For Love
Or Money
My grandmother, a storyteller in her
own right, gave me many old-fashioned phrases along with life advice, love, and
some heritage. She often would use the
phrase ‘for love or money’ and it’s one which stuck in my head. These days, with my lifelong dreams of being
an author realized and I find myself chasing to keep up the pace, I’m often
asked why do I write? Is it for love of the craft or for the money?
The honest answer is – both. I love to write. I’m blessed or cursed depending on how it’s
viewed. I made up stories in my head as
long as I can remember. I applied early
stories to my baby dolls or my Barbies.
I talked siblings and cousins into elaborate scenarios. We didn’t just play ‘house’. My version involved wagon trains and westward
expansion, a variation I called ‘western days’.
I had another in which our actions happened in the past I dubbed ‘olden
days’, easy enough since we all lived in vintage houses at the time. I made up others like “Story of a Slave Girl”
in which I danced with abandon to music on the record player (yes, I’m that
old) while at least one male relative reclined to watch my antics in his role
as the sheik, king, or prince.
I probably wasted too much time in
school from primary grades through colleges because I often scribbled stories
if the classroom activities failed to capture my attention. Even now, I see inspiration in almost
everything – a flock of geese overhead (which I’ve seen two days in a row and
it’s very early to see such in August round these parts), an overheard phrase, a
lovely sunrise, or anything. But it’s
the mind set I have, a brain which wants to turn everything into a story, long
or short. Although I’ve only entered the
world of novels as an author in the past two years, I’ve written for most of my
life. Some of it was published in a
variety of magazines, journals, newspapers and online venues and some wasn’t.
`Would I do it for free? No. I wouldn’t.
While many folks these days have decided I am bloody, filthy rich
because I have books out in the world, I’m not.
I’m actually a long way from it.
Heck, I don’t even have what I consider complete financial
security. How much would it take for me
to feel rich or secure? I don’t know – but I would love to determine the
answer. Writing has become my business
and it generates income. I just received
royalties this past week and yes, those royalties helped pay for some needed
school supplies for my kids, office supplies to keep my cottage industry going
and some groceries to keep the family fed.
But rich? Excuse me while I roll on the floor laughing with a pile of
bills in my hand.
So I write both for love of the
craft, a love of story and also for money.
Because after all, authors have to
eat, put shoes on their kids feet even in the Ozarks, keep a roof overhead and
have a little fun once in awhile.
Blurb:
After St. Louis TV
weathercaster Cole Celinksi loses his almost estranged wife and three children
in a car crash, his boss orders him to take a leave of absence. Against his will, Cole leaves the city in
late May to find the rest and relaxation everyone else thinks he needs. Without
anywhere else to go, Cole heads for Lake Dreams, a resort on the quiet side of
Lake Taneycomo in the Ozarks he visited each summer as a child with his
grandparents. Some of his best memories
were made in the lakeside vacation haven with his summer friend, Maggie.
Upon his arrival, Cole learns Maggie now runs the place. Twenty years have passed but from the minute
he returns, they reconnect and soon their mutual attraction ignites. He fishes in the lake, takes Maggie to visit
some of the places he remembers and begins to find out who he truly is. Before
he can heal, he must learn to deal with his loss and to see if he can create a
new family with Maggie and her children. It’s a task he’s not sure he can
handle but if he wants to be with Maggie, he must. A near tragedy brings them
all together into a close knit unit and afterward, Cole may be able to make his
dreams reality.
Excerpt:
“Then start with tonight,” she
breathed, an invitation if he’d ever heard one.
He took three steps and enveloped
her in his arms, very aware of just how little she wore. Cole leaned down and connected his mouth to
hers. Her lips molded to his, warm and
sweet and her arms wrapped about his neck to draw him even closer. Desire, as electric as lightning, flared
between them and although he ached to hurry, Cole decided to go slow and savor
the experience.
So he kissed her with precision,
with lingering anticipation and evoked a response he liked. Cole craved more so he lowered his lips from
her mouth to throat where he nibbled with delicate little bites. By the way she moaned and moved, he thought
she liked what he did. Cole enjoyed it
too. Each little taste propelled shivers
through him, each one like a shuddering chill but with a physical pleasure
rocking him hard. The flavor of her
night sweat tasted salty against his tongue but he savored the she-woman aroma
he inhaled even more.
Cole lowered the straps of her
nighty so he could kiss her shoulder and brush the freckles there with his
mouth. Maggie shivered and without
knowing quite how, he stripped the gown from her body. The thin cotton fell to the kitchen floor as
he cupped her full, lovely breasts in both hands. “Beautiful,” he whispered as he put his mouth
over one nipple and suckled just enough to make it bloom, hard and tight. Maggie whimpered as he did and the sound of
her pleasure intensified his. His
fingers caressed the flat smoothness of her abdomen, the slight curve of her
lower belly. Against his rough
fingertips her skin’s softness seemed as fragile as cobwebs but beneath the
veneer her body heat burned. If he
didn’t know better, he’d swear she had a fever but this heat wasn’t from
illness. This fire came from internal
combustion.
He fingered the soft curly hair
above her cunt with the same reverence he would show for something precious but
it wasn’t until her fingers jerked at the zipper of his jeans Cole remembered
he still wore clothing. He wanted them
off now and yearned to be skin to skin with Maggie so after she unzipped his
pants he kicked them off with one swift motion.
When she hooked the edge of his briefs with one hand his heartbeat
increased until the beats made a staccato rhythm in his chest. Maggie pulled them down and he stepped out of
them, sure she’d hear the wild drumming of his heart.
Cole’s already hard cock stiffened
more when Maggie grasped it with one hand and squeezed with just the right amount
of pressure. At the rush of sheer
physical rapture she caused he thought he’d fall down on the floor with the
wave of response but instead he managed to pull off his khaki shirt, tearing
away at least two of the buttons in the process. He heard them ping against the kitchen floor
but he didn’t care. He owned other
shirts and if necessary, Cole figured he might be able to sew them back on
anyway.
Maggie pressed against him, hand
still cupping his cock and he almost ejaculated too soon at the sensation of
her skin against his, even more erotic than he’d imagined. She raked her nails down his back at the same
time and Cole groaned aloud.
“Like that?” Maggie said, a grin
emerging from the look of rapture on her face.
“Love it,” he managed to spit out. Need roared within until he decided the hell
with going slow. He’d savored all he
could stand now he’d feast. Cole backed
Maggie up against the kitchen table, lifted her ass enough to make her cunt
accessible and entered her with a sudden, sharp thrust. He plunged in deep and cried aloud wordlessly
as her tight box fit around him. The
first of the spirals began, circles of carnal delight radiating out from where
they joined to consume him with intense pleasure. Maggie clung to him as if he were a life
preserver out on a turbulent lake and made small sounds he found
gratifying. She gasped and then shrieked
like a banshee. Her outcry brought him
over the edge and into the starburst of passion, the ultimate come
experience.
Buy Links:
No comments:
Post a Comment