New and Noteworthy eReading!

First of all, I have a new short story out called Front Page Kiss and I’d love to know what you think. It’s only 20 pages and you can probably read it in an hour. Yes, I know the cover looks exactly like Kidnapped Writer but the publisher seems to think you can’t judge a book by its cover. While Kidnapped Writer is general fiction with a touch of mystery, Front Page Kiss is simply romance. It takes place at a newspaper and my main character Viola is mesmerized by Nick, the city editor. Find out what happens.

Read my story and please write a review by going here: Click

A few weeks ago, I read Bad Day by Devon Cooper. Devon’s book is not only romantic but is also filled with great characters who have wonderful reasons for being in the story. At first I wondered why Devon veered into the past life of one of the character’s wives and as the book came to a close, (much too soon for me, by the way because I loved it.) I realized how glad I am to know more about Joanne and why her story is important. Such it is with all the characters. Devon explains their back-story but doesn't overwhelm us with boring details. It’s just enough for the reader to say, “Oh now I understand!”

Anyway, read my review and buy the book by going here: Click

MY BLOG HAS BEEN HIJACKED BY MY HUSBAND.

 Guest teller of hair-raising tales, Steve Gaal is trying to scare us with a little Halloween story. Sit back and relax but I'd keep the lights on....

Visualize a dark forest, with  autumn leaves whispering in the wind. In the middle of this forest, embraced by a winding river, is a small village, not far from Transylvania. The time is the turn of the nineteenth century. The modest homes have thatched roofs, and the inhabitants are hardworking peasants brimming with superstition.

On the evening of Halloween, a group of the local young men gather at the village pub. Trying to outdo each other with increasingly tall and unbelievable stories of bravado, the conversation flows along with the local  red wine.

Soon the subject turns to the local cemetery. It is a scary place even when the sun bakes the graves in a golden glow, but at night, people go out of their way to avoid going near it. One of the fellows, wearing a  loose fitting shirt outside of his trousers, is especially boisterous. He stands up and declares in a drunken stupor that he is not at all afraid of visiting the cemetery, even at the forbidding hour of midnight. A great shouting match ensues: it seems like the entire group rises to rebut him. But he, almost in exact proportion with the increasing volume of wine that passes between his lips, loudly proposes a bet: He will go to the cemetery, and bring the wooden grave marker from his mother’s grave back to the pub and show it to everyone.

The terms of the bet are settled and the fellow leaves the pub for the cemetery. In less than one half hour, he is back, having pulled the grave marker from the earth at his mother’s final resting place. He triumphantly waves it around and demands to be paid in accordance with the bet he had just won. The others tell him that all is fine, but before he can collect on the bet, he has to return it to the grave.

He leaves, and the others wait. And wait, and wait. After a couple of hours, the innkeeper tells them that he is closing  for the night. There is courage in numbers, and the group finds a couple of torches, with which they head out to find their friend. At the cemetery, they find his dead body sprawled over his mother’s grave. His hands are clutching the grave marker that is halfway re-inserted into the soil, with his shirttail caught in the pointed tip of the marker. The harder he was pushing it back into the ground, the harder it  pulled him into the cold earth. He died of a heart attack, thinking his mother was pulling him into the grave.


Scary huh? Though I don't really want to encourage him, he'd love to hear your comments. 

Seeing Stripes on My Anniversary-(Edited)

He was so excited about the gift. Lovingly wrapped at home in beautiful wrapping paper and bows, he smuggled it over two hundred miles through the barren Mojave desert to our resort. Was the significant date of 10-10 a factor in the mysterious occurrence that took place at ten o'clock in the morning? 

Twenty years of marriage and two hundred miles later, I am the proud owner of a Kindle Fire HD.

Here is the wrapping.

Funniest thing was the hotel had a matching picture on the wall.

Then I received the case.

Everything matched.

On our way home through the desert, we saw a huge rainbow!

Was it meant to be?

The World’s Easiest Bran Muffins

2 cups bran flakes

1 cup milk

½ cup brown sugar

½ cup vegetable oil

½ cup honey

3 eggs

1 cup flour

1 teasp. baking soda

½ cup raisins or chopped dates.

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

Mix everything together in a large mixing bowl.

Then use a mixer or blender and mix for 5-7 minutes.

Pour into paper lined cups. (I use Pam sprayed cups and a Teflon muffin pan)

Bake 20 minutes.

Enjoy!!

Unpredictable but Laughable Horror Stories

At its best, life is completely unpredictable.—Christopher Walken

September was psycho weird, but October is the month for ghosts and goblins and horrific stories that keep us up at night.  Let's laugh before it starts getting too scary out there.... Small drum roll and a little cowbell would be good right about now. Don’t you just love Christopher Walken? 

A snap on the cymbals right after each sequence works well too. Just remember, I’m the friend who tells you the truth when she’s sober. Remember that, it might come in handy or you may want to stop following me now. Speaking of cows….

 I received a catalog that says, “With you in mind.” I turn a page and inside is a picture of pants with a sculpting tube built into them. Besides offending me while wanting my money, don’t you think sculpting tube sounds dangerous? Speaking of pants….

One of my beta readers said my manuscript was fine. I think fine is like the word interesting. “How are these pants, honey?” Wait for it. Wait for it. “Oh, the pants. They’re interesting.” What does that mean? All right, maybe I could use a sculpting tube for my manuscript and my derriere. I refuse to live on water and celery. Speaking of water….

I went to the movies a couple of weeks ago and bought some French bottled water. Okay, this is the desert, but at $20.00 a gallon, I’ll never complain about gasoline again and thank goodness I only bought one liter. Maybe hydrogen-powered cars are not a good idea after all. Speaking of good ideas…

My brother gave me a Canadian made game called Best Seller and it’s wonderful for making my delusions sound realistic. In fact, it might pass Scrabble as a favorite. Speaking of bestsellers….

The Governator is sorry and he wrote a book about it. Puhleeze. Isn't there an island for political husbands who have served their purpose and are now past their expiration date? If there is one, it must be crowded. Speaking of expiration dates….

Hubs asked about the cookies that haven’t been disappearing. Shaking the box, “Why do you buy things like this?”

“It’s French,” I replied, using my fake Gallic accent and hoping he’d eat one. Several weeks ago, I made him taste a few and we both agreed they weren't that great.

“They also have Poodle waste in France,” he countered. Speaking of dogs….

I read that Uggie the Jack Russell from the movie The Artist and Water for Elephants uses a doggy treadmill due to paparazzi! Speaking of a possible mess....

My new pooch Fiona doesn't want to soil puppy pads because there are no more rugs left on the tile floor. We have decided to live rug free. Since puppy pads cost five times more than a daily newspaper subscription, she’s going to have to learn to read. More cowbell!!! Speaking of reading….

This site has more visitors than ever before and I wanted to thank you all for stopping by The Desert Rocks! We love being unpredictable!

Anyway, time to write or tell some ghost stories and if you're multi-talented, do it with your best Christopher Walken impersonation.

Funny Guest Writer

My Guest Blogger: Aspiring author and nerve-shot attorney, Stephen Piccola (We've been friends ever since we met at a writer’s conference.)

12:30 Am. Quiet and calm are master of the street. I will step out and retrieve some papers from my car and savor the dark peace on the way. A distant train horn blows at this time nightly, more relaxing than a dozen sighs.

Yet other tones sound at this time. "Be vigilant," the phantom voice tells me and I heed it well, for it has served me on highways and in courtrooms before.

I look ahead then to the right. Only the houses and trees which exist in the day but are now standing in night's muted colors. Then I look to the left. 

 My feet become solidified with the concrete. My eyes become huge ovals behind my glasses. My breath stops. Between the beats of my heart eons, no ages would fit unnoticed.    

Skunk! Thy name is anathema. Skunk! Shunned eternal by all but its own. Skunk! Repugnant even to Satan, whose cunning chose snake form instead. Skunk! In my own drive way, poised ready to render my cars whole but more contaminated than a dozen Chernobyls. Black and white and big and right in my driveway where I would have trod save for my protector voice.  

I remain frozen, but the me that is in me but not of me moves towards the house. I see myself closing the front door as if it is happening in a movie. I realize a million snapshots with only me in them had passed before my eyes while I backed into the house.

I wait for the stench that cannot be stated to come but it does not. I collapse on a sofa and spill sobs of joy.  

Stephen is working on his historical fiction manuscript called Infamy’s Eve which starts out on October 3, 1941 in the Imperial Navy General staff headquarters. The first line is, “What you want me to do is commit treason.” Talk about pulling a reader into a story. I can’t wait for it to be finished!

Stephen does not have a blog but he’d love to hear your comments!