Kindle Countdown Deal!

This is the first time I've tried a Kindle Countdown Deal and it's for one of my favorite books, Blame It On The Brontes. From now until Tuesday, July 30, the price has been lowered to 99 cents for the ebook version. So, if you've been thinking about buying this one, now's the time.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TJ2PVT5/ref=sr_1_5?keywords=becky+lower&qid=1561506661&s=gateway&sr=8-5

          

            Sisters Charlotte, Emily and Anne are back together again to eagerly dig into their dead mother’s fortune. 

         Only their mother has other plans for their contentious reunion. 

         Unknown to the trio, Mom decided her fortune wouldn’t be divided until one very critical thing happened. The sisters have to reunite in their childhood home for one year in Puffin Bay, Maine.

         And they have to get along. 

         But long-buried resentments, old rivalries, and would-be boyfriends are about to provoke their biggest feud yet, threatening the sisters’ financial claims and the lineage of a family that hasn’t known peace in decades. 

         Will a year be enough for three brash sisters to figure it all out? 

Excerpt: 

Charlotte raised her binoculars, searching the ocean for the only boat on the water that mattered to her. Nothing yet, but soon, The Brontëand Gray would be on their way home, to her. She really didn’t need visual proof that he was coming into shore. She could feel it in her gut. Goosebumps, which had nothing to do with the breeze wafting in from the water, dotted her skin.

Charlotte’s heart constricted with a twinge of loneliness. Her mother was gone forever. The keen sense of loss was something Gray would certainly understand. For the first time in her life, her mother would not inhabit the house with her, tidying the comfortable rooms, taking care of everyone and making them feel at home. She needed Gray to help take away the feeling she was all alone. She needed Gray, plain and simple.

For the next several days she would fulfill the role of hostess to her two sisters, who were returning home for the somber event of laying their mother to rest. As the eldest, Charlotte accepted the mantle that fell on her shoulders, although she was not happy about it. Their mother had been the one to keep the lines of communication open between the three of them, and Charlotte now wondered what would happen. Certainly, she had no plans to talk to her sisters, beyond what was necessary this week. 

She climbed over the wet, sun-bleached granite boulders ringing the shoreline. 

“Hi there, Char.” 

She gazed into the faded blue eyes of Puffin Bay’s oldest resident, Autry Jones. He sat in his usual summertime spot, on the slatted wooden bench in front of the post office. His white beard rested on his chest, and his captain’s hat shielded his eyes from the harsh glare of the sun. 

Charlotte smiled at the old codger. “Hey, Autry.” 

She had a lot to do before Gray’s boat arrived at the dock, but she always had time to talk to Autry. 

“The sea cough up anything for you today?” 

“No, nothing. But I wasn’t really searching for sea glass. I’m not going to have time to make any jewelry this week, what with everyone coming in for the funeral.” 

Charlotte lowered herself onto the bench beside him. Autry bumped his arm up against hers and tore his gaze away from the ocean. “One thing you don’t need to worry about is groceries this week. Mrs. Spradling headed to your house a bit earlier to drop off a mountain of food, as she does every time someone in this town passes. Sorry about your mom. Such a good woman.”

“Thank you. She was kind-hearted, even though she stuffed our childish heads with romantic nonsense. Hell, instead of hearing Dr. Seuss books when we were kids, we got yet another chapter of her favorite romance novel. And, every night after supper, Mom took us to the widow’s walk to see if Daddy’s boat was in port.” 

“She did her best to raise you girls while your daddy was earning a living from the sea.”

“I know, and I miss her terribly already. Are you going to be at the memorial service? Emily and Anne will be coming home for the funeral. The two of them should be pulling into town later today.”

“Ay-yup. I’ll be there. It’ll be nice to see you girls together again. Should be good weather for a funeral. I hear Grayson turned his boat toward the shore, too.” Autry’s pale eyes twinkled.

“I figured he’d come in from the sea, but Mom’s viewing isn’t until tomorrow, so I don’t expect to see him until then.” She shifted on the seat under Autry’s keen gaze.

“You can’t think of any reason he might want to come in early? Charlotte Bronson, you and Gray may think you’ve been fooling the town for eighteen years, pretending the two of you don’t care for each other, but you can’t hoodwink an old coot. I was young once, too, and I know what love is.”

“But we haven’t been in love for years. We try to avoid each other.”

Autry continued to stare at her without saying a word. 

She shook off the rush of schoolgirl giddiness that came with the idea Gray was turning toward port early in order to see her. She ran a hand down her braid of dark hair, now liberally laced with silver. Maybe she could do something about the streaks before he arrived. If only I could erase the past as easily as I can get rid of the outward signs of aging. Then maybe Gray and I could fall in love again. Remembering she had a million things to do, she leaned over and kissed the old man on the cheek before jumping up. 

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TJ2PVT5/ref=sr_1_5?keywords=becky+lower&qid=1561506661&s=gateway&sr=8-5

Footwear

I don't know about you, but I can tell a lot about a person by their choice of footwear. I'm currently working on a novel that takes place during the Revolutionary War in America. My heroine is a former courtesan from London, and during her time there, she was given gifts from her paramours in the form of fancy footwear, among other things. So she came to America with a truckload full of fine shoes. It's turning out to be a theme in the book.

I recently got back the rights to my contemporary, Blame It On The Brontes. I argued for years with the publisher to put three pairs of shoes on the cover that depicted the personalities of the three women who tell the story, but I could never convince them of my vision. Now that I had the rights back, I could create my own cover exactly the way I wanted it. There's the hippie, the practical one, and the starlet. And my guess is you can tell exactly whose shoes belong to whom on the cover.

As I write this from my Carolina room in sweltering North Carolina, I am barefooted. For someone who writes about women with shoe fetishes, I am coming up woefully short myself. But it's summer in the south, so bare feet are acceptable.

So, grab your flip flops and head to the beach or the pool with the Bronte book. It's a great beach read. Happy Independence Day, everyone!

On To The Next

I am pleased to say I finished the second read-through of my current WIP. This "fingers off the keyboard" reading went fairly well, and the book that has consumed my days and my time in the pool where I like to think about the next scene, is done. At least this phase of it is done. It's now in the hands of my beta readers. I'll wait for their comments, make their suggested changes, and send it off to my publishers of choice to see what they have to say about it. Fingers crossed!










Besides meeting that milestone, I worked with Prairie Rose on the new cover for the next book in the Cotillion Ball series to be released--A Widow's Salvation. What do you think of it?

And the last major event of the week happened by accident. I noticed one of my books was missing on my Amazon page and queried the publisher. They told me they had reverted rights to the book two weeks ago, but sent the reversion letter to an old email address that I have requested be changed three times. How hard can it be? Anyway, I have the rights back to Blame It On The Brontes, and can republish it, which I will probably do on my own. I need a new cover, and am looking forward to it. I'm thinking a beach, flip flops and sea glass jewelry.



June is upon us, and in the south that means hot, sweltering weather. I'll leave the golf to others and spend my days in my Carolina Room, taking care of business. And when I do manage to get to the pool, I'll dream up the next book to fill my creative space for the next four months.

Mining Stories While Reminiscing

My brother, sisters and their spouses are all coming to town this weekend. Usually we only have an annual get-together, but we've had a few health scares in the family this past year, and a death, so we are realizing we need to spend more time with each other, time that is a valuable commodity. Here's a picture of us from a recent visit.

Usually when we get together, someone will tell a story, reminisce about when we were kids and what crazy things we did. I've used some of my own experiences in my writing, most recently documenting a little boy who used to draw on the soles of my shoes during nap time in Love's In The Cards.


And I've used my own family dynamics with my own three sisters in Blame It On The Brontes. We were never really quite as bad, as mad with each other as I wrote in the book, but my memories of growing up with competitive sisters definitely came into play.




















My feelings during my own bra-burning days were used when I created Ginger Fitzpatrick, my suffragette from
The Reluctant Debutante. I only wish I could have found a Joseph character as my prize for speaking out for injustice.

I'm hoping one of my siblings will tell a story, relay a memory, recall an event that will spur my creative genie and I'll have a new twist on a story for my work next year. My brother usually starts laughing halfway into his stories and can't finish them. Whatever happens, we usually laugh a lot, hug a lot, and cry a little.

Whatever you've got on your agenda this weekend, be it raking leaves, going to a movie, finally deciding who to vote for, or spending time with your own family, have a blast. As for me, since the clocks are being turned back on Sunday, I get an extra hour with the people I love most.

My Contemporary Side

I love writing historicals, as anyone who follows my career knows. But in between all the history, I like to put together a contemporary that's more breezy than a heavy historical. I think it makes both my historical side and my contemporary side better if I bounce back and forth. The last thing I want is to have every book sound the same. The characters must jump off the page at you and have you, the reader, be rooting for them from the first scene. Otherwise, what's the point?

Blame It On The Brontes was my debut contemporary. There is more coming early in 2014. I'll be releasing The Road To Comfort (just saw the cover--Yum!) sometime in January, and then Voice Of An Angel in early 2014. I'm hoping having more than one selection will help the lagging sales of all of them. And, I hope to become more familiar with the haunts of contemporary readers. It's been a bit of a struggle. Authors and publishers alike try different promotional tactics. Some work, some don't. Time was when offering up your book for free for a day or two stimulated sales, since it raised you in the Amazon rankings. Now, we've been told that doesn't work anymore. Getting 30 reviews for your book in the first three days of its release was guaranteed to bring you lots of extra Amazon promotion. Now, that's been proven a falsehood.

What is an author to do? The answer is very simple, and very complex. Write the best book you possibly can, promote it at every opportunity, and keep your name out there. Easy-peasy, right?


So, here goes. Blame It On The Brontes has been voted #1 Best Baby Boomer Romance by Goodreads subscribers. It's three love stories in one book, wrapped around a central story line. And, best of all, it's on sale for four more days at only 99 cents! Grab your copy now, or load up that Kindle gift you're giving someone for Christmas. Charlotte, Emily, and Anne would appreciate it. Not to mention, I'd be overjoyed.

The Romance Review's Year-End Blog Hop

 My Q&A bit for The Romance Review's Blog Hop happens next Tuesday, so I want to be ready for it. You will be able to find the answer in this short excerpt from my debut contemporary.

Excerpt from Blame It On The Brontes. 

 

Suddenly, Liam took hold of her hand and pulled her up off the bench. “Let’s go to The Quack. I’m heading back out to the lobster grounds in the morning, and I think we should have a beer before I go.”

They made their way into The Quacking Puffin, which had been inhabited by both locals and tourists for as long as Emily remembered. The place hadn’t been updated in more than thirty years, which was part of its charm, but the place was always clean. The lights were dim, except for the purple glow emanating from the jukebox. They ordered their drinks at the bar and then took refuge in a booth, where they surveyed the selections on the tabletop individual juke.

Here's a bit more about the book, which occupies the #1 spot on the Goodread's list for Best Baby Boomer Books. 

This novel was inspired by a jewelry-making class taught by a woman who has spent years collecting beach glass on the shores of Lake Erie and turning those rare pieces of glass into beautiful necklaces and bracelets. By the look of the necklace she tried to teach me to make, I realized at the end of the class that my talent was with the written word, not with the creation of jewelry.  The novel is set in coastal Maine. 

Three separate love stories intertwine around a central theme, as fractious sisters Charlotte, Emily and Anne Bronson, each in her forties, are in Puffin Bay, ME for their mother's funeral. Each is ready to sink her claws into the fortune their mother left behind. But their mother has other plans. Her substantial fortune won't be divided until the trio return to their childhood home and live together for a year.

 It's a request that pits sister against sister but could unite them in a common goal to find the friendship they shared as children, to create a family jewelry business and to win over the men of Puffin Bay. They have a year to figure it all out.

The Woodpile That Is My Backlist

I was using my chain saw to cut up some downed branches last Monday, when the third book in my historical series, Banking On Temperance, made its debut. It occurred to me that I had been in this same position last July, when my first book, The Reluctant Debutante, was released. What is it with release dates and chain saws, anyway?

I thought on this subject for several days before I found the answer. My woodpile takes time to build each spring and summer. Unlike most rational folks who buy firewood by the pre-cut cord, I collect branches from both my yard with its old trees that don't bend in the wind like they used to, and from my sister's 22-acres of trees. I use my little chain saw to cut these branches up, and build my pile slowly.  And before you get the wrong impression, I'm not a muscle-bound, gas-powered chain-saw toting woman with tats and a cigarette hanging from my mouth. My saw has only a 16-inch blade and is powered by electricity. It should be painted pink, it's such a girlie saw. Every time I take it in for sharpening, I have to listen to the comments: "Let's see if we can get this bad boy fixed up for you," or "You sure you can handle that saw?" That's when the guys in the chain-saw sharpening place aren't snickering.

But, I digress. The comparison I'm trying to make is this: my woodpile is like my backlist. It's taken me a while to build one. Last week I celebrated the release of Book #4--three historical and one contemporary. A fourth historical is set for release in the fall, and I've just finished my second contemporary, which I'll start shopping around next week. Slowly, over the past year, the woodpile that is my backlist has been building. So on a day like today, when I see sales of books one, two and four, I can get a warm and fuzzy feeling that my hard work is beginning to pay off.

Kind of like the warm and fuzzy feeling I get each cold winter night when I light a fire using the wood I've spent the previous spring and summer cutting up and stockpiling. My father had a slogan that "When you chop your own wood, it warms you twice." For me, since I'm usually stacking and hauling it from my sister's house and then unstacking it from my car and stacking it onto the woodpile, it's more like three or four times...kind of like editing a manuscript.Wait--I'm sensing another metaphor...

So what do you equate your backlist to?

Gearing Up

May is going to be a busy month. My third installment in the Cotillion Ball series, Banking on Temperance, releases on May 6. Later in the month, my baby-boomer contemporary, Blame It On The Brontes, is due to be released. And, all the advice I’ve been getting lately is to keep your head down and continue to write, so I’m working on another contemporary, which I hope to have done by June. Add to that, a new women’s fiction line just emerged from another publisher, and they’ve asked me to resubmit some of my work. Be careful what you wish for.

 

So, I’m using the month of April to get my review requests in and my guest blogs lined up. You’d think I’d have a handle on it now, after releasing two books, and I am in better shape than when the first one came out. But garnering press coverage for a contemporary romance, and a baby-boomer one at that, is a whole different experience from talking about an historical. There are genre-specific blog sites, and review sites, and if you don’t do your homework, you’ll end up getting a 2-star review because you sent your book to an erotica site, and your book definitely doesn’t live up to that billing. Believe me.

From May on, my life will be crazy. I’ll have to set my alarm so I remember to get up from the computer every couple hours and let the dog out. Then, there’s our chapter conference in mid-May, where, for the first time, I can sit at the published authors’ table and sign my books. How exciting.

I do my best work when I’m juggling a lot of different things, but sometimes it’s nice to stop for a few minutes and just smell my roses, too. Even though spring has been AWOL in Ohio so far, it’s coming. And I can’t wait for my roses to bloom again.