What We're Writing: Revisions and First Drafts

JENN McKINLAY: First the news: I have some new deals!

 

I try to only work on one project at a time, but occasionally there is a log jam in the workflow and I end up writing a draft while revising another work. This has been my life over the past few weeks and while I'm happy to work on both it does require shifting gears especially when one is a fantasy and the other a romcom. 

Constant vigilance is needed or magic might appear in the romcom THE SUMMER SHARE (coming 2026) or an overly smexy scene will slip into the fantasy WITCHES OF DUBIOUS ORIGIN (October 2025 - which is up for pre-order now - just click the title) although I think that's an acceptable crossover.

Thankfully, I turned in the revisions this weekend and I could not be more pleased with how my first fantasy came out. So, now I'm back in the saddle to finish the romcom in the next week so I can start the library lover's mystery mentioned above. A busy year - my favorite type!

Sneak peek at a bit of the cover which has not been finalized...yet.

Here's a snippet of WITCHES OF DUBIOUS ORIGIN to encourage you to click that BUY link!

     October was my favorite month as the sticky humidity of summer departed and jeans and sweater weather returned.  As I walked the half mile from the library to my cottage, I reveled in the chilly temperatures, the scent of wood fires on the air, and the satisfying crunch of leaves under my feet. 

     The village of Wessex where I lived and worked was nestled between the Appalachian Trail and the Housatonic River in the northwestern corner of Connecticut. It was a small community known for the private boarding school that resided on the west side of the river. I had attended that school, leaving to go to university in New Haven and then doubling back here to the only place that had ever felt like home. 

     As soon as I stepped inside my cottage, I slipped into my pajamas while I microwaved a big bowl of mac and cheese. I flicked on the television and scrolled through the streaming channels until I found a mystery series I had yet to watch. I preferred the British ones because I loved that the actors and actresses looked like real people as opposed to American television where everyone looks like a supermodel pretending to be a real person. 

     I was halfway through my bowl of cheesy goodness and a third of the way through the first episode when I heard a thump on my front porch. I paused the show and stopped chewing, listening intently. Living in Wessex where everyone knew everyone, I wasn’t as worried about crime as I was a neighbor dropping by to chat. It wasn’t that bad things didn’t happen here, of course they did, it’s just that it was very rare and usually the person who did the crime was known for having a dented moral compass so it wasn’t a big surprise.

     Thump!

     The noise sounded again only more forcefully. I put my bowl down on the coffee table and shoved my chenille throw aside. I crossed the room to the front door and switched on the outside light. I peered out the side window that looked onto the porch before opening the door. If it was a rabid raccoon looking for food, I didn’t want to get into with him. The porch was empty. 

     Just to be certain everything was all right, I opened the door and poked my head out. I glanced from side to side. The only items were my large potted geranium on one side and my small wicker table and two chairs on the other. Satisfied, I went to close the door and glanced down at the doormat. I gasped. Placed on the center of the mat was the same envelope that Bill had delivered to me at work that afternoon. But I knew I had left it in my desk drawer. What the hell was it doing here?

     I glanced around the porch to see if someone was lurking in the shadows, playing a prank on me. It wasn’t really Bill’s style, he was more of a dad joke type of guy, but he was the only person who knew about the mysterious book so logic dictated it had to be him.

     “Not funny, Bill!” I called into the darkening evening. There was no answer. No one was there. 

     I picked up the envelope  and pulled the book out, experiencing the same twinge of unease I’d felt before. A flash of green lit the porch as the envelope was immediately engulfed in emerald flames. I yelped and dropped it. In seconds the envelope was gone not leaving ash or smoke behind. I examined my hand and noted that the weird neon fire hadn’t even felt hot. Okay, if this was a prank, it was next level. 

     I glanced out at the street, making certain no one had seen what had just happened. It was an old response I’d developed as a kid when my mother had used her witchcraft to make flowers dance in the air or gave our dog colored spots just to make me laugh. My father’s worry for her and his fear of something happening to her because of her magic had conditioned me to feel anxious whenever magic was present.

     I took another look around the porch and yard before I went back inside, locking the deadbolt. I studied the aged volume more closely. It was a shade of black so matte it seemed to soak up light, the edges of the pages were jagged and uneven, and the book’s hexagonal metal latch was rusted from humidity or lack of use. I couldn’t tell which. I brought it to the kitchen, thinking I could open it with a knife. 

     Not wanting to lose a finger, I chose a butter knife. I slid it under the decorative metal band and tried to pry it loose. The metal didn’t budge. I tried to pop the hexagon with the blade as well but it held fast. I set down the utensil and glanced at the door. If it wasn’t Bill who had dropped the book off and made the envelope go poof…nope. I refused to go there. 

     The pin pricked my finger and blood beaded up out of the wound. I yelped and dropped the pin. Drops of blood dripped from my finger and I pressed my thumb to the tip of my middle finger to stop the flow. Had I just stabbed myself with a pin…on purpose? I blinked. I glanced down, noting I was wearing my pajamas. 

     Relief whooshed inside of me. It was okay. It was just a dream. An awful, stupid, painful dream. I shook my head, trying to wake myself up. It didn’t work. It couldn’t…because I was already awake. 

     I glanced down at my kitchen counter where small splats of blood marred the smooth surface. The battered old book that I had tucked into my shoulder bag sat on the granite beneath my pricked finger.

      Shit! I had almost bled on the book. I spun away from the counter and rinsed my finger in the sink. What the hell had just happened? Sleep walking? Night terrors? Had I actually pricked myself with a pin? Why? 

     I grabbed a paper towel and wiped the blood off the counter. I rinsed off the pin and returned it to the container I kept in the utility drawer at the end of the counter. I threw the towel in the trash and stood staring at the book in confusion. What was the book doing on the counter when I was certain I had put it in my bag? 

     Insistent whispers sounded at the edge of my mind. Like shadows that faded as the sun rose, I couldn’t quite hear the words, but I knew. I knew without a doubt that those whispers had been in my dreams and that they had instructed me to stab myself with the straight pin. I glanced down. Goosebumps raised on my forearms as I gazed at the black book. I ran an uninjured finger over the cover half expecting it to be absorbed into the black leather as if it could pull me in just as it seemed to soak in the light. It didn’t and I lifted my hand and noted my fingers were trembling.

     I’d had a strange feeling about this mysterious volume from the moment I first touched it, and I knew of only one person who might be able to help me.

The release date for WITCHES OF DUBIOUS ORIGIN is October 28, 2025, which feels appropriate. I've already outlined book two in the series and will start writing that after I finish the library lover's, which means I'll likely be revising THE SUMMER SHARE at the same time. I'm trying not to think about it right now.

Tell me, Reds and Readers, when your life is a log jam of projects, how do you manage them? Any tips welcome.

LOVE AT FIRST BOOK -- Jenn's release day!!!

 

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JENN: Today's the day!!!  LOVE AT FIRST BOOK is finally out. I feel as if I wrote this book years ago - it was 2022/2023. And the trip I took to Ireland also feels as if it were ages ago. It was Nov 2022.

Why is this romcom (which received a starred review from Booklist) about an illness anxiety suffering librarian and a change resistant bookshop owner set in Ireland? I mean I could have written about anywhere, right? Well...I really wanted a vacation. And it had been a long while since I'd been through Dublin, so it felt right. Below are a few of the photos and a story, a short one, that I used in the novel almost word for word.

The Fab Four

My mom, Sue, my college roommate, Annette, and her daughter, Alyssa (or as I call them -  the historian, the medic, and the navigator), and I all went to Ireland for a little over a week. In case you're wondering what they call me, I am the driver. Why? Because I thought it would be grand to drive around Ireland, a place littered with roundabouts whose drivers happen to motor on the left side of the road. 

Me driving and Mom looking super at ease...lol.

I was so confident about driving that I rented a car and never gave it a thought until the night before we were to leave Dublin. I stared at the ceiling -- while everyone else slept off our pub crawl around Temple Bar -- with the sudden realization that I was going to get us all killed. Panic ensued.

The next morning, I accepted that I had no choice if I wanted to get where I needed to go (the Ring of Kerry) and so we took a cab to the car rental place in Dublin and the lovely man driving us inquired about where we were headed.

Mom: We're going to rent a car.

 

Him: Who's driving?

Me: Me.

Him: (a slight pause and then) If you could just give me thirty minutes to get off the road.

Yes, we all laughed, even me. Then he offered some advice.

Him: When you're driving, remember you always want to keep your passenger safe. To do that, keep your passenger on the curb side then you'll always be in the correct lane.

Me: That makes sense.

Him: If you have trouble remembering it, just think to yourself, keep the bitch in the ditch.

Me: "Um, that'd be my mom."

Again, more laughter, which was pretty much how the entire trip went. Mighty craic, as they say.

All in all, I drove 1200 kilometers and I only made my passengers scream once, eh, maybe twice. Okay, three times but I swear that was it. And the above conversation with the cabbie? Yeah, it went right into the book. 

Another thing that went into the book? Sheep in the road.
Yup, they really do that. 

Below are some more pics. Please enjoy. And if you fancy a trip to Ireland without leaving your home, pick up LOVE AT FIRST BOOK. 

The Cliffs of Moher - just as majestic as you'd imagine.

More sheep - cute little bleaters are everywhere.

Gaillimh River in Galway - loved that town.

The bookshop that inspired The Last Chapter bookshop in the novel.

This one is for the Reds, They have a whiskey just for us!
Writer's Tears at the Whiskey Museum.

Flower boxes still blooming in November. 

Chatting with the Oscar Wilde and Eduard Vilde
- not the dazzling conversationalists you'd expect. *wink*
Our historian (Mom) has been to Ireland several times and
was an endless resource for information. Invaluable.
Everyone needs their own historian.

The medic (Nettie) yes, her nursing skills were required (long story), and the navigator (Lyss) - she talked me through every single roundabout -- I could not have managed this trip without them!

And, of course we had to stay in a castle (Ballyseede in Tralee) which also made it into the book but renamed. As I said to my Mom in regards to staying in a castle (she felt it was a bit bougie for us),
"If not now, when?" It was fantastic! Even Mom agreed.

I knew the Irish countryside would be beautiful
but it was truly breathtaking everywhere I looked.

One day we saw eleven rainbows! Eleven!!!


Those are the highlights so when you read LOVE AT FIRST BOOK,
I hope these pics help you imagine it just a little bit clearer. Now go pick up a copy and come to Ireland with me!

Here's more about the novel for the curious:

When a librarian moves to a quaint Irish village where her favorite novelist lives, the last thing she expects is to fall for the author’s prickly son… until their story becomes one for the books, from the New York Times bestselling author of Summer Reading.

Emily Allen, a librarian on Martha’s Vineyard, has always dreamed of a life of travel and adventure. So when her favorite author, Siobhan Riordan, offers her a job in the Emerald Isle, Emily jumps at the opportunity. After all, Siobhan’s novels got Em through some of the darkest days of her existence.

Helping Siobhan write the final book in her acclaimed series—after a ten-year hiatus due to a scorching case of writer’s block—is a dream come true for Emily. If only she didn’t have to deal with Siobhan’s son, Kieran Murphy. He manages Siobhan’s bookstore, and the grouchy bookworm clearly doesn’t want Em around.

Emily persists, and spending her days bantering with the annoyingly handsome mercurial Irishman only makes her fall more deeply in love with the new life she’s built – and for the man who seems to soften toward her with every quip she throws at him. But when she discovers the reason for Kieran's initial resistance, Em finds herself torn between helping Siobhan find closure with her series and her now undeniable feelings for Kier. As Siobhan's novel progresses, Emily will have to decide if she’s truly ready to turn a new page and figure out what lies in the next chapter.

So, Reds and Readers, if you could travel anywhere right now, where would you go?

SUMMER READING release day celebration!!!

 

JENN McKINLAY: 

It's here! It's here! SUMMER READING is here!!!

I started writing this book in 2021 so I feel as if I've been working on it FOREVER (said ever so dramatically). No offense to my darling book baby but I am seriously more than ready to yeet you out of the nest. Fly, little bookie, fly!!!

Am I nervous? Of course. But so far the response to book baby has been just wonderful. With starred reviews from Booklist and Library Journal and heady praise from Publisher's Weekly, I feel as if I accomplished what I set out to do with this novel. 

What did I set out to do, you ask? Okay, you probably didn't, but I'm me, so I'll tell you anyway :)  First and foremost, I wanted to craft a romcom around witty banter (I live for witty banter between a hero and heroine and heroine and friends and hero and friends and heroine and family and hero and...you get the idea). I also felt the need to examine how our families shape us, both good and bad on purpose and by accident. It was important to me to have characters with audacious dreams that they decide to go after one hundred percent. And I wanted my characters to grow enough to see themselves through each other's eyes and understand that what makes them different is also what makes them amazing. I feel as if I achieved that and I am so very grateful for the support and encouragement I received along the way, which includes you, Reds and Readers! 

Below is an excerpt if you're keen and I'm including a buy link HERE because of course I am!

 *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

     I hurried into the house and quickly fashioned him a cocktail just like mine. I might have been a bit more careful with his, not that I was trying to impress him or anything. Okay, yes, I totally was, which was ridiculous because for all I knew he was married or had a girlfriend. Never mind that he was obviously a book person and I wasn’t. I pushed all of that aside and went back to the porch. 

     “Here you go.” I handed him the drink. 

      I watched as he lifted the glass to his lips, which were puckered ever so slightly. I glanced away. Staring is rude, you know, and I imagined that ogling a librarian was even worse than that. Sort of like checking out a nun. I picked up my own glass and took another sip. The hint of vanilla was subtle but it mellowed the tartness of the lemon perfectly. I really thought I had a winner here. 

     “This is good,” Ben said. He glanced at me and nodded. “Really good.” 

     “Not too girly?” I asked. “I don’t want to be re-inventing the appletini.” 

     He laughed. “It’s not as macho as a scotch, neat, but the lemon provides a nice punch. So, I’d say it’s no more girly than a mojito. It’s the name that’ll clinch it. You need a very gender neutral name.” 

    “I was thinking of calling it Liquid Sunshine,” I said. I frowned. “That will never fly with the XY chromosomal set.” 

     “Probably not,” he agreed. ‘You need something more manly like Scorched Earth.” 

     “Sounds delicious,” I said. “I’m imagining subtle notes of ash.”     

     “And dirt,” he added with a laugh. It was a good laugh.

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Jenn's release BOOKED is out today!

BUY NOW

JENN McKINLAY: One of the things I love most about the self-publishing gig is the input I get on the cover. An author friend of mine (Lori Wilde) who put out her extensive backlist in e-book form after she got the rights back to her books, connected me  with my cover artist Lyndsey at Llewellen Designs. 

Lyndsey designed the cover of each novella, which you can see sitting on the bookshelf on the cover of BOOKED, which the omnibus of all three of last years novellas. 

The covers of ROYAL VALENTINE, THE ATTRACTION DISTRACTION, and IT HAPPENED ONE CHRISTMAS EVE are all the finished products of our collaboration, which went something like this. I sent Lyndsey my idea for a cover, which was usually a mock up pulled from various bits and bobs on the Internet such as:

And she returned this:

How great is that? She just makes everything so much better. In fact, her covers are so perfect, that the audio publisher who bought the rights to the novellas bought her covers, too!

What I love most about working with Lyndsey is that she can execute whatever I imagine and she is open to all of my input, which I so appreciate. For example, the book our gent is holding on the cover of BOOKED is a color reversed version of the original (look closely). When I asked Lyndsey in the design stage if this was possible, she jumped on it and made it happen. So fun!

Not for nothing, but authors rarely get so much direct contact with the art department. 

Clearly, I am a firm believer in hiring a professional to do what you need to have done, which is why I also employed a professional editor to go through each novella a couple of times to make certain they were as tight as could be. The fabulous Traci Hall, recommended by another author friend (Jennifer Ashely) was amazing. There was not one line that went unscrutinized, which is exactly what you want in an editor.

All of this is to say, the writing community is one of the most generous and gracious spaces out there, and I could not have pulled this off without the help and support of a lot of writer friends.

So, tell me, Reds and Readers, what positive interactions have you had within the writing community? Has any author made a huge difference in your life on a personal level? If so, how?

About the book:

From New York Times bestselling author Jenn McKinlay comes the Museum of Literature RomCom Omnibus.
For the first time all three novellas are in one volume.

Royal Valentine

The Attraction Distraction

It Happened One Christmas Eve

Come join the fun with a secret identity and a trip to England, a second chance romance while in search of an ancient literary artifact in Greece, and a holiday caper starting with a hijacked sleigh! As the intrepid librarians and archivists of the Museum of Literature travel the world for the love of books, curating their own happily ever afters along the way. What more could any romcom adoring book lover want?

Buy Links: 

Audio: https://tinyurl.com/2s3kcuu2 

Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/2s3wxr6n 

Books-A-Million: https://tinyurl.com/mvpw2y9p 

Bookshop.Org: https://tinyurl.com/yc5mzdxm 

BN: https://tinyurl.com/45zr5uhb 

Kobo: https://tinyurl.com/w86s88aw 

Apple: https://tinyurl.com/38w45s9c 

Other (Books2Read): https://books2read.com/u/4AjEnp  

It Happened One Christmas Eve! by Jenn McKinlay

JENN McKINLAY: Two days, people! Two days until the e-novella IT HAPPENED ONE CHRISTMAS EVE is available. That would be on Dec 6th!!! Just in time to get you in the mood for the holidays or to help you hide from them with some laughs on the side. 

 

BUY LINKS (because I don't like promoting at just one place):

Audio: https://tinyurl.com/mvvyhmhb 

Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/5e3v9fp2 

BN: https://tinyurl.com/2p8a9sc9 

Kobo: https://tinyurl.com/55r7hfns 

Apple: https://tinyurl.com/rshr4282 

Other: https://books2read.com/u/mY6woP

So, where did the idea for this novella come from? Honestly, I had Covid (boo, hiss) last January and I didn't have the energy to do anything other than watch old romcoms. 

I used Rotten Tomatoes list of the top 100 to guide me. Well, the number 1 is It Happened One Night with Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert. I'd seen it a million years ago and decided it was time to revisit it. There are outdated stereotypes that were problematic for me among other things but that's another blog post. Suffice to say, I loved the forced proximity of the heroine and the hero and decided I wanted to write my own holiday modern version of a madcap romantic escapade. So I did.

Here's the story: Claire Macintosh is about to get engaged to a man she doesn't love at the holiday gala she is hosting as director of the Museum of Literature. Her mother, Hildy Macintosh, has made it clear that if the museum is to continue to receive the enormous donations from the family trust that Hildy has approved all these years then Claire will marry the man Hildy has chosen for her and start to produce some grandbabies. At forty and single, Claire feels she has no choice. But when the horse and carriage arrive at the gala with the driver dressed as Santa to deliver Claire's engagement ring, she just can't go through with it. She hijacks the horse and carriage with Santa still on board and escapes!

Reporter Sam Carpenter thought he was being so clever convincing his friend to let him step in as Santa so he could get up close and personal to the subject of his upcoming magazine expose. He is completely unprepared for the events that unfold and finds himself dashing through Central Park with a runaway would be fiancé. Now the only way to save his story is to broker a deal with Claire Macintosh. In exchange for his help in getting her to her cottage in Maine by Christmas Eve, she'll grant him an exclusive interview. As their journey takes a series of unexpected twists, turns, and misadventures, both Claire and Sam realize that there's more than their careers on the line. And it's going to take a Christmas miracle to find their happily ever after.

Woo hoo!!!

This is the third and final romcom novella of my series set in a fictional place in NYC called the Museum of Literature. It has been an absolute hoot to write these and I am really enjoying the shorter format (100p/30K wds). FUN!

Now, how about you Reds and Readers? Are you a fan of the old madcap romcom movie? Or do you prefer the angsty dramatic love stories? 

What We're Writing: Spite by Jenn McKinlay

We have a winner!!! The winner of last week's Ellen Byron/Maria DiRico signed book is Kathyc23!!! Email Ellen at ellenbyronla at outlook dot com and she'll send your book!

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Jenn McKinlay: Authors are frequently asked what motivates them. I always thought it was my desire to create, my love of words and stories, or more practically my need to eat. Come to find out, none of that is it. I'll explain.

A few months ago, my agent thought it would be a great idea if I submitted some original novella ideas to an audio book publisher. The money was great, the novellas were a third of the length of what I usually write, and I have come to LOVE audio books, so I was all in. 

I toiled to write what I thought were three super fun ideas for romcoms. Set in a fictional Museum of Literature on Museum Mile in Manhattan, the books are everything I love about the romantic comedy - snappy dialogue, fun settings, characters that a reader can relate to, and -- in this case -- plot lines centered around books.

My agent read them and agreed. Yay! We submitted and waited (this part of publishing never seems to change) and waited and waited. When the audio publisher did get back to us, it was a "These stories are fabulous, but..." There's always a but. The publisher didn't like my existing audio sales numbers so they passed.

Well, here's a little known fact about me. If you want me to do something, the best way to get me to do it is to tell me that I can't. I think this stems from being the youngest - always too little, always too young, always having to stay home with mom when everyone else went out and had fun, and so on. It makes you feisty!

Needless to say, I wrote the novellas, hired an editor and cover artist, and novella number one ROYAL VALENTINE drops on Jan 4th with the next two coming in June and December of 2022. The audio will follow eventually -- because the whole point of this was to publish audio -- but I ran out of time (deadlines!) so now my agent is shopping the audio rights because she's awesome like that. 

So, when I was finished writing the first novella, I realized it wasn't my need to create that drove me to finish the story as much as it was...spite. Yeah, I'm not sure this says anything good about me. I had a whole "I'll show you" thing going on while I wrote, for sure, but in my defense, I was also in love with the world I'd created in my head -- a museum of literature, people! -- and I had to see it through because I knew they could be so fun as audio books. Let's hope the audio versions, when they manifest, prove me right!

Here's a snippet of our museum registrar heroine meeting her love interest for the first time: 

There was a light shining from beneath my office door and I realized I must have left it on, knowing I was going to come back from the gala and change out of this Austen inspired nightmare. I yanked the ribbon beneath the old fashioned bodice loose and began to shrug out of the constricting gown. 

     I opened the door to my office and stepped inside, eager to peel off the dress and slip into my day clothes, when a movement behind my desk startled me. I jumped and let out a small high-pitched shriek. 

     There was a man—a stranger—behind my desk!

     We stared at each other for a beat and then his gaze drifted down and then shot right back up to study the ceiling.

     “You, eh, um, I’m not sure—” he stuttered. 

     Furious at the violation of my privacy, I planted my hands on my hips and glared. “Who are you and what are you doing in my office?”

     He was standing in a half crouch as if he’d been rising from the chair but was now stuck somewhere in between, not wanting to make a move that might scare or offend me. He glanced at me but didn’t meet my eyes. Instead, his gaze fastened somewhere over my head.

     “M. Graham, I presume?”  He waved his hand at the door where my nameplate was attached.

     “Molly, the M stands for Molly,” I said. “And, yes, that’s me. And you are?”

     He was wearing a tuxedo, which made it obvious that he’d been at the gala, but his bow tie was loose, the ends dangling on each side of his unbuttoned shirt collar. Had he sought refuge in here because he’d been feeling ill? Or was he a very well-dressed burglar? 

     It hit me then that I was all alone on the upper floor of the museum with an absolute stranger. This was what avid readers described as a protagonist’s TSTL (too stupid to live) moment, which was frequently found in modern fiction. I’d always been a critic myself, but I now had a new appreciation for those sticky situations that characters found themselves in.

     “I’m a guest,” he said. He still didn’t meet my gaze. “Would you believe me if I said I was hiding?” 

     He had a deep-toned British accent, which was annoyingly distracting. In the silence, his gaze met mine, drifted down, and then rocketed away. “You might want to um…” His voice trailed off, but he pointed to his chest and then mine, indicating there was a situation . 

     Suddenly, I was aware of a cool breeze in a place I should not be feeling a breeze at all. I glanced down and then clapped my hands over my front. One of my girls had gone rogue and had popped out of my loosened gown, playing peekaboob. Ack!

     My face was instantly as hot as the fire from a thousand suns, and I wondered if this was where the tall tales of spontaneous human combustion came from because I was positive that I would go up like a human torch of humiliation in three, two, one…I did not. Pity . 

     I yanked up my droopy bodice and quickly draped the fichu around my neck, trying to salvage what little dignity I could find. I’d have had better luck trying to hold water in my cupped hands. 

     Awkward silence filled every nook and cranny of the room as I had no idea what to say to this stranger who had seen my bare breast. Wait a minute. Yes, I did .

     “Who are you? And why are you hiding in here?” I cried. With my front now completely covered, I tossed my head, planted my hands on my hips, and assumed a rigid stance of furious indignation. I would have high-fived myself, but I didn’t want to risk another nip slip.

     “I’m…er…Albert George, you can call me Al,” he said. His Rs were as soft as butter and his smile revealed a slightly prominent canine tooth on the right side that gave his handsome face a roguish charm. Startlingly bright blue eyes met and held mine as he rose to his full height and a wave of thick dark hair flopped over his forehead in a disarmingly endearing way .

     I refused to be sidetracked by his attractiveness. The man was in my office, had seen my boob, and for all I knew was there to steal the rare books that were in my care. I glowered.

     “That tells me who you are, Al.” I over pronounced his name just to be annoying. “But why are you in my office?” I demanded.

How about you, Reds and Readers, what motivates you? And how do you handle it when you're told you "can't" do something?

Molly Graham doesn't believe in love at first sight or fairy tales. She's been burned too many times before. When her best friend, Brianna Cho, challenges her to aim high and go for men who are out of her league, Molly can't imagine a worse way to spend Valentine's Day. When she stumbles across a very handsome British professor, Albert George, seeking refuge in her office during the Museum of Literature's Valentine's Day gala for the opening of their Austen exhibit, Molly can't help but be drawn to the fellow introverted academic. Together they ghost out of the event and embark upon a month long love affair. Molly is rethinking her stance on happily ever afters and plans to tell Al how she feels, but he disappears. Afraid something bad has happened, Molly searches for him only to discover there is no Albert George affiliated with the university. She's been played for a fool!

Molly is devastated. As registrar for the Museum of Literature, she is tasked with a trip to England to return the Jane Austen exhibition materials on loan from the Whitmore Estate in Bath. It's the only thing she has to look forward to and even this dream trip is a struggle. When she and Brianna arrive at Whitmore Manor, they are introduced to Earl Whitmore and his grandson Lord Insley, or as Molly knows him Albert George. She is shocked and dismayed to discover she has fallen in love with a viscount in line to be an earl. James Albert George Insley Whitmore, called Jamie by his friends and family, arranged for Molly to bring the materials back. He had to leave her unexpectedly, but he hasn't been able to forget her and he wants to win her back. Molly isn't having it. She refuses to be taken in twice. Jamie will have to channel his inner Fitzwilliam Darcy to prove to her that love conquers all and win her heart for good. 

 

Summer Reading: What We're Writing by Jenn McKinlay

 

WINNER WINNER  "Karen in Ohio" is the winner of a copy of Dessert is the Bomb!!!

Please email catherinebruns@outlook.com with your snail mail address and she'll pop it in the mail to you!

Jenn McKinlay: I thought the book was finished. I'd done days of research on dyslexia, visited Martha's Vineyard, scouted the Oak Bluffs public library, wrote the manuscript, and thought I was ready to hit send. I was not. Something felt off like an outfit that is too tight, too itchy, or too baggy in the butt. So, I asked for more time and I read and reread the manuscript and finally, it hit me. The main characters' names simply didn't work. 

So, I made lists of names, looked up what was popular during the years the characters were born, checked the old baby books where the Hooligans' names had been spawned, and jumped down a few Internet rabbit holes looking for something that clicked. Finally, FINALLY, I found the perfect names. One more read through and SUMMER READING will be headed to my editor. Can I get an "Amen!"?  

So here is a sneak peek at the first meeting of my dyslexic heroine, Samantha Gale, and the hot guy librarian hero, Ben Reynolds: 

Chapter One

     The ferry from Woods Hole to Martha’s Vineyard was standing room only. Shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, the passengers were packed as tight as two coats of paint. I had a rowdy group of college kids at my back, which was fine as I’d carved out a spot at the rail near the bow of the ship and was taking in big gulps of salty sea air while counting down the seconds of the forty-five-minute ride.

     It was the first time in ten years I’d returned to the Gale family cottage in Oak Bluffs for an extended stay, and I was feeling mostly anxious with a flicker of anticipation. Pre-occupied with the idea of spending the entire summer with my dad, his second wife, and my half brother, I did not hear the commotion at my back until it was almost too late.

     “Bruh!” a deep voice yelled. 

     I turned around to see a gaggle of man boys in matching T-shirts – it took my dyslexic brain a moment to decipher the Greek letters on them to identify them as frat boys – roughhousing behind me. 

     One of them was noticeably turning a sickly shade of green and his cheeks started to swell. When he began to convulse as if a demon was punching its way up from his stomach, his friends scrambled to get away from him.

     I realized with horror that he was going to vomit and the only thing between him and the open sea was me, trapped against the railing. In a panic, I looked for a viable exit. Unfortunately, I was penned in by a stalwart woman with headphones on and a hot guy reading a book. I had a split second to decide who would be easier to move. I went with reader guy, simply because I figured he could at least hear me when I yelled, “Move!”

     I was wrong. He didn’t hear me and he didn’t move. In fact, he was so non-responsive, it was like he was on another planet. I gave the man a nudge. He didn’t respond. Desperate, I slapped my hand over the words in his book. He snapped his head in my direction with a peeved expression. Then he looked past me and his eyes went wide. In one motion, he grabbed me and pulled me down and to the side out of the line of fire.

     The puker almost made it to the rail. Almost. I heard the hot splat of vomit on the deck behind me and hoped it didn’t land on the backs of my shoes. Mercifully, reader man’s quick thinking shielded me from the worst of it. Frat boy was hanging over the railing and as the vomiting started in earnest, the crowd finally pressed back, way back, and we scuttled out of the blast zone.

     My rescuer let go of me and asked, “Are you all right?”

     I opened my mouth to answer when the smell hit me. That distinctive stomach curling, nose wrinkling, gag inducing smell that accompanies undigested food and bile. My mouth pooled with saliva and I felt my throat convulse. This was an emergency of epic proportions as I am a sympathy puker. You puke, I puke, we all puke. Truly, if someone hurls near me, it becomes a gastro geyser of Old Faithful proportions. I spun away from the man in a flurry of arms that slapped his book out of his hands and sent it careening toward the ocean. 

     He let out a yell and made a grab for it. He missed and leaned over the railing, looking as if he was actually contemplating making a dive for it. 

     I felt terrible and would have apologized but I was too busy holding my fist to my mouth while trying not to lose my breakfast. The egg sandwich I’d had with bacon suddenly seemed like the worst decision ever and it took all of my powers of concentration not to hurl. I tried to breathe through my mouth but the retching sounds frat boy was making were not helping. 

     “Come on.” Reader guy took my arm and helped me move farther away. I turned my head away in case I was sick. I could feel my stomach heaving and then—

     “Ouch! You pinched me!” I cried. 

     My hero, although that seemed like an overstatement given that he had just inflicted pain upon my person, had nipped the skin on the inside of my elbow with enough force to startle me and make me rub my arm. 

     “Still feel like throwing up?” he asked. 

     I paused to assess. The episode had passed. I blinked at him. He was taller than me. Lean with broad shoulders, wavy dark brown hair that reached his collar. He had nice features, arching eyebrows, sculpted cheekbones, and a defined jaw covered in a thin layer of scruff. His eyes were a blue-gray much like the ocean surrounding us. Dressed in a navy sweatshirt, Khaki shorts, and black lace up work boots, he was cute in a buy local sort of way.

     He stared at me expectantly, and I realized he’d asked a question and was waiting for an answer. Feeling like an idiot for blatantly checking him out, I attempted to play it off as if I was still wrestling with the urge to upchuck. I raised my hand in a wait gesture and then slowly nodded. 

     “No, I think I’m okay,” I said. “Thank you.”

     “You’re welcome,” he said. Then he smiled at me -- it was a dazzler -- making me forget the horror of the last few minutes. “You tossed my book into the ocean.”

     “I’m so sorry,” I said. Nervousness and the faint hope that I did not yet lose my breakfast caused me to try and make light of the situation. This was a bad play. “At least it was just a book and not something actually important, but I’ll absolutely buy you a replacement.”

     “Not necessary.” He frowned at me and then looked at the sea where the paperback was now polluting the ocean – one more thing for me to feel bad about – and then back at me and said, “I take it you’re not a reader.”

     And there it was, the judgmental tone I’d heard my whole life when it became known that I was not a natural born reader. Why were book people always so perplexed by non book people? I mean, it’s not like I wanted to be dyslexic. Naturally, when feeling defensive about my disability, I said the most offensive thing I could think of.

     “Books are boring,” I said. Yes, I, Samantha Gale, went there. I knew full well this was likely heresy for this guy, and I was right. His reaction did not disappoint. 

     His mouth dropped open. His eyes went wide. He blinked. “Don’t hold back. Say what you feel.”

     “It’s like this, why would I read a book when I can just stream the movie version, which allows me to use both hands to cram popcorn into my face at the same time?” I asked.

     “Because the book is always better than the movie.”

     I shook my head. “I disagree. There’s no way the book version of Jaws was better than the movie.” 

     “Ah!” he yelped. If he’d been wearing pearls, I was sure he’d be clutching them. 

     When he was about to argue, I cut him off with the duuun-dun duuun-dun duuun-dun dun dun dun from the iconic Jaws theme music, thus, winning the debate.

Words of wisdom from the master: 

So, how about it Reds and Readers, do you think the book is always better than the movie? Or are there exceptions?