Looking for ways to fill up that brand-new Kindle or E-Reader you've gotten? We've got just the thing! 40 books, on sale or free, from now until January 6th! Be sure to check out the selection here and have a very Happy New Year!
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A World War 2 veteran reflects on his past one Christmas Eve. A suburban single-mom moves into a new neighborhood and finds herself dodging the attentions of the eccentric science teacher next door. A young boy takes his first flight in his mother's boyfriend's plane. An aspiring actress in 1950s New York finds help from an unusual source. A man who has everything finds himself in love with the one woman he can never have - or can he? Uncommon Type is a collection of 17 short stories by Tom Hanks, all of which feature, in one way or another, a typewriter. Book-ended (see what I did there?) with stories of a tight-knit if eccentric group of friends, Hanks' stories are alternately tragic and hilarious, folksy and edgy, hopeful and heartbreaking, but always human. In fact, that's probably the best thing you can say about this book: you put it down feeling that, in some way, the world is a little warmer and a little more home. Not all of the stories come off perfectly - it feels in some that Hanks is stretching his literary muscles a little beyond their capacity - but that being said, its been a while since I've read a new book that made me feel like the human race was all right. I could use a few more books like this one. (Note to clean-read enthusiasts like myself, there are a few adult scenarios in these stories.) Happy Cyber Monday! Today, you can download Tale Half Told for free on your Amazon Kindle! Just click on the link and enjoy - if you like it, be sure to let me and Margaret know in the comments! Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, everyone! Celebrating both Thanksgiving (gooble, gooble!) and the upcoming holiday season, I'm happy to be one of 35 (THIRTY-FIVE!) authors offering books at 99 cents this week, from November 21-28. If you're looking for romance, adventure, historical fiction, mysteries, sci-fi, or more, you're bound to find something to love! Michael Lawrence: the Season of Darkness and Summer Shadows are both priced at 99 cents, so be sure to get them while the sale lasts! And while you're at it, check out these other selections here: I know I'll be getting a few of these for my Kindle! Every other Friday, I'll showcase a snippet from either a work in progress or an old manuscript, a new short story, or random poem or scene from a never-finished book. If you like what you read, be sure to leave a comment below! This snippet comes from a story I began back in 2011. Enjoy! Because it was Friday, the restaurant was crowded. The bar was tight with sports enthusiasts who alternately cheered and jeered as their teams scored and lost ground. On the peripheral, all of the tables were taken, most packed to the limit and everyone seemed in a boisterous and jovial mood. The wait staff hustled and the sounds of furious activity emanated from the kitchen each time the doors swung open. The line of waiting patrons was stretched from the anxious hostess’ desk and into the tiny waiting area where it looped around and went out the door into the foyer and then onto the well-lit sidewalk. It was much quieter out here. People stood in little groups, hands in pockets, shuffling their feet, checking cell phones, and looking with envy at those who had the luxury of waiting inside. Had it been Nicole Carson’s choice tonight, she would have seen the line and driven right on past. She did not relish in the happy noise and over-warm friendly atmosphere. She much preferred the quiet of, say, her favorite Chinese food restaurant, or the River-Side Catch during the off hours. These places she could be sure of clean, healthy food, a quiet atmosphere, and a menu with which she was already familiar. And standing outside on a chilly March night in the New England weather was not her idea of a fun time, as healthful an activity as some may argue it was. But, as it was not her choice and as her sister, Kat, had faithfully promised to her that she would call ahead for seating, Nicole found herself pushing her way through the crowded waiting space to the hostess station. She heard snatches of conversation as she wound her way through the little groups. “… so then I said, ‘What the h--- do you mean, additional fees?’ And he was, like, ‘When you signed….” “…My feet are sooo tired. I worked 14 hours in the store today and that witch, Hazel…” “…and just when you thought the movie was over, right, bam! There was this explosion. I nearly died…” “…I mean, I’m more than due for the raise. I work harder than any one else and when that Deutsch thing was going down, I was the one who…” “We should have just gone across the street.” “But you hate Indian food.” “True, but I hate starving to death more…” “How many?” The harassed hostess with the deteriorating makeup pulled herself away from a lively discussion of table assignments with three disgruntled waitresses to face Nicole. She spoke the words with the lifeless intonation of a woman who had nothing left to live for, a living martyr who rather resented being plagued as she was. She took a clip-board with a frighteningly long list of names on it and waited. “Two.” “Name?” “Carson. We called ahead.” The hostess stopped writing and checked her list. “Katherine Carson?” “That’s it.” The hostess suppressed a grimace and viciously scribbled out the CARS that she had scrawled at the bottom of the list. She looked about and said, “I’m sorry, it’ll still be another few minutes.” “No problem.” The hostess turned away and Nicole had to say, “A buzzer?” Annoyed, the hostess found one and thrust it into her hands, then turned to play peacemaker. Nicole found herself being sucked back into the crowd. Hemmed in on all sides by bodies, voices, and odors, claustrophobia was not long in coming. She fought her way through and found herself outside again. This time, the crisp air was a blessing and she took a few, deep breaths to steady herself. Her lungs felt revived and her whole outlook brightened. After all, it wasn’t that cold out. The table wouldn’t be too long in coming, this restaurant chain had a very good reputation, and she would have a good conversation with her sister, Kat, whom she hadn’t seen in a week. Things would be good. I've decided to start a new feature for Fridays - Every other Friday, I'll showcase a snippet from either a work in progress or an old manuscript, a new short story, or random poem or scene from a never-finished book. If you like what you read, be sure to leave a comment below! Today's #FridayReads is from a work-in-progress tentatively called Jenny Goonight. It's a western about a travel-worn missionary woman who goes to visit her uncle, famed Civil War reporter Matthew Goodnight, in the town of Evanston, only to find her uncle embroiled in a power struggle with Varina Evans, wife of the town's founder. But Matthew isn't the man Jenny thought she knew and things go from bad to worse when a body turns up and Jenny finds herself accused of the killing. In this scene, Varina Evans hears some disturbing news and turns to her son, the quick tempered John Henry, for advice. Chapter: Varina Lee Evans stood in a warm glow of the light, watching as the buckboard disappeared into the gathering darkness. Elizabeth and Josie Walsh, the wife and daughter of the general store owner, had come to pay a social call. At least, that was the reason Josie understood for their coming and it was the excuse that both Varina and Elizabeth would use, should anyone ask. Elizabeth had come for advice, advice that she could ask of neither the Pastor nor from her husband, Elliot, and she was not Catholic that she could confide in a priest. That left, very naturally to her mind, the Widow Evans. Varina Evans and Elizabeth Walsh were not what people might refer to as bosom friends. In fact, there was no one in town that could claim that relationship with Varina, unless it was her daughter-in-law, Helen. It was not close-friendship that brought Elizabeth to Varina, then, but a sort of fealty. The Evans were the founders of Evanston, the owners of the largest spread, and, according to most, the de facto rulers of the town, a story that Varina and both of her sons vehemently denied. But distance themselves as they might, people still thought of them as the chief family in town and when there was a civic problem, the Evans were usually the first turned to. Darkness closed around the buckboard and the rattling sound faded as the two women drove back to town. Varina thought, It wasn’t too long ago when such a short journey would have been too dangerous for two unarmed women. How fast things have changed. Now the dangers were different. From somewhere in the house, a door slammed heavily and she heard her son’s voice echoing through the rooms. John Henry had returned and from the sound of his voice, he’d seen the editorial, too. She left the relative peace of the darkened porch and went inside. The Evans mansion, as it was called by the locals, was an enormous, rambling structure that combined the practical needs of a ranch headquarters with the style of a Southern plantation house. The over-sized rooms were decorated with rich wall paper and plush carpeting, ornate candelabras, and heavy furniture. There was a piano in the parlor and a balcony outside her bedroom. Her deceased husband John had done his best, in a heavy-handed fashion, to provide her with a house that was like the one she’d grown up in. He'd succeeded only in reminding her how different life out west was from the one she’d known. John Henry was in the living room, standing before the fire place, rubbing his chin. He was dusty and grimy from the road, and the full day and he looked as though he’d love to put his fist through the wall. Trigger Olsen, one of their senior hands, was present too, running his hat through his hands. She stopped in the doorway and nodded to Trigger. “Good evening, Trigger,” she said. “You two are working late tonight.” “Yes, ma’am.” Trigger bobbed his head, glancing at John Henry as he did so. “We, uh, ran into some trouble in the north pasture.” John Henry looked sharply at him. “Well,” Varina said evenly, “no matter. We kept dinner warm for you. It’s waiting in the kitchen.” Trigger waited for John Henry’s nod before scampering off. He was too well acquainted with the Evans to want to be in the middle of a family discussion. When he was gone, Varina went and sat in the armchair, lowering herself carefully and smoothing her skirts as she did. John Henry kept his eyes on the fire place. The air chilled at night, so a small fire was always started at the end of the day. With Helen expecting in a few short weeks, the extra precaution was considered even more necessary. When John Henry didn’t speak, Varina did. “The north pasture?” she asked. John Henry seized the poker and stabbed at the logs. “Broken fence again,” he muttered. “We patched it. Thomas around?” “He’s upstairs, with Helen.” She waited another moment, then said, “I understand you paid a call on Matthew Goodnight this afternoon.” With a growl, John Henry threw the poker back into the stand and began to stride about the floor impatiently. “According to Josie Walsh, it didn’t go well,” Varina ventured. “Josie Walsh!” he said, with disdain. “What does she know about anything?” “She was under the impression that someone pulled a gun today, John Henry. That someone pulled a gun on you after you attacked Matthew Goodnight.” He stopped in front of her. “I couldn’t let him get away with printing that article,” he said. “Not when it’ll affect Thomas. You know it’ll hurt his chances in the election – it’ll hurt his chances with anything.” She looked up at him levelly. It was moments like these that he looked most like his father – a big man. Too big, she sometimes thought. “And do you think he’ll print a retraction now?” she asked, ice in her tone. He hesitated, then turned away, only just refraining from swearing. “We can’t just let him do this!” he muttered through gritted teeth and his fist came down on the mantelpiece, making the china dolls dance. “Something must be done!” Varina Evans waited a few moments. In dealing with John Henry, she found that some of the techniques she employed on her husband were most effective. No one would have accused the late John Thomas Evans of being a whipped man, but then few knew Varina very well. And though the son was very much like the father, there was one difference: John Henry was much more bullheaded than John and try as she might, she could only influence, not control. He is much more like me than his father in that respect, she thought. He’s his own man. I can only do so much with him. He is like his father – but he is not John. She waited until she was ready, then said, “Elizabeth Walsh was here today.” John Henry turned, frowning. She watched his hands flex. “What did she want?” he asked. Varina drew in a breath and looked up at him steadily. “She came to tell me what I already knew. You’re right, John Henry. We have got to do something about Matthew Goodnight.” LIKE WHAT YOU'VE READ? DROP ME A NOTE AND LET ME KNOW!
A few week ago, I was able to show you all a sneak peek of Bushor Photography's Witches photo shoot featuring my sisters and myself. In honor of Halloween this weekend (sort of!), here are a few more to set the creepy mood!
Goodreads Book GiveawayTale Half Toldby Killarney TraynorGiveaway ends October 31, 2017. See the giveaway details at Goodreads.
I've decided to start a new feature for Fridays - Every other Friday, I'll showcase a snippet from either a work in progress or an old manuscript, a new short story, or random poem or scene from a never-finished book. If you like what you read, be sure to leave a comment below!
Today's #FridayReads is from a work-in-progress tentatively called The Tour Guide. It's a romantic comedy about Gwen, a young woman who has never been to Ireland who is forced by circumstance to lead a tour group there. Naturally, all sorts of calamities and comedic problems ensue. In re-doing the manuscript, this scene, in which two 60+ travelers meet their tour guide for the first time, was cut for brevity, but I still rather like it. Enjoy!
Deleted Scene from The Tour Guide, by Killarney Traynor
The tour guide from Chambers Adventure Tours was not, as Emily had supposed, a charming old Irish gentleman, but instead a polished, somewhat nervous young woman with blond hair and a Boston accent. “Welcome to Ireland!” the young woman said. “I hope you had a good flight!” “Cead mile failte!” Emily replied, holding out her hand to shake. The young tour guide’s mouth dropped open and for a moment, there was a very awkward pause, broken only when Emily spoke. “That means, ‘a hundred thousand greetings’,” she said kindly. “It’s an old Irish phrase I picked up somewhere.” The guide’s face cleared and she nodded in understanding. “Oh, yes, of course,” she said. “Well, the same back at you, I’m sure.” Emily gave Rose a look as though to say, What sort of a tour guide did they send us? As though in answer to the question, the young woman introduced herself as Gwen Chambers, took their names, and then gestured them over to a lounge area. “I’m afraid there is a bit of a wait before we get to our hotel,” she explained. “We’ve a few more planes to greet, but I think you’ll find this area comfortable.” Rose didn’t mind a break between bus and plane and at Emily’s suggestion they got coffee and bagels at one of the little cafes. “What kind of a tour guide did they give us that doesn’t even know that phrase?” Rose muttered as Emily was carefully counting out some Euros. “Even I know it from greeting cards.” Emily gave her a side long look as she handed the coins to the girl behind the counter. “You didn’t recognize her name?” “I don’t even remember her name – it’s too early in the morning.” “Gwen Chambers,” Emily said. “They didn’t just send us a tour guide on this tour – they sent us the boss’s daughter. Now, why do you suppose that is?” It was an interesting question and one that kept them occupied during the hour wait for their departure by bus. Three more planes arrived in that time and the little lounge was soon crowded with half-asleep Americans in t-shirts, dragging over-sized suitcases with Chambers’ luggage tags dangling from the handles. Eventually, Gwen came over, smiling brightly over her clip-board. “Well, if you are all ready,” she said. “Shall we go to our hotel?” No one objected and all filed after her, dragging bags and sipping from paper mugs. When they got outside, there was a bit of a hold up as Gwen searched for their bus among the dozens parked outside, but soon enough came trotting back to them, her smile firmly in place, her high-heel shoes clacking on the pavement. “Just a few more steps this ways,” she said brightly. “Just follow Tour Guide Barbie,” one of the men behind Rose muttered and immediately a woman protested, “Oh, Hal!” in an annoyed tone. The driver was a stocky, handsome man in a leather jacket. He stood by the door, helping people with the first step while Gwen ran back and forth among the line, checking and double checking to see if they’d forgotten anyone. Rose and Emily settled into one of the middle rows and Emily leaned over to whisper, “He’s a cute one, isn’t he?” “Who, the driver?” “Well, I wasn’t talking about Hal.” Emily looked over as Gwen, the tour guide, popped up in front to see if everyone was settled. “And she’s very pretty.” “Don’t you go match-making,” Rose warned. “It never works out.” “Can’t blame a girl for trying,” Emily said. “I just like seeing people happy. Anyway, there’s not much I can do for the pair of them, except sit back and watch the fireworks.” As she said this, the driver came in, brushing by Gwen as he slipped into his seat. When she turned to give him a cool stare, the man just smirked at her. “Oh yes,” Emily said with satisfaction. “This is going to be a fun trip.” Goodreads Book GiveawayTale Half Toldby Killarney TraynorGiveaway ends October 31, 2017. See the giveaway details at Goodreads. There's only two weeks left to enter the Goodreads Giveaway for Tale Half Told! If you haven't already done so, be sure to enter for your chance to win a signed, paperback copy! Want an inside look? Click here to read a sample chapter from the spooky new novel! Shivers and chills guaranteed! Goodreads Book GiveawayTale Half Toldby Killarney TraynorGiveaway ends October 31, 2017. See the giveaway details at Goodreads.
“If I ever go looking for my heart's desire again, I won't look any further than my own back yard. Because if it isn't there, I never really lost it to begin with.” - L. Frank Baum
To quote a Frank Sinatra song, "It's awfully nice to go traveling... but it's so much nicer coming home."
It's easy to be enchanted by the exotic, to be dazzled by the distant, or romanced by the unknown. For us in the States, there's a magical quality about the Alps or the Arabian deserts or the rain forests of the South America that call to us like Sirens to Odysseus. I know they do for me, anyway (I blame National Geographic for instilling me with the travel bug at a young and tender age). But while these natural enchantresses have, in truth, their own unique charm, it's all too easy to forget that home has it's own as well.
Goodreads Book GiveawayTale Half Toldby Killarney TraynorGiveaway ends October 31, 2017. See the giveaway details at Goodreads.
It's only the 20th of September, but with leaden gray skies raining over aging foliage, Halloween feels early this year!
My sisters, Margaret and Calico, and I were invited to be a part of Bushor Photography's annual Halloween series, playing the Weird Sisters from Macbeth, a part too good to pass up! We'll be one set among many in her series this year and though the pictures won't be released until October, here's a sneak peak from our shoot. Be sure to check out Bushor Photography on Facebook and their website for more spooky fun this October. Tale Half Told Giveaway!
In further celebration of the season, my sister and I are giving away two copies of Tale Half Told in a Goodreads giveaway, ending, you guessed it, on Halloween - in plenty of time to read before Christmas! Be sure to sign up now for your chance to win!
Goodreads Book GiveawayTale Half Toldby Killarney TraynorGiveaway ends October 31, 2017. See the giveaway details at Goodreads. |
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