Silence is Golden

 Shhhh, do you hear that? Silence. Even the birds aren't up yet.

I know I'm not the only one who gets up while it's still dark out to enjoy the first steaming cup of morning coffee. 

But it's been a while since I've outwitted this bunch. Seriously. It's not unheard of for my foot to hit the last step only to discover dear hubby already at the table waiting.... 

Today, that's just what I've done. : ) 

I don't want to waste a precious minute. I'm gonna get right to it. Dottie has found herself in the kitchen of an old farmhouse still equipped with a wood cookstove and tin percolator. No simple press of the button here; just a box of kindling and a stack of faded newspapers. She remembers her grandmother whipping up some of the most memorable breakfasts ever on a stove just like this one. 

    Breakfast began with building a fire in the kitchen stove which looked like it had once belonged to Caroline when she lived on the Prairie. A huge black iron stove was centered along the back wall. It contained several round lids of different sizes she knew were the burners. A basket of kindling was kept underneath a table nearby. Certain she could handle making coffee, Dot removed the largest steel burner plate using a lid lifter already in place. Next, she crumpled a few newspapers, stuffed them into the stove, and placed some of the kindling from the basket. It required several matches until she had a rosy fire.

    She sat down to wait, her gaze going to the glass. 

The thick sheen covering the window wasn't dust but soot. 

Instead of offering a fresh start to a new day it 

resembled a sad leftover from days before, the sunlight struggling to 

break through. Footsteps from the stairway alerted her that she 

wasn't the only one up.

    "Why are you using that old thing?"  

Nothing much is happening yet. I'd better get back to it before my house starts to wake up. 

Here's to a lovely day! 

 

 

3/4 finished - been sitting on this fence long enough

Hello!

I'm just heading out the door to my little she-shed. Since my hubby's retirement, I've been at a loss about where to write. I'm not one to pack up and leave home to do something so personal (to me, anyway) as dive into another person's drama. 

But I've missed making any progress, and I'm so ready to get back to my manuscript. I adore the characters- Earl and Dorothy, aka- Dot, because as Earl put it, she was the end of his search. They're celebrating their 35th wedding anniversary. Toss in the fact Earl's fully retired now- write what you know.

I've got a feeling stuff's about to get real. 

Fingers crossed it'll be entertaining.  

Hubby and I are getting the garden ready for planting. Looking forward to tasty tomatoes!

Here's to a beautiful Spring! Enjoy! 

Oh, the woos of pc trouble

Technology- don't ya just love it?

So, I spent the better part of November trying to recover from an update that didn't go right. Seems like with everything else forced on us, unsuccessful downloads are just one more. Of course, I did my best to fix the problem myself, but first, you have to know what that might be.

The keyboard on my new laptop wasn't working. I could login, and select a search engine because I have touchscreen. But from there I was unable to actually type anything. No matter what I did.

The trouble started when the new updates were rolled out, it stands to reason that my problems started there. 

Since my repair guys went strictly to commercial, they pointed me in the direction of another repair shop they felt confident could handle any pc troubles. Needless to say, I don't share the feeling. I took my laptop to the new shop, which, mind you, is 30 miles away from me. He said to bring it up, and he would do a fresh install. That meant I lose all my current content (unless its backed up in the cloud) and would need refreshing.  After several days, I get the call, it's ready to be picked up. I paid a hefty fee and left thinking all is good, the laptop works now - they brought it up and I was able to type, so I'm ready to go. 

No such thing. It was hit and miss; working when it wanted. 

Not one to give up easily, I called a few tecs and got one who actually seemed to know a thing or two about computers. He suggested I press and hold the power button, then restart pc. Once I did that the problem appeared to be fixed. The tec said that indicated to him the problem was a driver problem and not a hardware issue. However, when I shut down the laptop and came back to it the next day it would require the same trick, press and hold, reboot and type. Not the way I wanted to use this laptop, especially after saving my money for a year to purchase this top of the line computer. 

Lucky for me, I have other ways of googling besides my laptop, using my iPad. With a few short searches, I came across a helpful article on what to do if your keyboard doesn't respond. This is the scary part...it tells me to uninstall the keyboard. (Gulp) 

Yep, I'm supposed to hit that uninstall button and remove the keyboard. Then reinstall after a complete shutdown. Well, I read several claims that this really is the proper way to fix this problem. Seems once a keyboard is uninstalled, next time it's brought up, the pc will search for and install the required keyboard, complete with proper driver updates. 

I debated for about a day or two and realized, since I absolutely couldn't use my laptop in its current condition, what did I have to lose? Giving the family strict instructions I am not to be disturbed, I set about the task. And wouldn't you know it? Wha-la! Perfect O! Works every time! 

I'm so happy and wish I had done this sooner. Like, I'm still in need of a good pc repairman, but at least I know where I am not going.

Where do you find inspiration?

Where do you find inspiration?  

With fall fast approaching and the days getting shorter by the minute (pun intended), we have fewer hours to actually be inspired. Maybe you're the kind who wakes up in the middle of the night with an absolutely brilliant idea and rushes to jot it down on a nearby napkin or even record it on a cool device. 

I tried that once, whispering into the small recorder I kept in my nightstand drawer. My croaking whispers woke dear hubby, who sat upright in bed, demanding to know who or what I was talking to. 

As a writer, he didn't have the first clue about the rush of roping the greatest story idea in the few fleeting moments. You HAVE to get it written down or risk losing it in the vast cloud of ideas floating around forever in a lost universe. 

But I'm getting off-track.

Inspiration: Where Does It Come From?

Whether it be the dusty rural road I live on or a crowded aisle in the local grocery store, my eyes and ears absorb everything around me. One evening, while cruising the back roads in no particular hurry, out of nowhere, a car comes barreling straight at me. He whizzed past in a blur, squealed his tires at the corner, made a U-turn, and rushed up behind me, trailing my bumper frightfully close. 

My heart beat full throttle as he passed me, racing ahead and completing another turn, this time barreling straight at me. 

His actions were reckless, crazy even. Furious and without thinking, I pulled onto the side of the road. My window was already down, having been enjoying a leisurely evening ride. He slowed his car next to mine, revved up his motor as if to impress me. "What do you want?"

With a booze induced grin, he peeled gravel on the dirt road and sped off. 

Only a few hundred yards from home, I said a silent prayer when I parked beside the shed, hurried into the house, and bolted the door. 

Later, as I crawled into bed, my imagination took over. How could I be certain he hadn't followed me home? Hubby was out of town, and I'd given specific orders to my friends and family that I wanted to be alone. I had plans to write and didn't want to be disturbed for any reason. I'd repeated this so loudly that no one would even think of dropping by. What had started off as a few days of bliss suddenly became apparent how quickly the situation could change. Two full days of solitude could do some serious harm under the right circumstances. 

That became the inspiration for my suspense story, Letters From Inside. An idea so creepy it's one of my all-time favorites.

Excerpt below:

 Out of nowhere, a man appeared in her headlights riding a bicycle. His dark clothing and a knit cap made it impossible to see until her car was practically on top of him as he pedaled on the pavement. She swerved and narrowly missed hitting the guy, then looked in her rear-view mirror. The man had stopped in the road, balancing his bike against one leg, and made the lewd gesture of flipping her off. Her heart dropped to her lap, realizing how close she’d come to running the guy over. She hadn’t expected anyone to be riding a bicycle at this hour, especially without reflectors. Linda pressed the accelerator down, needing to put as much distance between them as possible. Later, as she changed into her pajamas, the frightening image surfaced again. His gaze left her feeling isolated and vulnerable. She snuggled beneath the warmth of her quilt and closed her eyes, but nothing could erase the memory of his alarming reaction. For the first time since moving back into the farmhouse, she felt uneasy and got out of bed to double-check the doors. She crept into the living room and stood in the dark, then sliced the curtains and peeked out into the yard. The hairs rose on the back of her neck, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that unseen eyes were watching her. “Mom?” Jessie came out of her bedroom, groggy from sleep. “Is somebody out there?” she asked, rubbing her eyes. “No, sweetheart. Just wondering if it’s going to rain or not. Go back to bed.” Linda moved quickly from the window, wrapped her arm across her daughter’s shoulder, and then walked her back to her room.

Available on Amazon.

Where do your ideas come from? 

 

Rocky is still the man

 As summer drags by and since hubby is retired, I find myself at a loss. I mean, the house has only so many cabinets and closets to clean. So, I head out to my little room where bliss awaits. This is my piece of heaven. My own special place where I sit and watch movies or read a good book. I usually only get an hour or two before someone comes searching for me, but I'm not complaining. Imagine how I'd feel if nobody did? 

Like the rest of the world, I'm waiting for Yellowstone to wrap up. Why it takes so long between seasons is anyone's guess. But a person can only wear so many hats, no matter how big the head. Anyway, I decided to rewatch some old movies. Since my little room is only equipped with an antenna, I usually watch DVDs. 

Yesterday, I chose Rocky Balboa. I watched it at the theater and remember thinking how magnificent he still looked after all these years. Magnificent, yes, is the right word. He is toned and determined. And loyal. I'm a sucker for a love story, which you probably already know since I write romance novels. In a previous movie, Rocky's wife, Adrian, had passed away- we only see memories of her in this movie. There's a flashback of when he first met her at the pet store and bought a pair of turtles, Cuff and Link. Love those names. I gotta tell you, I almost cried during the opening minutes seeing Rocky feeding two clunky, and very big, turtles swimming around in a tank.  The passing of time hits you hard. 

And like it or not, it's a phase in life we all reach. A whole new chapter. The silver years, which will ultimately lead to the golden ones, and on to the big finale. And like Rocky, it takes some adjusting. You know, there's still a little more inside. And he's determined to spend it all. Every last drop. 

Good advice. 

Pursue your passion. 

   

BOOK SIGNING- May 2nd, 2025

 

It's nearly time! May 2nd, 2025, when I will join several local authors from our area for their annual author book fair being held at the Marcellus Township Wood Library. 

This is a perfect opportunity to ask questions about the writing process. How does a book happen? How long does it take to write a book? And, where do you get your ideas?

There will be books available for purchase, too. 

I hope to see you there! 

INSIDE A convicted rapist out on parole. A detective determined to put him back in prison. And an innocent woman caught in the crossfire. When Tom Harrington is unable to prevent the release of the serial rapist, Carl Jenkins, from the state penitentiary, the detective follows him to the small town of Berrien. His reasons are personal - Jenkins was convicted of assaulting Tom's sister. One slight parole infraction buys him a free ticket back to prison, where he belongs. After eight years in the state penitentiary, Carl Jenkins is deemed rehabilitated. Years of hard times and no visitors. Nothing can penetrate the cynical chamber that functions as a heart. Until the smallest ray of warmth enters his cell in a flowery envelope and perfumed paper. Whispers of dreams long forgotten. And the hope to become normal.

 AND OUT There's another lure to the sleepy town, the beautiful woman who spent months corresponding with the convict. Linda Wheeler is a mystery to both men. Seeking refuge after a tumultuous divorce, all she craves is peace. Yet, single parenting is a whole other battle. Her teenage daughter is becoming a rule breaker and eventually winds up on the wrong side of the law. She's determined to keep her from becoming a name and number in the court's legal system. But what Linda doesn't know is that a name has already seeped behind prison walls: her name. And nothing can prepare them for the storm that's coming.

Leslie Stone stumbles upon her fiancé cheating with the maid of honor just days before her wedding. Determined to put distance between them, she heads to the family’s cabin in Sleeping Falls, Michigan. Unfortunately, her car barely hit the city limits before breaking down. And with no money for repairs, the scrolling marquee above the biker bar advertising a mechanical bull riding contest seems like a perfect solution.
Jay Westfield learned at an early age to avoid women who chase the limelight. After all, his mother had been the star attraction in Harvey’s Traveling show. The minute Leslie clears the door in cut-offs and skimpy tank top, things heat up. She’s on a mission and he wants no part of it. The last thing he expects is the attraction he feels seeing her on the back of Old Iron.
Add a squeezy rag doll named Mr. Jingles, the colorful antics of newfound friend, and the renowned tarot-card reader Madame Luella. Leslie’s about to discover in order to find the man of her dreams she must be willing to believe in magic.

One snowy Christmas Eve street urchin Victoria and her dog spend hours wandering the chilly streets selling ribbons and peering through the store's glass windows at grand gifts designed to fill boys and girls Christmas wishes everywhere. But Victoria has a wish of her own. A yearning for something she wants more than anything else in the world. And perhaps this year Father Christmas will find her and make all her dreams come true. When a withered old storekeeper and his gentle wife find themselves in her company, they are at a loss. The couple has long forgotten the joys of Christmas spent with a child and the magic sure to follow when they open their home and their hearts to... The Season For Miracles.

 

                                   THE LITTLE GIRL 

                I saw a girl outside today while she was jumping rope

            With tangled hair and skinned up knees,, no buttons on her coat.

            She sang in rhyme and skipped a beat to slapping 

            on the ground.

            And counted as she played the game, abandoned that, then

            found a swing. 

   

              She pumped herself into the clouds, still singing silly songs.

            I knew each word before she spoke, the lyrics loud and strong.

            I took the path she walked to school, now overgrown and small.

            The curves and hills, the rambling creek, no distance here at all.

              I strolled along her daily route and found beneath some trees,

            The tiny house where she had grown, a sacred place 

            the girl called home.

             A sagging porch with crumbling steps, through dirty window glass,

            I held my breath and peered inside, a restful peace at last.

            I heard the sound of laughter and felt a swell of love.

            With eyes yet closed, I held her tight.   

            The little girl was...me.

            

           

            

       

Remember that contest I entered over at Watershed Voice?

It’s up now! If you have a minute, check it out.

Let me know what you think. 

 https://watershedvoice.com/2024/12/20/tereasa-bellew-a-new-beginning/

You can also listen to my interview on their podcast.

https://watershedvoice.com/podcast/keep-your-voice-down/

New Books- Old Books, and characters to good to let go.

 New books. Old books. Characters too good to let go.

 

 Have you ever opened the pages of a book and discovered people you love? Individuals cut from the same cloth so to speak. You can even imagine yourself hopping in the car to drive over for a visit?

 

Certain books touch our lives so profoundly they find a forever home on our bookshelves. Books we know will be read again whenever our need to be with the characters gets so strong you simply must pull up a chair and dive back into their world. Perhaps to experience the danger or warmth we enjoyed during our time together. 

 

Today I'd like to introduce you to a few folks I’ve come to love.  Some are funny, handsome, and some just downright nasty.

  

Mr. Perfect by Linda Howard

***** 

Jaine Bright and her girlfriends create a list of qualities each woman imagines a great catch should have and come up with Mr. Perfect. Some specifications on the list are caring, warmhearted, faithful, and reliable. The list takes on a life of its own sizzling throughout the community. It even winds up in the local newspaper. 

In the meantime, Jaine's noisy neighbor cruises her quiet neighborhood in a muffler-missing Pontiac rumbling like thunder all hours of the night disturbing her peaceful slumber and keeping her awake. To top it off, he hates cats. Hates the tiny paw prints trailing the hood of his car.  

 It's fun to watch as Jaine goes head-on with the guy, who just so happens to be an undercover cop. That’s right. And it's a good thing too because this list she’s devised has pissed off a certain somebody who doesn’t think there should be such a list as Mr. Perfect. When one in the group is murdered, the list is no longer a laughing matter. 

Another is Iron House by John Hart

 *****

  I stumbled across this book while waiting for a tire rotation at a local store. Whenever there is time to kill, there's time to read, so I hit out for the book section. I picked up a thick book with a dark cover and was pulled into the story about two orphan brothers housed at Iron Mountain Home for Boys. Julian, the younger and weaker of the two survives only because of Michael's fierce protection and strong fists. When a boy is brutally murdered at the institution only one can take the blame. Michael fled the orphanage taking the blame with him and leaving Julian behind. 

This pulled at my heart so much that I returned for the book and devoured it in record time. As someone who's grown up with an older brother, I know there is nothing we wouldn't do for each other. So, despite the passage of time, sibling bonding is forever. And so it is with Michael and Julian. There's also a Mob boss who nurtured Michael through the ranks and a jealous son who goes to great lengths to destroy the life he's tried to achieve. 

This book is big, giving the author time to dig deep into the past lives of both boys, now grown men. And some of their baggage isn't nice. 

I have many, many more keepers. It's what led me to write in the first place. To be able to create my own universe, my own friends. That moment when I step into another place and time with characters who dare to say the outrageous or do the unthinkable. In other words, not afraid to step out of their comfort zone. 

My keeper shelf wouldn't be complete if I didn't include this particular book. 

Pippi Longstocking, by Astrid Lindgren

What can I say about this story? Only that it introduced to me the most outrageous character my young eyes had ever read. I was probably eight years old when I first read Pippi Longstocking. She lives in a house she calls Villa Villekulla. Her new pals, Tommy and Annika, live next door and have the most wonderful adventure's together. Pippy also has several animals like her monkey, Mr. Nillsson, and a horse she capable of lifting with just one arm! Several more books reveal Pippi's father is the king on an Island. Years later, after television progressed, we traveled with her to visit him on the island in living color! 

When Pippi first met Anika and Tommy she proclaimed herself a thingfinder. 

And years of collecting fascinating treasures I discovered that I, too, am a thingfinder, just like Pippi. 

Books find their way into our lives many times, forever. 

What do you have on your keeper shelf? 

Beautiful fall day

 

Hi Everyone! 

So much to catch up on. First, it's been a beautiful summer and even lovelier fall.

This is the rural road I live on.

Literally.

I love walking it whenever I can to the corner dairy farm.

When time and energy are on my side, I continue to the top of the hill, 

roughly about 1 1/2 miles. The road has a steep incline, very shaded and untraveled.

It reminds me of the thick forest Dorothy Gale from Kansas, 

along with the Scarecrow and Tin Man dared trespass through

when they met the Cowardly Lion.

I have some photos of this year's fall color tour I'll try and upload. 

They're on the phone and I'm here, on the PC. I've got to figure out how 

to get them in one spot. : ) 

To let you all know I'm still writing,

I thought I'd share a heartfelt poem I wrote the other day.

                                         The little girl

          I saw a girl outside today, while she was jumping rope.

          With skinned-up knees and tangled hair, no buttons on her coat. 

          She sang in rhyme and skipped a beat to slapping on the ground.

          And counted as she played the game, abandoned that,

          then found a swing.

          She pumped herself into the clouds, still singing silly songs.

          I knew each word before she spoke, the lyrics loud and strong.

          I took the path she walked to school, now overgrown and small.

          The curves and hills, the rambling creek, no distance here at all.

          I strolled along her daily route and found beneath some trees,

          The tiny house where she had grown, a sacred place

          the girl called home.

           A sagging porch with crumbling steps, through dirty window glass,

           I held my breath and peered inside, a restful peace at last.

           I heard the sound of laughter and felt a swell of love.

           With eyes yet closed, I held her tight.

           The little girl...was me. 

                 

 

Finding inspiration on Pinterest

 

Secondary and minor characters are just as important when writing your novel. Some are merely a doorway into other rooms, glimpses into darker spots we otherwise wouldn't dare face on our own. But with a partner...

And where you find those ideas can be too numerous to mention. For me, things like abandoned houses, quiet woods, and dusty backroads are just some places that stir my imagination.

Pinterest is a great place to find photos. With each book I start, I search for glimpses into the world I'm creating. After all, the beginning is a new idea and seeds are being dropped into hopefully fertile ground. 

Look at the board I created when writing 'Letters From Inside.'

https://www.pinterest.com/tereasabellew/letters-from-inside-the-novel/

This was the first cover I had designed when I won a free cover raffle. I ended up not using it, but it gives you the idea of my character, Carl Jenkins, from my novel, Letters From Inside.

A lonely man, nearly broken from spending years inside. Carl is barely hanging on. And then the unimaginable happens. He receives a perfumed letter from the outside. A spark that strikes an ember in his darkness. The letters become the most important light. 

When he's granted parole, there's only one place in mind. 

He has been given hope. A dream. And nothing will stand in his way. 

There are many other pictures and quotes I've found on Pinterest that I've pinned for inspiration. 

           

 Something like this was probably scratched on his cell wall. 

 FEAR IS A PRISON

There are also boards of my other stories, with places that excite me and trigger my imagination. Feel free to follow me on Pinterest and see the many cool stuff I've added to the board, Letters From Inside-the novel. 

I hope to see you there. : ) 

And don't forget to check out the novel. 

 https://www.amazon.com/Letters-Inside-Teresa-Blue-ebook/dp/B07RYX8TWT/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1685362051&sr=1-3

Looks who's made parole!!

Carl Jenkins is finally getting paroled!  

  

Carl Jenkins served eight years of a twelve-year stretch before the impossible happened: He is granted his freedom. Parole! The impossible is unfolding right before his eyes!

Freedom.

But what does that mean? To Carl, it means he'll finally have the chance of a lifetime, to pursue the woman of his dreams. The woman who saved his miserable life when he would have ended it was it not for a perfumed letter and its timely arrival.

In less than an hour, he'll be on a bus heading to Berrien. With a measly fifty dollars and a pocket full of dreams. 

                                      

Let's see what he's got to say.

INTERVIEWER: Hey, Carl. Thanks so much for taking a few minutes to, uh, well, spill your guts. I'd like to say I'm happy you're finally going to be allowed on the streets again, but that would be a lie. I mean, like, now we'll have to lock our windows and hide our daughters, right? So, my first question is: when did you start window-peeking at innocent girls without their knowledge? What's the big turn-on in doing something so twisted?

CARL:

Let's see. I probably should break your wrists for that, but then you wouldn't be able to write the answers to my interview. And for some fucked-up reason I want people to know why I am the way I am, ya know? It's my mother. Laughter. It's always the mother, right? Well, my mother was a cunt. She drank with any man in blue jeans, or without 'em for that matter. Most days after school she'd be sitting at the table shit-faced, saggy tits hanging out, lips swollen where she'd been smoozing up to some John. The soured stench of the place was enough to burn my eyes. Turned my stomach, ya know?

INTERVIEWER: Yeah, but was that an excuse to sneak around backyards, creep between hedges, and peek inside bedroom windows?

CARL: It didn't start like that. There was this girl I liked who lived just down the block from my place. Hair as shiny as gold, skin like silk. And a dimple. Cutest thing you'd ever see. When there's no reason to smile at home, you don't see dimples. She was beautiful. Bold as brass. Caught me hunched down outside her window that first time. She raised the damned thing and pulled me in! Right fucking inside! What can I say? I fell in love.

Course, she wouldn't be seen in public with me. So we had to sneak. I'd climb in after dark and we'd hang out. Mostly kissing and stuff. Till she got pissy. So I showed her. After that, it was like, I craved watching normal, everyday life. Chicks in pajamas, hair wet from a shower. Life, ya know? I'd be drawn in by soft lights, rooms with flowery prints on the walls, and innocence etched on their unsuspecting faces.

INTERVIEWER: You crossed the line, though. You did more than a peek into their rooms. You climbed into their lives forever. The detective, Tom Harrington. Tell me about him.

CARL: That dick. He's the reason it took so long to smell the air. It was his sister that got me busted. Dopey, pathetic thing. Not that she wasn't pretty. She was. And it was only one night. Still, he's been sitting front and center at every parole hearing doing his damnedest to keep me locked up. I guarantee he won't stop until he sees me back in the joint!

The cell door squeaks open and the security guard jangles a handful of keys. "Time's up. Jenkins, your ride's here. Less you want your old room back." Sweat glistens on top of the guy's bald head as he walks the door wide and nods. "Move it. I got others waiting to be processed out."

Carl glances over and shrugs. "Looks like our little chat's over. Don't worry. I gotta feeling you ain't heard the last from me." He picked up a plastic bag filled with his personal effects. "If you're anywhere near Berrien, check out the Glass Plate Diner. I hear they got delicious pies and a sweet little waitress. I'm heading there now."

https://www.amazon.com/Letters-Inside-Teresa-Blue-ebook/dp/B07RYX8TWT/ref=sr_1_1?crid=343JZ04FPNPA1&keywords=teresa+blue&qid=1560259506&s=digital-text&sprefix=Teresa+Blu%2Caps%2C139&sr=1-1

Check it out... A brand new cover!

I'm planning to release my romantic suspense soon but was anxious to show off this fabulous cover! I think it captures the essence of the story perfectly! Still fiddling around with the blurb - a few more tweaks to go.

Here's what I have so far...

INSIDE

A convicted rapist out on parole.

A detective determined to put him back in prison.

And an innocent woman caught in the crossfire.

When Tom Harrington is unable to prevent the release of serial rapist, Carl Jenkins, from the state penitentiary, the detective follows him to the small town of Berrien. His reasons are personal - Jenkins was convicted of assaulting Tom's sister. One slight parole infraction will earn him a free ticket back to prison where he belongs.

After eight years in the state penitentiary, Carl Jenkins is deemed rehabilitated. Years of hard time and no visitors earned him the nickname, Solo. Nothing can penetrate the cynical chamber called a heart. Until the smallest ray of warmth enters his cell in a flowery envelope and perfumed paper.

Whispers of dreams long forgotten.

And the hope to become normal.

AND OUT

There's another lure to the sleepy town, the beautiful woman who spent months corresponding with the convict. Linda Wheeler is a mystery to both men. Seeking refuge in a quiet childhood home after tumultuous divorce. She's quickly learning that single parenting is another battle. Her teenage daughter is becoming a rule breaker and eventually winds up on the wrong side of the law. She's determined to keep her daughter from becoming a name and number in the court's legal system. But what Linda doesn't know is that a name has already seeped behind prison walls: her name. And nothing can prepare them for the storm that's coming.

Well? What'd you think?

Whew! Just back from a looooong dry spell

I know, I know. It's been a while. A looong while since I've chatted with you all.
But, like Willie says, "You were always on my mind."

Facebook has gotten a bit boring for me lately so I may find myself here more often.
I have gotten a few new collectibles that I'll definitely be sharing soon. Gotta grab the camera first, and well, you know I can't do everything at once. LOL.



I will leave you with a few pictures.

First: The Loving Tree
captured my imagination years ago on a walk.
Notice how the two wrap lovingly around each other,
locked in a tight embrace forever.

 This one I call
When the cows come Home,
because...well, no other
came to mind.

Kindle Countdown .99 cent sale!!

Hurry! Grab the Man of Her Dreams for under a buck!! 

Excerpt from Man of Her Dreams. 



Stepping into the store was like passing a threshold to another era. The wood screen door slapped softly behind her and the smell of licorice drifted from a glass bin beneath the counter. Dark walnut shelves made up the aisles and were filled with incense, candles, soaps and handmade figurines. Each corner she turned yielded a wicker basket brimming with peanut brittle, pistachios, and cashews. 

Her gaze flew from one wall to another covered with velvet paintings of unicorns, Jesus, and Elvis. Multi-colored whirligigs dangled from the ceiling, spinning wildly despite the fact there was no breeze. The floor squeaked whenever she stepped on a loose board. 

“Awful late to be out driving.” 

The voice came from behind, low and smooth and Leslie eased around to get a glimpse of the owner. Who-la-la… She’d swallowed a gush of air. Tall, dark and handsome didn’t begin to describe the guy standing a few feet away. Her breathing returned, soft, but shaky, and with a tad more control than the gulping fish-mouth a minute ago.

His dark, brooding eyes surveyed her, a slight cleft chin tilted upward a notch. When he smiled, a dimple appeared on the right side of his cheek. It required enormous effort to drag her gaze from the lean, muscular body to look at her watch. 

“Depends on what you call late,” she said, the words sounding suggestive even to her ears as she glanced at her watch. It was only 10:30 p.m. He carried an armload of canned vegetables to a display stand. 

“We usually roll up the sidewalks after supper. And by ten, most hard working folks are in bed.”

             Since she was ogling him, she may as well enjoy the whole package. Broad shoulders, tanned forearms, and strong hands so perfect she nearly stumbled. “Are you Jay?” she murmured.

“I am.”

“Hi. My name’s Leslie. The guy out there said you might have takeout or something?” 

“That right?” He chuckled and she wondered what she’d said that was so funny. Her heart thundered when he stepped around the tower of corn and peas and continued placing one can carefully on top of another.  “If Harvey sold take out it’d probably be cornbread and Northern Beans.”

The image of plump white beans swimming in broth and golden cornbread smothered with butter made her mouth water.  “That sounds good.”

“You’re serious?”

“Just hungry.”
           “I’d be glad to make you a sandwich.”

The sensation of homemade bean soup warming her empty belly quickly zapped and her heart sank. “No white beans or warm bread?”

He shook his head. “Hate to disappoint you.”

A sandwich would have to do. “Turkey?”

“Spam.”

“I’ll pass,” she laughed. “Thanks just the same.” She wandered slowly around the store increasingly aware of his gaze upon her. Not the kind of surveillance to see if she was shop lifting gaze. But the kind from a guy who’s interested in a woman kind of look. Her insides fluttered. The throbbing in her head returned and she reached for a bottle of aspirin. This was so weird. One minute she was planning a wedding and the next, a single woman on a mission, determined to forget the last few hours and start fresh. But first, she needed to get through tonight. Uncle Bob had been divorced five times and claimed the only warmth he needed came from a small bottle of Old Crow he kept stuffed in his hip pocket.  

Leslie grabbed a couple bags of chips, some beef jerky and orange juice then carried the armload to the counter. “I didn’t see any wine. Where—”

“Sorry. You’ll have to wait until Reams opens in the morning.” When he nodded toward the window, threads of black hair spilled onto his forehead. “Down the road and on the right. Has everything you’ll need from bologna and cheese to soap and tissue.”

“Tomorrow?” she said, becoming more frustrated by the minute. All she wanted to do was find the cabin, put on her bathrobe and have a glass of wine. Was that too much to ask?

“At nine.” 

A small carton of novelty bottles sat near the cash register. A variety pack of vodka, whiskey and rum. 

“This’ll do in a pinch,” she said and scooped up a handful. 

A dream catcher suspended from the ceiling twirled gently. Soft turquoise, pink, and gray downy feathers woven around a circle and laced with white leather. The effect was mesmerizing and signified a belief in possibilities, the promise of hope. “Is that for sale?”

“Looking for a little magic?”

Even though he spoke softly, she saw the judgmental attitude behind the casual remark. Seems Mr. Handsome was just like every other man she’d run across, hung up on appearances. Go figure. Would anyone care or remember that tonight Leslie had been knocked flat on her face by a no-good, two-timing cheat? Or that her prince charming turned out to be a toad? If magic could be found in this tiny bottle, she was all for it.

Pasting on her best smile she said, “Isn’t everybody?”

 

I just love sales and I'm super excited to announce my less than a buck countdown is underway
now!


If you've ever needed a dose of magic, the kind best friends deliver, then you're definitely going to want one! Thanks much! Oh, and don't forget to add your own two cents by leaving a review!




http://www.amazon.com/Man-Dreams-Daydream-Believers-Book-ebook/dp/B00LBKD5U0/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1417489640&sr=1-1&keywords=teresa+blue


Check out a what others have been saying about Man of Her Dreams....

“

She weaves an amazing tale with unforgettable characters—hello, Mr. Jingles. ”

Ednah Walters "E.B. Walters

“

Great story - looking forward to reading more by Teresa. ”

Patricia Gordon

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Teresa Blue's contemporary romance is a fun and sexy romp bringing together a hero and heroine from very different walks of life.