Don't Try This at Home by Pat Simmons

I'm at an age when birthdays are milestones worth celebrating. But this one, right here... who knew 60 years would look so good and be so much fun? One of my church members greeted her guests, dancing into the room to the music. Her formal dress was a beautiful burgundy, with flirty ruffles that flowed with each move. Then I noticed the roller skates.

She was more graceful on skates than some women in heels, twirling and skating backward with ease. Mellody never missed a beat. What an entrance! The food was delicious. The cake was amazing, but the honoree was memorable. I was honored to be a guest of the woman I called my twin. It was a night I'll never forget and a stunt I’ll never attempt at home. Sidenote: Skating runs in her family. Mellody’s mother is in her 80s, and she ain’t afraid of the rink either.

Pat Simmons is a multi-published author of fifty-plus Christian romances. She is a self-proclaimed genealogy sleuth, a five-time recipient of the RSJ Emma Rodgers Award for Best Inspirational Romance, and the 2022 winner of the Leslie Esdaile “Trailblazer” Award. Pat lives in St. Louis, Missouri, holds a B.S. in Mass Communications from Emerson College in Boston, Massachusetts, and has worked in radio, television, and print media for over 20 years. She serves as a publicist on the board of the Christian Book Lovers Retreat (CBLR). Visit her at www.patsimmons.net. --- Pre-order her 14th Christmas novella: PRETTY LITTLE GIFTS FOR CHRISTMAS.

I Found a Ball Gown for One of My Regency Heroines by Camille Elliot

If you were the heroine of a Regency romance and had an important ball to attend, what would you wear? (This is the all-important question!)

I love looking through fashion plates from the Regency era and imagining my characters wearing the gowns. Candice Hern has an amazing collection of fashion plates on her website, and I've also found digitized copies of Regency fashion magazines online that I use when writing my books.

Granted, most of the scenes of Lady Wynwood’s Spies in London have been in places other than ballrooms and social gatherings, which is probably why I like the Wittenden arc in Volume 7: Spinster so much since there are balls and garden parties galore.

Every once in a while, I find a dress that makes me think, Oh, one of my characters absolutely has to wear that.

This one is from Ackermann's Repository in February 1809:

It's labeled simply a “dancing dress.” The original magazine describes a white satin gown trimmed in gold, tied in front with a gold cord and tassel. The lady also wears white satin shoes trimmed with gold, white gloves, gold jewelry, and gold ornaments in her hair.

But while I thought the original fashion plate was cute, I had trouble imagining exactly what the dress would look like on a real woman. So, just for fun, I gave ChatGPT both the original illustration and the description from the 1809 magazine and asked it to recreate the gown.

And this is what it came up with:

Didn’t ChatGPT do a great job??? I was so excited when I saw this!

I intend to have one of my characters from my Lady Wynwood’s Spies series wear this gown in Volume 11. (I won’t tell who!)

But considering that Lady Wynwood's Spies involves romance, secrets, danger, and spies who have a terrible habit of getting into trouble at social gatherings, I'm fairly certain her evening won't consist entirely of dancing.

It won’t be long before the series is finished in Volume 12!

---

Curious how it all begins?

Click below to read the beginning of Lady Wynwood’s Spies, Volume 1: Archer for free and step into a world of Regency intrigue, danger, and slow-burn romance.

👉 Read the excerpt now

What Montana Winds and Wedding Dresses Have in Common by Merri Maywether

 

This weekend, we had what Winnie the Pooh would call a "Blustery day." 

It's a day when we get winds ranging from thirty to seventy miles per hour. Anything that isn't secured isn't guaranteed to be there after the wind subsides. The next day, my Facebook feed turns into a local lost-and-found. 

That in itself is entertaining. I was over thirty when I learned that a trampoline could take flight.

But that's scratching the surface. The dialogue between neighbors in the comments is a whole new level of bonding. People will post pictures of chair cushions found miles away from the owner's home. If it's intact, people will ask for links on where they can buy it.

Six months after we lost the bowl to our fire pit, it was found. Just in time for crisp autumn evenings. 

So around here, walking is healthy and a daily seek-and-find adventure. 

This summer I added to the game. I collect rocks of different shapes and sizes. Then, I paint them. I have started using the time I spend hunting or painting rocks as a creative meeting with my characters. Two things come out of these sessions. Dialogue and reasons why the perfectly good idea I’d planned for them will go wrong. That's when I get to scribing the story. 

Somewhere between collecting rocks and talking to my characters, Misty (the heroine in my new release) decided she could plan a wedding on a budget. Here's a peek at how that went.

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One Fake Wedding

I save a lot of my bookish wedding inspiration on a Pinterest Board labeled "My Sister's Wedding." The dresses Misty chose for this scene didn’t get that little red P icon, but I thought it would be fun to share, so you can see what I used to help me write the scene.

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“Dresses. Misty has to pick a color.” Savannah held up her phone with her stylus in hand. “Once we get that done, we can decide on decorations.

After her vision blurred from reading through so many Pinterest boards, Misty had an epiphany—one she was sure Linda would appreciate. “I was going to ask if there was anything from all the weddings that you’ve attended that you might want to reuse?”

Linda dropped her keys. “Why on Earth would they do that?”

“To save money.” Misty pulled out her cell phone. “I have two dresses being delivered to my house.” Both were boho style. “If they have dresses in the cool tones, I’d go with the white. If they have warm tones, I’d go with beige.”

“Are you saying you bought your dress off the internet?” Mischa was the one brave enough to say it. The stunned expressions on everyone’s faces said they were thinking it.

“Yes, at a great price. It was seventy-five dollars with shipping and handling.” Misty’s shoulders rose to

her ears, and she smiled like she’d had a visit from the everything-she-touched-was fifty-percent-off fairy. That had happened once when she’d stopped in a store that was closing. She still hadn’t worn some of the sweaters she’d bought that day.

Madison spoke through the side of her mouth. “Um, who’s going to tell her that today was about trying on dresses and shoes and convincing Earline to let us play that “You’ve made a big mistake” scene from Pretty Woman?”

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One Fake Wedding is available in the Kindle Unlimited Collection 

National Dessert Day by Merrillee Whren

Do these desserts look delicious? This is a photo my daughter took at a wedding reception for which she had made a lot of cookies for a cookie table. It looks like a lot of yummy choices. My favorite cookie is chocolate chip, but I love all kinds of desserts. I have a fantastic sweet tooth. Too fantastic in fact. So about twice a year I go on a sugar fast. I don't cut out sugar completely, but I do avoid desserts. I do this for four to six weeks and usually right before I go for my annual "well visit" which, in my opinion is a complete waste. I don't know who decided seniors should have a well visit instead of a regular physical. But we aren't here to talk about doctors appointments. We are here to talk about desserts and books.

I have one book that actually has a dessert on the cover. Cupcakes. Valentine cupcakes.

Near the end of the story, my heroine, Samantha Dawson, brings the hero, Wes Norberg, a plastic bin full of cupcakes. They have a tumultuous history, and this is her way of bringing a thank you and a bit of a peace offering. She remembered that he said he had a sweet tooth and figured this would be a good way to get in his good graces. 

Here is the opening scene from Hometown Girl.

A cacophony of voices, honking horns, jet engines, and undefinable noises assaulted Wesley Norberg’s hearing as he stood outside the terminal at the Fort Lauderdale airport. The above-normal temperature of a humid southern Florida day made his shirt stick to his back. How could it be this warm in late November? He glanced at his phone. His rideshare would be there in five minutes. Five minutes to stand in this heat.

     While he waited, wishing for cooler weather, a young woman catapulted herself at him and put her arms around his neck. He tried to pull away, but she clung tighter.

     “Please pretend you know me. I need your help.”

     The desperation in her voice threw him off guard, and in the next instant, she was kissing him. At first he tried again to pull away, but then he found himself enjoying the kiss, relishing it as she melted into him. His mind completely engulfed with the lips of a complete stranger on his, he was enjoying it too much. When she ended the kiss, he nearly pulled her back for more.

     Her arms remained wrapped around him. She trembled, and he recognized her distress. What would cause a woman so much fear that she would kiss a man she didn’t know? Did he dare ask?

     Wes held her close, her dark hair soft against his cheek. She smelled of peaches and berries. “Why do you need my help? What’s this about?”

     She inched back and looked into his eyes, still clinging to him, her brown eyes wide with concern. “Someone’s after me.”

     He strained to hear her whispered response. “Who?”

     “Don’t look now, but the man in black with the dark hair and beard, in line for a taxi.”

     Wes gazed at the woman to keep himself from searching for the ominous man in black. “Why is he after you?”

     “Too long to explain. Just take me with you.”

     Wes frowned as he looked at the woman. “How do you know I’m not worse than he is? I could be a serial killer, for all you know.”

     Her dark-brown eyes surveyed his face. “I’ll take my chances on you.”

     “He must be a scary dude.”

     “He is.”

     While Wes puzzled over this situation, a dark-blue car pulled to the curb, and the driver lowered the window. “Wesley Norberg?”

     “Yeah.” Wes shoved his phone into his pocket as he grabbed his roller bag and wheeled it toward the back of the car.

     The driver hopped out and scooped up Wes’s bag and plopped it into the trunk. Wes turned to get into the backseat but bumped into the unknown woman. “You’re still here?”

     “Yeah. Please take me with you.”

     “But you don’t know where I’m going.”

     “But I do.”

     “Really?”

     A smile brightened her face as relief painted her features. “Wesley Norberg, you’re going to your sister’s wedding.”

     Blown away, Wes wrinkled his brow. “How do you know my name and that I’m going to my sister’s wedding?”

*****

How does she know? I hope you will find out.

Do you like desserts? What is your favorite?

Merrillee Whren is the winner of the 2003 Golden Heart Award presented by Romance Writers of American. She is married to her own personal hero, her husband of forty-plus years, and has two grown daughters. Connect with her on her Facebook page and sign up for her newsletter.

Why Sweet Romance Belongs to Autumn by Josie Riviera

 I have a theory that sweet romance readers were made for October.

Think about what this month asks of us. Slow down. Light a candle. Grab your plaid blanket.

My favorite scenes to write happen in this season of the story, the slow middle, where two people are falling and neither one has admitted it yet. Nothing dramatic has happened, and yet the reader knows the ground has shifted, and a happily ever after may soon be on the horizon.

That is October in book form.

And since this is the season for curling up and reading, I have a gift for your fall reading stack. For a short time, Seeking Charity, my Regency inspirational romance ebook, is free.

If you have not yet visited my Seeking series, this is a good place to begin. The stories feature candlelit drawing rooms instead of ranch land, carriage wheels on cobblestones instead of pickup trucks on gravel roads. The setting may be two centuries removed from my Montana stories, but the heart is the same: faith tested, hope rekindled, and a love that arrives when it is least expected and most needed.

Do you enjoy traveling between eras in your reading? Contemporary ranch land one week, Regency drawing rooms the next? Or do you stay loyal to one time period?

Please leave your comments below.

Josie Riviera is a USA Today bestselling author of contemporary, historical, and inspirational romances that read like Hallmark movies. She lives in the Charlotte, NC, area with her wonderfully supportive husband. They share their home with an adorable Shih Tzu, who constantly needs grooming, and live in an old house forever needing renovation.

Sign up for her newsletter and get a FREE ebook on her website: josieriviera.com

The Gift of Grief by Liz Flaherty

This is a very old post, but I've used it more than once when grief has muffled my words as it is now. My husband passed away Saturday, and I really can't write now. However, he always thought you should always show up for work, so here I am just for a little while this morning. I will write about him later, about heroism and boundless love and the best life ever, but not yet. Not yet. 

“Love is an engraved invitation to grief.” - Sunshine O'Donnell

It’s Sunday afternoon when I write this, and the sun is almost out.  How nice it is after two weeks of unremitting gloom.  As it grows lighter outside, I grow lighter inside as well.  Which is odd when you consider what I’ve been thinking about.

Grief.

We all see a lot of it in our lifetimes.  When we’re young and if we’re lucky, we see it from afar.  We see old people die and it’s too bad, but ... you know, they’re old.  Then, of course, comes the time when it’s not from afar and the person who passes on isn’t old.  This is when we really find out about grief.

My grandmother died when I was seven, and even though it felt strange that she wouldn’t sit at the table and drink from her cracked cup anymore, she was eighty-four.  So I didn’t grieve.  Not really, though to this day, I think of Grandma Shafer when I see a cracked coffee cup.  Then when I was eleven, a 10-year-old schoolmate died.  Forty-some years later, I still feel profound sorrow when I think of her.  She was smart and funny and had so much to give here on earth that even now I have difficulty coming to terms with her death.  But I couldn’t identify the feelings I had about her passing, couldn’t explain the tears that came to my eyes for years whenever I thought about Cindy being buried with her red cowboy boots.

When I was thirteen, I lost the only grandfather I’d ever known, and the hurt came in waves, like the throbbing from a bee sting.  He died in June, and by the time school started, I’d gotten over the worst of it, but junior high was different than it might have been.  Because grief wasn’t far away anymore.

I’ve thought about it, off and on over the years.  When my parents and father-in-law died, it hurt, but the grief part of it was far-flung, long lasting, and unexpected.  Life was so busy — we came home from Louisville after my father-in-law’s viewing to go to my son’s football game, then went back the next day for the funeral — that it just went on.  I would see things, of course, that made me think of the parents we’d lost, and I kept Christmas-shopping for my mother long after she was gone.  She was always hard to buy for, and I’d see things she’d like.  And then, in the middle of J. C. Penney or Kmart, I would mourn, because I couldn’t give them to her.

We often drive by the cemetery where my parents are buried.  Sometimes we are past before I even think about it and occasionally I wave —“Hi, Mom” — and sometimes those bee sting waves of hurt strike again.  They’ve been gone for more than 20 years, how can this be?

Sometimes we grieve for things — items irreplaceable but gone, or times — youth, when everything worked right and gravity was our friend, or even places — remember the Roxy and the railroad hospital and those spooky mansions on North Broadway?  Now and then it is a state of mind we miss, or a conversation we wish could have gone on longer, or a friendship we wish we could go back and fix because we blew it big time.

I write a lot about gifts because, being the Pollyanna sort of person that I am, I think nearly everything is a gift.  While I realize that this can be annoying to people who get tired of trying to be happy when they’re just not, I find it much nicer than being unhappy when I don’t have to.  (Don’t even try and straighten that sentence out; you can’t do it.)  But even I’ve never considered grief a gift.  Until now.

Because until you love somebody or something, you can’t grieve losing them.  I wouldn’t still miss my mother if she hadn’t had such a positive and profound effect of my life.  I wouldn’t remember Cindy’s red cowboy boots if I didn’t recall their owner with affection.  I wouldn’t smile at cracked coffee cups if not for the grandmother who died when I was seven.

The buildings and the times and the friendships that are gone all leave remembrances and, in many cases, laughter, behind them.  So, even though the Roxy is gone, I remember watching Woodstock there and singing along, “...one, two, three, what are we fighting for...”  And although the high school now climbs the Broadway hill, I remember walking quickly past the railroad hospital because it was scary looking.  It is fun to remember that.

I remember boys who went to Vietnam.  None of them were still boys when they came home, and some didn’t come home at all.  A part of me — and of everyone else who remembers the Vietnam era — mourns them still.  But another part remembers how tall they walked and all that they gave.  There was one who seemed stronger and better than the others and though I’m still sorry he had to go there and I regret the 14 months of his life he can never get back, I’m happy he came home safe.  And married me.

So there you have grief.  It tangles up with memories and joy and good things.  It is, when all is said and done, a gift.

Lyn Cote Asks What Makes you Happy About Where You Live?

 Here's what makes me Happy! These are views from my porch--fall ones.

Sunset in the Fall

Dawn in the Fall

Fall Colors

I feel blessed to live in such a beautiful place. What do you enjoy when you step outside your door?

My next book in my "More Women of Courage" series.

A wounded Civil War veteran, a fearless woman with a calling, a child in distress, and a dangerous secret beside the Mississippi River… This emotionally gripping Christian historical novel features themes of healing, redemption, found family, and courageous faith. This story blends romance, suspense, and historical women’s fiction in a powerful tale of hope after war.

Click here for more info.--Happy Fall! Lyn