Just thought I'd pop up a post and announce that I have a new book coming out in December with Blushing Books. As of right now the release date is 12/23. I don't have a cover yet but I'll share it as soon as I do.
His Little Margie is my first book with a male muse, and I don't mind telling you he was a little bossy. This was a totally new experience for me. In fact I didn't even know it was possible. I've always had the same voice in my head sort of guiding me. Now and then certain characters would stick in their two cents, but mostly I got to chose who I wanted to listen to.
With this story I sort of felt like I was just along for the ride and found myself writing things I never imagined I would. I even argued with 'him' at times, but to no avail. "Put it in, just the way I want it," he'd say, LOUDLY. Geeze, all right, already.
Lord, I hope no mental health professionals read this post!
I did get to keep the love story, although at times I think that wasn't his focus.
This is also the first book without a 'supporting cast' of characters. Strange for me who always has so many side stories going on, but again, did I mention he was pushy? 'He' was very single-minded! I really think he would have liked a short story with just the sex...they met, he wanted her, he took her, the end!
Fortunately, he had to go through me, so hopefully there is enough romance to keep everyone happy. So here's an excerpt. I hope you like it and I hope Mr. Bossy takes a long vacation to Siberia to cool off.
His Little Margie
"Mr. Mitchell, I find your question quite offensive," she said crisply as she wiggled uncomfortably on her chair.
"In what way? Aren't we having a discussion about the benefits and drawbacks of that type of lifestyle? I was just wondering if you fully appreciate the disadvantages to women while living the way of life you so admire. Men definitely had the upper hand, so to speak."
"I guess I haven't thought that much about it?" she whispered, dropping her head.
"You're a liar, Miss Whitcomb," he insisted kindly.
"I said you're lying."
"How dare you!" she gasped, rising to her feet. "You don't even know me."
"Sit down, Miss Whitcomb," he ordered, grinning when she automatically obeyed. "On the contrary, I know a great deal about you. Any man with half a brain and an eye for detail could have figured you out if they took the time. You live in a virtual time capsule. You dress modestly, almost matronly if you will, but underneath that sedate dress you wear lace trimmed slips, stockings and garters. I wouldn't be a bit surprised if you had on a corset."
"Stop, please," she cried, her face crimson.
"Your manners are usually impeccable, or so I thought until tonight when I realized there is quite a bit of spunk under that ladylike exterior. You don't date, at least not as far as I'm aware, because you think there's no one out there who would understand your needs, and they are complicated. At least they would be for the average man."
"Mr. Mitchell, please leave," she said coldly.
"Not quite yet, Miss Whitcomb. As I was saying, I feel I know you quite well. I would bet money if I were to go upstairs to you room, I would find dusting powder on your vanity, baby doll pajamas in your drawer and most likely an old fashioned red hot water bottle, complete with attachments, hanging on the back of your bathroom door.
"Oh my God, get out of here," she yelled, slapping her hand on the table.
"Why not," she demanded. "You've made your point. I'm a freak, a relic as far as you're concerned."
"Miss Whitcomb, I find you enchanting," he said smiling warmly.
"It's true. You are ultra-feminine, unique, and a delight. I'm thrilled I've stumbled over a treasure most men have overlooked and, frankly, I'm disappointed in myself for delaying so long when I sensed your submissive tendencies. What a lot of time I've wasted."
"I am not submissive," she snapped angrily.
"Maybe not in the purest sense of the word, but you recognize you need a strong man and that's enough. You need a man to love and guide you through life's rough spots. A man who will make sure you are taken care of and deal with you when you fail to pay attention to important details. It's not enough you have a house from the fifties, you need an old-fashioned man and I, Miss Whitcomb, am that man."
"I hope you won't take this the wrong way, Mr. Mitchell," she said, clasping her hands and judging the distance to the back hall, "but I fear you've lost your mind."
Anyway, I'll keep you posted if anything changes with the release date.
Hope you all had a wonderful holiday. We had 18 for dinner and then some of the Grandchildren stayed over, so it's been pretty hectic.
I'm off my Motrin again until some tests on Tuesday. Needless to say I feel as though I've been hit by a truck. Other than that, all is good.