Susan Behon. Made for Me.

Why do writers write? Author Susan Behon is here today to give us her perspective on this question, as well as sharing the latest on her book Made For Me. It just released Sept 28 and I can’t wait to hear more.

Take it away, Susan!

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Why do writers write? Like Stephen King said, it’s not for the money, and it’s definitely not for the fame. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t turn down a fat paycheck, but I started writing because it felt like something I was meant to do. I hesitated for years before I finally took the plunge and tried writing a book. There were so many excuses…not enough time…not enough talent…or ooh look, there’s something shiny!

The years passed and every so often, my need to write outweighed my reasons not to. I’ll admit it. I wrote fanfiction. I got my feet wet and I enjoyed the feedback. That still wasn’t enough. I wrote a few pieces of satire and that wasn’t enough either. My biggest obstacle was me. That inner voice that said, “You just aren’t good enough to write something as big as a book.”

I love books and to my credit, I think I’ve read thousands of them. As for romance novels, my addiction to them started when I was thirteen years old and the school librarian wanted to get rid of a bag of Harlequins. It was a treasure trove! I sat on my bunk bed and read the lot of them. As an introverted kid, the stories took me to places and introduced me to people “characters” that were interesting, funny, dramatic, and, of course, sexy. My books were my friends. They still are.

One fateful night, my muse kicked my inner doubt’s ass and I woke up wanting/needing to write a book. My hand flew across my spiral bound notebook with story ideas, characters, and dialogue. Some were good, some were bad, some were downright awful, but my new mission in life was to write my own novel.  By the way, let me tell you why I will never give another writer a bad review. Writing a book is hard and if you take the initiative to try it, you have my complete and utter respect. Simple words, but true nonetheless. Holy Hell, how did people do it?

Could I do it? Turns out, yes I could, and I did. After many rejections from publishers (those sting no matter how many you get) I finally got a yes. You only need one yes to get your foot in the door. So here I am, a year after wracking my brain, pouring my heart out, and driving my husband crazy with reading revisions to him ad nauseum.

Without the stacks of money and the overnight fame, was it worth it? Damn straight it was! Why? Because I’m a writer! Through feedback, I’ve learned that people have read my stories and enjoyed them. They’ve laughed at the funny parts, got teary eyed over the sappy parts, and fanned themselves over the steamy parts. That’s all I ever wanted.

But, hey, don’t get me wrong, buying my books will put a smile on my face too! 🙂

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Blurb

Sabrina O’Malley can’t stand the sight of Keith Sutton.

At least, that’s what she keeps telling herself. In all honesty, she loves sneaking peeks at the gorgeous, golden-haired construction foreman. It’s easy to forget how arrogant and irritating Keith is when she admires him from afar and can’t hear him talking.

The problem is, he’s always talking. Keith won’t let Sabrina forget her drunken and failed attempt to kiss him. He’s determined to get a do-over and she’s determined to avoid him at all costs. If he has to rile her up to get her attention, and that kiss, Keith is all for it.

Sparks fly when trouble comes to Madison Falls and they are thrown together in an effort to stop it. When Sabrina is targeted and comes under fire, Keith is resolved to keep her safe. To do that, he needs to get past Sabrina’s defenses.

Will Sabrina put her pride aside and give Keith a chance before it’s too late?

Excerpt

“Damn him anyway for a handsome devil.”

Sabrina O’Malley was doing her best not to stare at Keith Sutton, but the man looked like a Greek god in his tux. With his blond hair and great height and all of that gorgeous muscle straining against his black tuxedo jacket, he was definitely god-like. On second thought, he looked more like the Norse god, Thor. She had actually called him that before, but it was more out of irritation than adulation.

From behind the steaming trays of food at the buffet table, it was easy to get away with staring. The guests normally didn’t look past the trays of pasta and chicken parmesan to chance a glance at the caterer. That was fine with Sabrina. If they weren’t looking at her, then she could get away with looking at them.

She couldn’t hear what Keith was saying to his dance partner from across the reception hall, so that was the reason Sabrina gave herself for getting caught up in the sight of him. When he wasn’t speaking, she could forget that Keith Sutton was an overgrown jerk.

Sabrina knew this would happen when she agreed to cater Tracy King and Ben Carrington’s wedding. Lord, she wanted to smack her head against a wall for that lapse in judgment. It was an excellent boon to her business but the reality of being here with the romantic music and all of the happy couples was trying on her nerves. Love was in the air and she was doing her best not to breathe it in.

Keith had glanced over a time or two but she didn’t know if he was, in fact, looking at her or checking out the array of food. It was a toss-up where he was concerned. The man loved to eat. At six foot four and at least 200 pounds, he was a giant of a man. Add in the shaggy blond hair and beautiful blue eyes and he truly reminded her of some warrior god or Viking.

Not that she needed a reminder of gods, Vikings, or Keith. He turned up wherever she went. Tonight couldn’t be helped though. He was a member of Tracy and Ben’s wedding party. Keith had been partnered with Sarah Brandon since she was a bridesmaid and he was a groomsman. Sabrina reminded herself that they were practically family since Sarah’s sister, Sophie, was married to his brother, Reed. Keith was supposed to dance with Sarah at the reception. That didn’t mean Sabrina had to like the way she was staring up at Keith and laughing at whatever charming tripe was coming out of his mouth.

It was small of her, but Sabrina wanted to shove Sarah out of the way and dance with Keith herself. She felt mean for thinking it since Sarah looked so lovely in her strapless violet gown. Her golden blonde hair was swept up in some sort of twist, and with her height, she made a perfect partner for Keith. Damn it. To top it off, Sarah was an incredibly nice person too.

Sabrina thought she would look ridiculous dancing with Keith anyway. At just an inch over five feet tall, she was a munchkin compared to him. Her head didn’t even come up to his shoulder. The last time she tried to get eye to eye with Keith Sutton, Sabrina had to stand on a chair. Not one of her better decisions.

That was months ago, but she’d learned that jumping up on furniture was a terrible way to get a man’s attention. Her incredible state of intoxication at the time added insult to injury. She hadn’t been hurt physically, but boy, had her pride been stung.

Sabrina had been out with her sister celebrating the successful changes they’d made since taking over management of the Pizza Palace. After finally seeing some positive results from the new sauce and the revised menu, they’d decided that after months of nonstop work, a drink or two at Sarah’s Suds and Spuds was just what they needed. Only, she’d had one too many. Okay, three too many, but with her size, one was really all it took.

They hadn’t been in town a week before Sabrina had heard about the Sutton brothers. Anyone and everyone dished the dirt on Reed and Sophie’s courtship. When they weren’t talking about them, they were speculating over Keith and his prospects. Since moving to Madison Falls, she’d never met the Suttons personally, but with all the details bandied about, they weren’t hard to pick out of a crowd.

Her celebration landed on karaoke night, so Keith had been there with Reed and their friends. He was the only six foot four, blond haired man in the room so she’d identified him right away. His brother sang a few times and had quite a lovely voice, really. Keith didn’t sing, but he looked to be getting a whole lot of enjoyment out of ribbing those who did.

That was the night that her awful attraction to Keith Sutton had begun.

His wicked grin had drawn her in like a moth to a flame. One drink in and she’d been brave enough to smile at him when they’d made eye contact. Two drinks in and she’d had no problem telling her sister, Fiona, how easy on the eyes he was. In her blissful haze, she’d mentioned this loudly……and often. Three drinks in and Sabrina had decided that a kiss from Keith would be a perfect way to top off her night.

She’d made this foolish decision when Keith was about to pass by their table on the way to who knew where. In retrospect, she should have listened to her sister. Fiona had told her to stay the hell off of that chair. In her liquor-laced reasoning, Sabrina had explained it was the best way to reach him if she wanted to get her kiss. It sounded reasonable at the time.

As soon as he was close enough, Sabrina had hopped up on the chair and thrown her arms around his neck. To give the man credit, he took a strange woman latching on to him like a barnacle with remarkable aplomb.

“Whoa. Hey there, Red. Something I can do for you?”

Sabrina’s next words would haunt her for months.

“Yes. Kiss me.”

Keith had glanced down at her, then tilted his head like he hadn’t quite gotten the joke. “Excuse me?”

Sabrina remembered how good he’d smelled. Like peppermints and expensive aftershave. “Kiss me. I want to celebrate.” She’d threaded her fingers behind his neck and leaned in for a right proper smooching. That was when he must have smelled her third whiskey sour.

He’d reared back and stared into her eyes. His eyes were a beautiful, deep sea blue. She was going to tell him how gorgeous his eyes were after the kiss. Sabrina had tried to lean in again but Keith kept her at arm’s length.

“I think you’ve already done enough celebrating. Thanks, sweetheart, but no thanks. I don’t take advantage of drunk girls.” As he said that, he unlatched her hands, picked her up by the waist, and set her on the floor as if she weighed no more than a doll.

Even drunk, Sabrina was aware enough to be mortified.

Keith had eyed her from head to toe. Taking in her ginger red hair and matching crimson cowboy boots, he’d grinned as if her little stunt amused him.

“What’s your name, Red?”

She’d stared up at him, tongue-tied and wishing the floor would open up and swallow her. Adding her name to the mix would have been a horrible idea. At least her sense of reasoning kicked in before she’d told him who she was.

“You’re cute.” Cute? Yes, and so were puppies. “Maybe I’ll see you around.” Not if she could help it.

With that, he’d ambled away and left Sabrina wanting to crawl under the table and hide. Thank God the spotlight had been on the latest singer, which in contrast, left the rest of the room blessedly dark. The unfortunate guy singing Piano Man sounded like a strangled cat. All eyes were on him: some in disbelief, some in pity, and some in need of another drink. Thanks to the Piano Man massacre, Sabrina thought she’d gotten away without that many people seeing her throw herself at a man like a horseshoe. That’s what she’d hoped for anyway.

Fiona pulled her down in her seat before she could do anything else embarrassing. Her sister hissed, “I told you to stop after the second drink, but you never listen!” Seeing Sabrina’s obvious mortification, she’d softened her tone. “Don’t worry, hon, with a man that good-looking, I bet things like that happen to him all the time.”

Sabrina had sobered up enough to want to get the hell out of the bar. She’d made an ass out of herself so her celebrating was through. Thank God she hadn’t told him her name. Madison Falls was small, but she’d thought that surely she could avoid him.

A few weeks after that disastrous night, Sabrina learned that luck was not on her side. Both of her delivery drivers at the Pizza Palace had called off sick. There had been an enormous order due out to a construction crew and no one to deliver it but her. Just her luck that the order had been called in by none other than Keith Sutton.

When she’d pulled up to the site, she’d prayed he wouldn’t remember her. But as soon as Sabrina had gotten out of her car, Keith had done a double take and walked over. Damn her red hair. It was like a beacon.

“Hey there, Pizza Lady. Remember me?”

Of course she remembered him. She’d been taking turns fantasizing about and trying to forget the dazzling behemoth. “No, sorry. I have a delivery here for Sutton Construction.”

“That’s me. I mean, I’m not Sutton Construction. That would be a stupid name. But I am Keith Sutton. I called in the order.” After a sweeping once-over, he grinned, “Today must be my lucky day.”

Sabrina couldn’t say the same.

Buy Links

 

Amazon: http://amzn.to/1JepnEA

Itunes: http://apple.co/1PYaV5x

Barnes &Noble (Nook): http://bit.ly/1ODiz78

BAM: http://bit.ly/1O9hgN4

Kobo: http://bit.ly/1PYb9JO

Google play: http://bit.ly/1it4nkH

Amazon.UK: http://amzn.to/1ELkrZp

Amazon.Ca: http://amzn.to/1ELkHaR

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Author Bio

Susan Behon, author of the Madison Falls series, enjoys creating a world that brings readers romance, laughter, and a healthy dose of sexiness. Susan graduated summa cum laude with a B. A. in English from Norfolk State University. She currently lives in Ohio with her very own romance hero of a husband and their two wonderful daughters.

 

Author Social Media

Twitter: www.twitter.com/suebeehny

Facebook: http://on.fb.me/1dD86dc

Goodreads: http://bit.ly/1GFiuIg

Amazon Author: http://amzn.to/1zn8Igz

Link to All Books: http://amzn.to/1JepnEA

 

 

 

 

Mammograms, panini presses and push-up bras.

Ah. I enjoyed another milestone recently. I got my second mammogram and it was just as exhilarating as my first.

For those of you who have not yet endured this particular brand of torture, allow me to paint a picture. You will arrive for your appointment at the hospital. Someone will hand you a snazzy bracelet. Feel free to show it off like a war wound. This bracelet means you fear nothing. See how unafraid I look? Let’s see if #BadassBreasts starts trending.

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Okay, this is where things get weird and painful. You will be escorted into a warren-like series of rooms at the hospital. No one will tell you that you need to find your own way back out again. That’s another story. I suggest you drop breadcrumbs.

You will be handed one of those lovely blue hospital gowns, the ones that close in back, and will be told to disrobe from the waist up.

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And, of course, there’s no sense even trying to tie the gown. Who the hell can tie knots behind their back anyway? You will then be told to wait in a waiting room. No one will warn you there might be men about. I assumed it would all be women, but there are men in there, too. In order not to resemble an aging, bra-less hippie left over from Woodstock, I clutched my purse in front of me, Sophia Petrillo style. If you’re too young to know who she is, look her up.

Your name will be called and you will be escorted into a small room. Inside there dwells a creature I can only describe as God’s panini press. It is large and merciless. It has two flat panels, and it is meant to squish your girls into oblivion. My technician (a kind lady who said she’s been squishing girls for 25 years) was gentle, but by the time she took four pictures, my chest was red. You might not think your breasts could flatten to such a degree. I am here to tell you they can. The technician will prod and squeeze them between the panini press plates, telling you to relax your shoulders. As if anyone can relax in this situation. She will then tighten the plates. Just when you think your girls are flat enough, she will turn the crank a little more, like a torturer determined to impress a bloodthirsty crowd. This is the point where you start cursing.

After taking a few images, the technician will release you back into the maze of hallways and you will attempt to find your way back to the change room. The temptation to pat and fluff your poor girls will be strong, but try not to do it in public. People frown on that sort of thing. However, if you’re like me, you will fluff them a little once you get back to the relative privacy of your car. You will then drive home, and probably curse some more.

Sounds like hell, right?

But was I happy to do it? You bet. According to the Canadian Cancer Society, breast cancer is the 2nd leading cause of death from cancer in Canadian women.  http://www.cancer.ca/en/cancer-information/cancer-type/breast/statistics/?region=bc  I am certain that if you explore statistics for your area, you will find similar information. We don’t have a cure for cancer yet, so doesn’t it make sense to do everything we can to prevent it?

Every time I visit the hospital for a mammogram, a silly part of me worries my girls won’t be quite so perky afterward.  However, if I have to choose between perky and life, I will pick life every single time.

I can always buy a push-up bra.

Project Purse Dump – Jessica Cale

Hello, purse voyeurs, and welcome to another installment of #ProjectPurseDump!

I’m so pleased to get a peek inside the purse of one of my favorite authors, Jessica Cale. Won’t you join me as I nestle close to her cute kitty and peruse?

Welcome, Jessica!

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Project Purse Dump

Twenty-two lipsticks. Eleven bottlecaps. Seven black pens. Five magnets. Three tins of Altoids. Hello Kitty bandaids. A Mucha compact mirror from Paris, and a coin from House on the Rock.

These are a few of things I found this week when I emptied my purse out onto the floor.

Sept 25 - Purse - Jessica Cale

In my defense, it is a very large purse. I have a few you might call “sensible” purses, brightly colored leather with understated embellishments and clever pockets, but the one I keep returning to is an oversized, flimsy thing I got at World Market for I think $8. It’s grey and it has crows on it. Size aside, it’s fairly nondescript, and goes well with my worn out jeans and band t-shirt aesthetic, plus I can fit half a library (and a hoodie!) into it should the occasion call for it. All of the things you see here were in it on a day that it was fairly empty, apart from my cat there, but he could have fit into it, too.

So what’s inside? It’s a kind of survival kit, plus a few extra bits and pieces I picked up along the way. Let’s take a closer look.

The essentials:

Seven black pens and two packs of post-its: I usually also carry a notebook full of graph paper with me for story ideas, but post-its and pens will do in a pinch. If I get story ideas–anything from bits of dialogue to major plot points–I write them on post its and stick them to the cards in my coin purse if I don’t have a notebook handy. Apparently I can also write notes on my phone, but this still feels too futuristic for me most days, and I usually forget.

Makeup: I don’t intentionally have twenty-two lipsticks on me at all times, it’s just that they gather in my purse. I don’t have any anywhere else in my house. I have them in my purse, in the coin purse inside, and more inside the Union Jack makeup bag. This makeup bag also contains hair pins, more ponytail holders than I have anywhere else, two eyeliners (one black, one purple), face powder, blush, mascara, orange scented roll on perfume, and a souvenir Mucha makeup mirror I got in Paris ten years ago. Because you never. fucking. know. Some days you just need eyeliner, and lots of it. I once loaned one of my friends a fire engine red Stila lipstick to write down her number for a random guy, and a couple years later, loaned the same lipstick to another friend when he was hosting punk rock karaoke as a kinky sailor. Who wore it better? My vote’s on Dave.

Coin purse: I haven’t carried a wallet in many years. In Britain, coins are far more common than paper bills, so carrying a coin purse was far more practical. I’ve been back in the states for a couple of years now, but I still carry the same coin purse I bought at New Look for a pound almost ten years ago. Today it’s full of all of my cards, some random change, a spare set of earbuds, post-its covered in story ideas, a customs declaration, a list of Edith Piaf songs (really), a guitar pick, some fortunes from cookies (“Don’t put off till tomorrow what can be enjoyed today…” in bed (snicker), hair pins, and more lipstick. Could you fit all of that into a wallet? Didn’t think so.

A coin from The House on Rock: How else will I make the crazy music play?

Randoms:

Bottlecaps and magnets: Okay, there’s a reason for this, I promise. My friend Lily gave these to me a couple of weeks ago so I could make some bottlecap magnets for my fridge. She made some and they look awesome, so I’m going to give it a shot.

Three tins of altoids: Why have three when one should be curiously strong enough? None of these are actually mine. My husband keeps buying them and asking me to hold them, so I put them in my purse. He forgets they’re there and buys more, asks me to hold them, and voila. Three tins. Can I offer you a mint?

Not pictured: The phone I use to obsessively ignore my email and ogle pictures of macarons on Instagram, my work badge, and my keys.

This might seem like a lot, but if you need to be minty or photo-ready, I’ve got your back. You know, just in case.

Jessica Cale

Bio: Jessica Cale is a recovering journalist writing historical romances out of a grey bedroom in North Carolina. Originally from Minnesota, she lived in Wales for several years where she earned a BA in History and an MFA in Creative Writing while climbing castles and photographing mines for history magazines. She kidnapped (“married”) her very own British prince (close enough) and is enjoying her happily ever after with him in a place where no one understands his accent. You can visit her at www.authorjessicacale.com.

You can find her here:

Website: http://www.authorjessicacale.com

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

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Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Jessica-Cale/e/B00PVDV9EW/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

Goodreads Author Page: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/9819997.Jessica_Cale