internet and email is immediate. The same applies when I’m home, if I’m working on a story. 

So while I’m aware of certain advantages of social media and the waves of opportunities out there to reach people, I’m not exactly leading the charge.  Which makes this recent event so much sweeter.  Author Carolyn Wren has a knack for technology. She graciously offered to create video trailers for some of her fellow writers. When I expressed interest in the project, she was quick to take on the Jamie Richmond series.  After a few tweaks, her finished results went up on Youtube Friday.   And I'd encourage you to check out Carolyn's site to learn more about her work.

http://www.carolynwren.com/

Here’s a link for your viewing pleasure.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JXyGWizODzk

Say What?

Say What?

Like many writers, I often have to think about how a character comes across. This was a point of contention with my writers group this past week. One person was reading a piece out loud to the others and I had difficulty following. When they finished and asked for comments, I waited until the others had their turn. Then all eyes turned to me. Since I lead the group, it’s a given that there will be more from me that ‘a nice job’ or ‘it’s coming along well’.  So here’s roughly what I said.

“Not everyone speaks in the Queen’s English, unless you’re writing a Victorian era story, which this isn’t. Some people who are using English as a second language might. But it’s rare. Think about conversations you have with others. Or bits from your favorite show. The character Henry from the Longmire series does not use contractions. However most characters rarely use full sentences. Slang or regional dialogue can come into play.”

One of the others agreed. They also pointed out that most of the dialogue was the same length. It made it difficult to differentiate the characters.  I reminded the group that it’s important to mix up dialogue with narrative and to break up the length of your sentences. Dialogue can also be used to convey a full range of emotions. Here’s an example from Fleeing Beauty that I used.

                                                                          ***

Malone had just left when I sensed someone move up beside me. A cultured voice reached my ear. “Good evening, Jamie.” I didn’t even have to turn around.

“Hello, Mr. Mundy. I was hoping you’d be here.”

He took my hand and did the knuckle kissing thing. Beside him was Jocelyn, the exotic beauty with the raven hair, wearing a very tight red dress that accentuated her curves and showed off a lot of leg. She offered me a demur smile and nod.

I took his arm and guided him around the gallery. Jocelyn followed. Mundy made appreciative remarks after the first couple of pieces. My impatience took over.

“I don’t know whether to be pissed or pleased by your actions, Harry.”

“Perhaps some common ground between the two would be appropriate.”

My Irish temper flared. “You are one crafty son of a bitch.”

“I will deign to take that as a compliment.”

This was not the place to make a scene, so I kept my voice low as I moved him along. “You tagged my phone with some kind of high tech global positioning device.” I saw him about to speak and waved it away. “Of course, you yourself didn’t do it. Your darling daughter here did.”

Jocelyn leaned forward. “I told you not to underestimate her,” she said in a sing-song voice. In my peripheral vision, I saw her smile and wink at me.

Harrison was unflustered. “That is quite an engaging tale. Please continue.”

“There was only one way you could have gotten into the studio and viewed the collection in advance.”

“You really are quite resourceful, Jamie.”

“Cut the crap, Harry. I’d like the truth. I think you owe me that much.”

“As you wish. Jocelyn is in fact my daughter. She is also my associate, helping to resolve crimes related to art. Considering your relationships with the local police, I am certain you can understand how confidential this information is.”

“Who would I ever tell? Who the hell’s gonna believe me?”

“Point taken. That allowed me the opportunity to view the collection and to make some very fortuitous preparations.”

“No shit, Sherlock. You tagged the artwork.” His prim and proper manner was bringing out my vulgar side, but I really didn’t care.

Mundy twitched a little smile. “How did you discover my involvement?”

You can see how the dialogue can help set the mood of the people involved and convey the tone of the message.  This even shows how vulgarity can be incorporated. So, it’s not just what you say, but how you say it.