Here we have the next six paragraphs. When last we left Maggie and Caleb they were being accosted by another one of Maggie’s clients, Martin Butler. Be sure and leave me a comment today. I’ll give one lucky commentor a copy of the first of the Matchmaker & Company series, CAPITAL BRIDE. If you are in the US, it can be a print copy, international will be an ecopy only.

Martin shrugged. “I telegraphed your office. Your girl, Sally, wired me back where’d you be. As to the man Sinclair. Enough money, in the right hands, can do wonders as keeping someone’s mouth shut.”

Maggie sucked in a breath, “That’s how he got the money for Mary’s doctors.” She couldn’t really blame Mr. Sinclair. His wife, Mary, needed the treatments or she was going to die. If it was someone Maggie loved, she’d have done everything possible, as well. She looked over at Mr. Butler. His shaggy gray hair hanging lank around his collar and his long silver beard lying on his chest. His eyes sparkled with mischief or something more sinister she wasn’t sure. She was sure that if she’d been Beatrice she’d have bolted, too. “You lied on your application and therefore our contract is null and void. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment with Mr. Black.”

Maggie took Caleb’s arm. “Shall we?”

Caleb scooped up both her bags in one hand, “We shall.”

They’d walked about half way down the platform when she stopped and turned back. Martin Butler stood there watching them, hands clenched into fists. The look in his eyes along with the long hair and beard gave him a feral appearance and somewhat frightened Maggie. She was glad of Caleb’s assistance.

“You can let go of me now.”

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This is from my WIP Redeemed by a Rebel, from the Destiny in Deadwood series.

Structures of every size lined the main street. Tents were thrown up in front of the buildings. The largest of the buildings were the Gem Theater, the Grand Hotel and the Bella Union. Weary miners could spend their hard earned gold on liquor, women and games of chance in the saloons and whorehouses of the Gem and the Bella Union. Places where they could remember easier, happier times when they were farmers, ranchers, lawyers and sailors. The people came from all walks of life, having given up or lost everything in the Panic of 1873.

I’d love your comments on my scene. Can you see it? If not, give me some insight into what I need. I’ll be forever grateful.

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When we left Maggie and Caleb they were starting to leave for dinner and to talk when another man came up to them. Maggie asked, “And you are?”

“I’m Martin Butler and I’ve a bone to pick with you. My bride ran off and if you’re going to take the place of a runaway bride, it’s going to be mine.” He grabbed her arm.

Maggie tried to shake him loose but he was strong.

Caleb had no problem stepping in. He took the man’s wrist with his right hand and sent a left hook to Butler’s jaw, sending him backwards to the ground. Butler released Maggie as he fell. His hand went immediately to his jaw.

“Do not touch Mrs. Selby.” Caleb’s voice was soft, steely.

“Owww. Alright. Alright.” He backed away, out of Caleb’s reach.

Maggie moved closer to Caleb and peeked around his shoulder. “You’re Mr. Butler? You’re supposed to be forty years old. You’re sixty-five if you’re a day. No wonder Beatrice ran away. You lied to me and for some reason, Mr. Sinclair didn’t tell me your real age. Why is that, I wonder? And how did you know I’d be here?”

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When last we left Maggie and Caleb she had said that she would not do for his bride and he asked why not…Margaret.

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“I have a business.”

He took her hands in his and began making small circles on the inside of her wrists with his thumbs. “A business can’t warm your bed at night. A business can’t hold you or laugh with you. Come with me. Have supper with me. Let’s talk about it.”

“I…I don’t know.”

“Wait just one minute there, young man. I’ve come to meet Mrs. Selby, too.”

Maggie looked at the newcomer, shocked that anyone else would have known her name. He was an older man, in his sixties. About the same height as Maggie with gray hair and long gray beard.

“And you are?” asked Maggie.

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Maggie has just met Mr. Caleb Black. She has explained that she is without his bride and he told her “you’ll do.”

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“You can’t be serious,” she finally said. Guilty she’d been lusting after one of her clients. One of her bride’s suitors.

“But I am. I think we’ll suit.”

“We most certainly will not suit.” She almost stomped her foot in anger, but she wasn’t really angry. She actually couldn’t blame him. And getting angry wouldn’t solve anything.

He smiled, tucked his thumbs in his belt and rocked back on his heels. Then he asked her, “What’s waiting for you back in New York, Maggie?”

“Don’t call me Maggie.”

“Fine. What’s waiting for you…Margaret? You have no husband, no family. I know you don’t from your letters.”

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Maggie is trying to explain why she is there instead of New York where she should be.

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“That explains Mr. Sinclair’s absence,” he looked around them, “but not Miss Talbots. Is she still on the train?”

Maggie took a deep, steadying breath and braced herself. “Jenny met a man on the train and abandoned me in Omaha to marry him.” She rushed on, “I’m so sorry Mr. Black. It’ll take a little time but I’ll refund your money as soon as I return to New York.”

He cocked his head to one side and said, “I don’t want a refund, Mrs. Selby. I want a wife.”

“I don’t have one for you, Mr. Black.”

“Ah, but you do.” He smiled and she swore his eyes twinkled with merriment. “You have you.” He looked her up and down. “And I think you’ll do just dandy.”

Maggie stood there with her mouth agape until he reached over and gently lifted her chin with his knuckle.

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This week we pick up after Maggie arrives in Denver. She has turned and looked up into the coffee-brown eyes of a tall man.

The man removed his worn leather gloves and held his hand out to her. “Caleb Black.”

“Mr. Black,” she said grasping his hand firmly. “I’m so…pleased to finally meet you.” She stumbled over the words as his hand engulfed hers with warmth.

“As I am you, though I’m somewhat surprised. You made it fairly clear you wouldn’t accompany Miss Talbot and that I was to meet her with Mr. Sinclair.”

She dropped her gaze and realized their hands were still clasped and quickly extricated herself from his grasp. “Yes, well about that…,”

“I’m listening,” he said quietly.

“Mr. Sinclair had a family emergency before he and Jenny were to leave, so I had to accompany her myself.”

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She’d done nothing but worry about it for the last two days and now that the train pulled to a stop in front of the depot in Denver, she was out of time. Maggie looked out the window and saw mountains standing tall in the distance. They appeared purple. Snow still covered the tallest peaks even now in the spring. They stood bright against a sky so blue it reminded her of her childhood on the farm in upstate New York, with its clear skies and starry nights. The soot in the New York City air kept the sky looking gray most of the time. She hadn’t realized how much she missed it being so clear.

The beauty didn’t escape her even if her nerves prevented her from fully enjoying it. She rose from her seat and smoothed her skirt preparing to meet Mr. Black. How she would tell him that she had arrived without his bride she didn’t know. Taking a deep breath, she put her shoulders back and walked off the train.

Maggie removed her gloves and shook them. The ash and soot made a small dust cloud. It was hard to believe they still managed to appear mostly black despite the dirt. She neatly folded them and placed them in one of the valises at her feet. She stood on the platform in the late afternoon sun waiting for Mr. Black. Sweat trickled between her breasts and she wanted nothing more than to cleanse her body with a cold cloth and lie naked in a cool, dark room with a breeze from an open window flowing over her. Instead she watched as couples reunited with loving embraces. Families welcomed home fathers and brothers, sisters and mothers from trips to the east. The pang in her heart reminded her she had no one in her life that would miss her or welcome her home.

She was so caught up in the reunions she hadn’t noticed the tall man’s approach.

“Mrs. Selby?” asked a deep baritone voice from behind her.

She spun around and looked up, way up, into dark, coffee colored eyes. “Yes.”

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On a recent blog I wrote, I talked about my writer’s block and how my friends helped me to overcome it. I’m beginning to think it’s something more serious, perhaps even burnout.

I can’t seem to get started on this new series. It’s about three brothers who come to Deadwood, SD at the beginning of the gold rush there in 1876. They’re there just in time to witness Wild Bill Hickock’s murder. I’m using real people in the background to give it that true to life flavor that I’m looking for with this series, tentatively titled Destiny in Deadwood.

I started with the middle brother. I thought I had the story all figured out in my head, but I got sixteen pages into it and found myself stuck. Okay, I said to myself. I start with the youngest brother. I’m about fourteen pages into it and it’s slowing to a standstill. I just don’t know what happens next. I’ve got my standby remedies for overcoming writers block. They are:
1. Just Write sessions with my critique partners. There is a great energy working and writing with other writers in the room. We not only bounce ideas off each other we bounce energy off each other.

2. Load my current work in progress into my kindle and read it that way. It will sometimes spark your brain into action because I can’t edit. Whenever I read my work on the computer or on a paper print out, I can’t help but edit it.

3. Write description. Now I’m not much for description in my novels. I give enough that the reader can picture the background but I don’t wax poetic about the doilies on the table. But if I’m trying to overcome a bout of writer’s block, I start writing about the doilies and anything else I can describe. Sometimes it sparks me to move on to the real action of the scene.

4. Read a book or watch TV. Getting my mind away totally from writing will sometimes work to get me motivated to work on the story and begin to see again where it will go.

Why am I going through all this? Because I’m trying to avoid burn out. I need to recharge my well and maybe my story will come to me. I live in fear that this is burn out that I’ve written all the stories that are in me, but I don’t believe that. I have the stories there, I just can’t seem to get them down on paper (or into the computer as the case may be).

Part of the reason I go through this is because I’m not a plotter. I’m what they call a pantser. I’ve tried and tried to learn to plot. For some reason, my brain rejects it. But I continue taking plotting classes, hoping that some of it will stay. It would make my life a lot easier if I’d learn to plot. Then when I hit a wall of writers block, I would be able to say, well I know that this is going to happen, so I’ll try writing that scene now. And maybe that is something that I should try. I do know that there are some scenes that will ultimately be in the book. Maybe if I write them down, it’ll get the vibes flowing again.

I can only hope.

Here is another snippet from Fiery Bride. In our last episode she’d just had her employee quit on her and give her the train tickets he was to have used.

“Yes, well, I’ve wanted to see the frontier I’ve been sending my these girls to. I’m simply going to see it sooner than I anticipated.”

“I’m truly sorry, Mrs. Selby.”

Maggie got up, came around the desk and held her hand out to him. “You just take care of Mary. That’s your job now.”

He shook her hand, nodded. Mr. Sinclair put on his hat and wiped his brow with his kerchief before venturing back out into the already hot and sunny morning.

She went to her desk, grabbed Caleb Black’s file, put the closed sign on the door and then went upstairs to her apartment to pack. Her bride, Jenny Talbot would be by in an hour or so to pick up her tickets. Maggie would tell her then that she’d be accompanying her, not Mr. Sinclair. It was just as well. Jenny was nervous as a kitten and Maggie worried about the union, but both Mr. Black and Jenny had been adamant that it take place. If truth be told, Maggie herself was a better match for Mr. Black than Jenny. But she was here to find matches for others, not for herself.

Jenny’s reasoning she understood. Jenny was the oldest of the seven Talbot children. At twenty-two years old, felt she was a burden on her parents even though she worked and helped out with the bills. She hated her job and wanted to get married. Her chances were growing slim. Most men of marriageable age were either already married, old or widowers with hellions for children.

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