|Outside the Sternwheeler Snack Bar, Williamstown WV|
Photo courtesy Brenda Rainwater and Charles W. Showalter
Thursday, October 13, 2016
Thursday, February 18, 2016
Contemporary Romance Series
(pre-release excerpt, may change in editing)
Wednesday, February 10, 2016
Gillian made her way to the door and knocked, lightly at first, then louder when there was no reply. Someone lived there. It was obvious between the open windows and tire tracks that led around the back. She knocked harder. No reply. No stirring. No sound other than the raucous crows swirling above the trees that gave her a creepy feeling.
She didn’t like birds. Well, canaries in cages were fine. They were pretty. Small. Non-threatening. She could deal with canaries. Those were no canaries. They were crows. Gillian had read that crows were smart. Not a comforting thought, as far as she was concerned.
She shivered. In the heat.
No one home. Lovely. She’d have to continue up the small-ass road and see what else she came across. For all she knew, it was just over the hill.
Cursing inwardly, Gillian made her way back to her car, clenched her jaw when the tires skidded on gravel, and eased back onto the road, such as it was.
After what must have been five more miles, she shook her head and turned back. She’d wait for someone to return to the little cottage and ask if she was in the right place. With any luck, they’d at least be as friendly as Henry and wish her well, at least in health. Everyone she’d met in the area, other than that cabbie, had been very friendly. Polite. Well-mannered. She figured it would extend decently up into the mountains.
This time she pulled in front of the cottage and walked boldly to the front door. A fool thought just because something was safe the first time, it would continue to be so, but she felt it, anyway.
Again no answer, and she hadn’t expected different. She wasn’t about to sit in the car that by now would be hot again already, so she wandered the front yard, noticed the large stack of wood, considered walking around to the back but thought better of it. No use offending the owner if he returned to find her being so nosy. It would be hard to ask for assistance that way.
Instead, she wandered away from the place, just a bit into the tree line the front door looked out over. She hesitated at a rustling and looked over to find a couple of squirrels chasing each other. Mating, she supposed. At least something didn’t let the heat bother them.
Something other than the crows, which now circled to the side of her, to what she thought was northeast. Who needed a compass when you had instinct? Gillian should have told Henry that when he asked if she had a compass...
The thought of crows circling stopped her in her tracks. Crows circled dying things while waiting for food. Was the owner out there? Injured? Surely anyone living out here would be well prepared and capable of taking care of himself.
Still, maybe she could return the favor of Henry’s rescue by helping someone else. Not sure what on earth she would do about it if it was a man who would by all rights be heavier than she could handle, Gillian at least could run back to the car and drive to town for help.
Either way, she had to check, so she headed the direction of the crows, fighting her own fear of them, and hurried her steps.
It was a rough patch of land. A couple of times her Keds got stuck and pulled off a foot and she had to stop long enough to get it back on. A couple of times she lost her balance and scuffed herself. As long as she didn’t break something, she could deal with scuffs. She was never low on scuffs and scratches as a child. If needed, makeup would cover them well enough when she returned to Denver. But she did have to be able to drive back to...
Water. She heard what sounded like trickling water. Slowing her steps and hanging onto small young trees as she made her way down the small ravine, she saw the water. A little stream. Not terribly little. But beautiful, nestled beneath the trees where it was shaded. A soft wind rustled the leaves above it and harmonized with the trickling sound.
Gillian had to treat herself for the punishment of the last couple of days. She’d soak her hot feet in the stream and sit and rest a bit before continuing. Her break. Everyone got breaks at work. She might as well allow herself the same.
A small time reporter for a small time paper trying to make a name for herself.
A mountain hermit who wants nothing to do with publicity.
The next Artists & Cottages novel coming soon from Ella M. Kaye.
Monday, February 8, 2016
Forget waiting for a Valentine treat. Get one, or more than one, for yourself! What's better for a nice romantic day than to get swept away to a beach or a cottage in the woods and lose yourself in two people finding true love? Pick up an Ella M. Kaye romance and buy yourself that box of chocolates. Go ahead. You deserve it!
Oh, did you notice? EMK has a new look! What do you think of the new header?
Let me know here and/or leave a question for me this week through Valentine's Day at Goodreads, and I'll select several winners for the barefoot bottle opener. It's magnetic. It won't stick to your cooler, but it will stick to your refrigerator.
A few updates since my blog has been so quiet:
There are full drafts in editing stage for the next two Artists & Cottages books that will be coming along soon, plus a new series in the works. My header gives it away. ;-) I also have an idea in mind for the next Dancers & Lighthouses book. It'll feature a dance genre I've fallen in love with in recent years that I wish had been around back when I was still in dance classes.
So, I may be quiet around here, but I'm definitely still working.
I'm a little late on this, but I hope everyone has a wonderful, enlightening, and joyful 2016!
Friday, March 6, 2015
Did you know there was a National Grammar Day? I’m betting most people don’t. It was March 4th, and yes, I missed posting in time, but that happens during book release days. Your mind gets addled with details about what you haven’t done yet that you were supposed to do a month ago.
Anyway, a bit of a secret: I’m a Grammar Nerd.
Another bit of a secret: Francis of Shadows of Greens & Memories is a huge Grammar Nerd. I actually make a bit of fun of myself through her in this book. Hey, someone will always laugh at you, so you might as well do it yourself.
According to grammar-check by Grammerly.com, “You may drive your friends and family nuts, but you would make Strunk and White proud. You love enforcing rules just about as much as you love the rules themselves. For you, grammar truly is one of life's greatest joys.”
Yes, I’ve been known to drive my family nuts with grammar correction, although I tend to leave my friends alone.
How about you? Take the quiz and see how you come out:
How grammar geeky are you? How much does it really matter?
Leave a comment and I’ll draw a winner to receive Shadows of Greens & Memories in your choice of ebook format.
Sunday, February 22, 2015
With Buddy Guy playing in the background, Fran lost track of time as she worked on her newest canvas: a piano with a boy propped on the bench, his fingers on the keys. From memory. The boy’s hair was giving her the most trouble, possibly because she couldn’t pin down the color of George’s hair. Brownish blondish reddish ... depending on the light source of the moment. These days the blond showed more, highlights from working in the sun, she expected. At night on her porch, though, it looked very dark. Barely touched his neck. His chin was always smooth, although when came for lunch, she could see the start of whiskers growing back. His small mustache was always carefully trimmed.
Of course the boy in the painting didn’t have whiskers or a mustache. He was a Freshman. The last time she’d heard him play.
Stopping for a moment to stretch, Fran looked over at the wall clock, one with actual hands and no numbers, then looked back at it. Ten till two. Sunday. Nearly two.
She was covered in paint and hadn’t bothered to shower yet and his concert was about to start.
Saturday morning she realized she’d forgotten to turn her phone on the day before and found his message. She’d called and he didn’t answer. He’d called later that night and said they’d had practice and errands and such all day and he couldn’t go out because Theo and Justin were on a double date and he had to stay with the younger ones, but she could come over. After his Friday night message about hanging with his kids to catch up on time, Fran decided to leave them alone Saturday night.
But she wanted to go to the community concert.
Rushing through the shower with her hair up to keep it dry, Fran threw on the most wear-ready thing she could find and dashed out the door. Again, she had to park farther away than she would have liked. The music grew louder as she walked closer.
She sat in the same place, under the same tree. He didn’t notice her that she could tell. And that was fine. There wasn’t much better than sitting out on the vivid green grass under shade of an old bent oak listening to luscious music, especially when you had a very special interest in one of the musicians to make it more personal. It did feel very personal. Even if George didn’t know she was there, it felt like he was playing for her.
A self-centered thought, she told herself. Still, the saxophone’s rich flavor sank deeply into her soul. It did belong to her since she felt it so deeply. It belonged to anyone who truly felt it.
But George himself did not. He didn’t quite belong to her, either, but she did have those incredible kisses in her forever memory, or so she hoped, at least as long as she had memory, and his arms – his very strong sexy arms that surrounded her when she allowed. She hoped she would never forget that.
It ended far too soon since she’d arrived so late and Fran sat watching him as he packed his instrument and talked with his fellow musicians and as he was stopped a dozen times or so, lingering with smiles or laughs, or trying to brush them off; it was easy to see who he liked and who he didn’t and she put that in her to-remember cap.
Finally, he headed off toward his truck so she got up to intercept. It took her some time since he walked faster and was either avoiding more talk or had somewhere to be. Fran hoped he didn’t have somewhere to be. It was supposed to be his day without the kids and selfishly, she wanted the rest of it with him if possible.
He was looking at the ground as he walked, unusual for George, so she touched his arm to get his attention.
He startled slightly and recovered quickly. “Didn’t know you were here.”
“I was late. Got busy working, and I wish I hadn’t.”
With a slight nod, he seemed not to know what else to say.
So she jumped in. “In a hurry to leave?”
“Nah, just ... figured I’d get some work done in the house today since I have time.”
“And no kids.”
“Right. For a couple of hours.”
“How about dinner first? We can make it quick. My treat. Or if you want an excuse not to work on the house...”
“Maybe another time.” He walked away.
“Are you angry with me?”
He paused, then turned. “What are we doing here, Frannie?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean if you’re going to avoid my children like they have the plague or something, this isn’t gonna work. So let’s call it like it is...”
“I’m not.” She ambled closer, watching him. “I’m not avoiding them, G.F. I’m trying not to interfere.”
“Not interfere? Too damned late for that.”
Shadows of Greens & Memories
Ella M. Kaye
Francis Barrett returns to her hometown of Storm Lake, Iowa to take care of the family holdings, such as they are, after her father passes. While turning his garden shed into a small but livable cottage, she runs into an old flame she admired from afar but never dared speak with during their high school days. Using her secret passion of oil painting to unwind from long days of clearing out the mess, Francis finds her father also had a secret passion and left behind a tale of a man she didn't truly know.
George Frederick McKenry never left the Midwest town where he was born other than brief travels with his four children, who he now has custody of since his ex moved into a condo with her new boyfriend. Running into the one girl from school who rebuffed him when he asked her out, G.F. can't help checking on her and making sure she's getting along alright. False assumptions and past resentments fade as Fran and G.F. let down their guards in order to create new memories.
Sunday, February 15, 2015
from the upcoming Shadows of Greens & Memories:
”I might not understand much of anything else, but I know who and what I am. The biggest change is that I don’t apologize for it or hide from it any longer.”
G.F. looked out over the yard, listened to the crickets and to an owl in the distance, and devoured the brownie she’d handed him. Maybe the most luscious brownie he’d ever had. Though he knew it could be the company and the front porch in the dark and the quiet of nature that made it taste so good. Plain? He never guessed Francis Barrett would ever see herself as plain.
He wiped crumbs off his fingers onto the sides of his jeans. “You know... I kind of think you have that backwards.”
“Backward. No ‘s’ on the end.” She flashed a glance at him. “Sorry. Habit.”
Shadows of Greens & Memories is the first of the Artists & Cottages series by Ella M. Kaye. Due February 2015 from Elucidate Publishing.
And the Cover Reveal: