I love watching old western movies. Who doesn’t? Recently I started a new series called Cowboys of the Old West.

I have many interests and can’t seem to write just one subgenre of romance. So along with my medieval, small town contemporary, and paranormal romances, I now write westerns as well.

The stories in my series range from short stories such as The Outlaw to novella-length stories like The Drifter. So far there are five books in the series which also includes The Bounty Hunter, The Gambler and my latest release, The Gunslinger.

While researching the Old West, I found myself extremely interested in stagecoaches. My heroine in The Drifter is Nessa Pemberton. She is a widow with a young son. She also has a brother who has lost the use of his gun arm fighting off stage coach bandits – or road agents. Her husband died in a similar episode. Chase Masters is a drifter who is mistaken as the bandit, Bloody Bart. He arrives at Nessa’s stagecoach relay station wounded and in need of her help.

Back in the Old West there were stagecoach relay stations – or swing stations. Traveling across the open plains in a stagecoach was rough, dirty, long, expensive and very dangerous. They could be attacked by bandits, Indians, or be a victim to the elements of nature. It wasn’t uncommon to break a wheel or get stuck in the mud.

Along the road to their destination there were relay stations where they could stop to refresh themselves and get a fresh team of horses. As the stagecoach approached, there was no way of knowing if even the relay station was safe. Therefore, the conductor who took fares, watched over passengers, and sometimes was responsible for the mail, blew a stagehorn as they approached. The station master would also blow a horn in return to tell the stagecoach it was safe to enter.

The stagecoaches ranged in size, probably the largest and nicest being the Concord coach which was usually painted red and had large yellow wooden wheels. It had canvas flaps that could be dropped down over the open windows. It was usually pulled by four to six horses or mules. It had three wooden seats inside that held nine people. The people who couldn’t afford one of the nicer seats bought tickets to sit atop the roof with the luggage and were called hangerson.

 The stagecoach driver was called the reinsman or the whip, and sat up front atop the box or boot – a deep luggage carrier where valuables and sometimes gold was carried. Next to him was a stagecoach guard with a rifle called the Shotgun. Since travel was very dusty, the passengers were given long coats or dusters to wear over their clothes.

When they stopped at the relay station it was usually only for ten minutes, or up to a half hour if they were eating. They could buy a hot meal from the station keeper that usually included hot strong coffee and Johnnycakes – a type of cornbread. The station itself was usually just a small cabin and a barn or corral, and was run by just a few stock-tenders.

The books in my series are only 99 cents each, and the first four books are now in a boxed set – Cowboy of the Old West – Volume 1 which is also available as a paperback. There will be another volume to follow as I release more books in the series.

Here is an excerpt from The Drifter:

 Chase’s eyes slowly opened, and he felt as if he’d died or was close to it. His wound hurt like hell and bright light blinded him, telling him it was daytime. He went to raise his hand to shade his view, and that’s when he realized he couldn’t move either of his arms – which were above his head.

“Don’t try anything funny, mister.”

He focused, and saw that he was lying in a bed in a log-built cabin with sunlight streaming in through the window. That same woman he’d seen in the barn who’d tried to shoot him was standing over him and still had that damned gun pointed in his face.

“What the hell!” He tried to move again, and found himself pulling at the ropes that bound his arms above his head to the iron barred headboard. “You tied me up? Is this usually how you treat your wounded guests?” He tried to kick at her with his good leg, and realized his feet were tied together too, and fastened to the iron posts at the foot of the bed. “Look, lady, I don’t like what you’re doing. Now untie me before I make you sorry.”

“James, get in here,” she called out, and a man with a limp-hanging arm hurried into the room with a little boy at his side.

“Nessa, he’s awake! I still think you should have killed him instead of patching him up,” snarled the man.

“Are you really an outlaw?” asked the kid, starting to walk to his side. The woman reached out with one hand and stopped him.

“Stay back, Billy. He’s dangerous.”

“I’m dangerous?” He chuckled at her comment. “I’m wounded and hog-tied like a pig to a pole and you’re standing over me waving that damn rifle in my face. I’d say you’re the dangerous one, lady.”

“Don’t talk!” she ordered. “I don’t want to hear you say a word til the next stage comes in and we can get you out of here and over to the sheriff in Deadwood.”

“Oh, good. That’s exactly where I was headed anyway before I got tied up and distracted. I need to talk to the sheriff of Deadwood again.” Actually, he’d been coming from Deadwood, not going there, but she didn’t need to know that.

“What?” She batted her long lashes and squinted those bright green eyes of hers. She looked tired, as if she hadn’t slept in awhile, and her soft auburn hair hung long and tousled around her shoulders. “Why would a bandit be going to see the sheriff? You’re lying.”

“I’m not a bandit,” he told her. “My name is Chase Masters and I’m a drifter.”

 Author Bio:

 Elizabeth Rose is the author of over 40 books. She writes medieval, small town contemporary, paranormal, and western romance. She has also just released her first young adult book, Mary, Mary, from her Gnarled Nursery Rhymes Series which was a finalist in the Golden Palm Contest.

Her first book was released in 2000 from a traditional publisher followed by four others. She had to stop writing for many years to go back to the non-writing working world. After losing her job two years ago, she turned to Indie Publishing. She is a fast writer, and also had a good-sized backstock of unpublished novels, and now has 41 published books. Her westerns have consistently been on Amazon’s top 100 best-sellers in the western category, and her medieval boxed set, Border Lords and Ladies has been holding at number 3 on Amazon’s best-sellers list for the ancient worlds category as well.

She has a background in art, and has designed all her covers as well as made her own book-trailers and website too.

You can sign up for her email list and read excerpts of any of her books at http://elizabethrosenovels.com. Her twitter handle is ElizRoseNovels and her facebook page can be found under Elizabeth Rose – Author (don’t forget the dash.)

Here are the links to her Cowboys of the Old West Series as well as the other books mentioned.

The Bounty Hunter – Book 1, http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00QJ4EWDC

The Gambler – Book 2, http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00R6K0NZY

The Drifter – Book 3, http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00S433X8G

The Outlaw – Book 4, http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00D2USPR0

The Gunslinger – Book 5, http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00V10ZQCA

Mary, Mary – Book 1 (Gnarled Nursery Rhymes)

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00VQMOJVC

Border Lords and Ladies Boxed Set

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00UM9J9TM

The period of western expansion and settlement challenged settlers in ways inconceivable to us today. It’s hard to believe, with all our modern conveniences and creature comforts, that our ancestors were ever so resourceful, determined, and resilient in the face of monumental difficulties.

When you start to do a little digging, it doesn’t take long to discover that women who traveled west—alone or with their families—had unprecedented responsibility on the frontier. By necessity, women did a great deal more physical labor on the frontier than we’re accustomed to today.

Most women on the frontier who took jobs to survive, worked in traditionally female roles such as teaching, nursing, and service work. However, these jobs made women’s labor integral to the growth of western communities.

The challenge of frontier life started with the journey. Women were responsible for preparing their families for the long, dangerous trip westward. One of the most important pieces of that puzzle was outfitting a wagon. Women hand-sewed wagon covers (often in groups as a social event) as well as clothes for the journey. These items were necessary to surviving harsh and varied climates which included burning heat in the plains and deserts, and freezing cold in the mountains. Wagons were stocked with the bare necessities, forcing tough choices when it came to leaving precious heirlooms behind. Families needed to be kept clean, fed, and clothed, but saving space and weight in the wagon made this a delicate balancing act between preparedness and minimalism.

When families reached the frontier, priorities shifted away from basic survival toward establishing sustainable lives in the new land. Women were vastly outnumbered by men. Some figures place it at three or four men for every woman. However, women still shouldered a great portion of the work.

Men worked jobs that drew them west in the first place, while women took charge of home management as well as assisting with farming and ranching chores. Unmarried women often cleaned rooms in hotels and boarding houses, worked in saloons, and assisted in medical clinics that benefitted local families as well as the huge number of single men who lived in or passed through their towns. Providing laundry and seamstress services also gave women with no family a way to survive. Women as a whole often pooled time, skill, and capital to provide care for the entire town’s children, bachelors, transients, ill, and injured.

Women also shouldered the responsibility for orchestrating social and leisure time. Church boards and ladies’ groups were often a town’s most important asset in terms of creating a homey, enjoyable social life in frontier towns that were isolated and detached from the rest of the country.

Mining town life, however, drew a different type of woman. Many traveled from camp to camp, working in saloons and offering their favors in the sex trade. Brothels sprung up overnight in such camps and were extremely popular. Women who didn’t make it in this trade occasionally became outlaws. There are accounts of numerous females who became accomplished at robbing stagecoaches, banks, and unsuspecting newcomers to the west.

Many women were drawn westward for teaching opportunities. One of the reasons that so many women were able to get jobs in education is that one could get away with paying female teachers less than male teachers. Still, education jobs were considered valuable opportunities, enticing women to strike out for the western territory. Female educators did their best with little to no supplies, bare classrooms, overcrowding, and nothing more than the Bible for reading material. Schools also operated according to ranch and farming schedules, which meant some schools were in session for as few as three months out of the year. As a group, determined, altruistic female teachers were responsible for educating an entire generation of western Americans in basic academic and life skills.

Because there were so many more men, women were “in demand” among those who wanted to settle down in the west. This meant that unmarried women could afford to be picky, and many women held more social and financial capital than they could have in the east.

Participating in local politics became more common among women in the west. Tough, resourceful, enterprising women, earned the respect and admiration of the town’s men through their mettle and fortitude, proving themselves through their countless contributions to the economy of frontier towns. In some towns, women secured their rights earlier than their eastern sisters. Believe it or not, women in the western territories had the right to vote well before the 19th amendment, and well before most of their sisters on the eastern seaboard.

Unending work, hardships, and unparalleled opportunity awaited those women willing to make the sacrifices necessary for a life on the frontier. Could I have lived during the western expansion? Of course. Any of us could. Would I want to do it given present day conveniences and jobs? Hmmm…that’s a whole other question.

What would you do?

Bio: Shirleen Davies writes romance—historical, contemporary, and romantic suspense. She grew up in Southern California, attended Oregon State University, and has degrees from San Diego State University and the University of Maryland. During the day she provides consulting services to small and mid-sized businesses. But her real passion is writing emotionally charged stories of flawed people who find redemption through love and acceptance.  She now lives with her husband in a beautiful town in northern Arizona. 

Web links (website, social media, etc):

Write to her at:  shirleen@shirleendavies.com

Visit her website:   http://www.shirleendavies.com

Comment on her blog:   http://www.shirleendavies.com/blog.html

Facebook Fan Page:   https://www.facebook.com/ShirleenDaviesAuthor

Twitter:   http://twitter.com/shirleendavies

Google+:   http://www.gplusid.com/shirleendavies

LinkedIn: http://www.linkedin.com/in/shirleendaviesauthor

Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/shirleendavies

Tsu: http://www.tsu.co/shirleendavies

About the Book

 Book Title: Wildfire Creek, Book Two, Redemption Mountain Historical Western Romance series

Genre: Historical Western Romance

 Publisher: Avalanche Ranch Press LLC

 Date of Publication:  Jan 26 2015

 Word Count:  90,000

 Formats available: mobi, ePub, PDF, Paperback

Book Description:

Luke Pelletier is settling into his new life as a rancher and occasional Pinkerton Agent, leaving his past as an ex-Confederate major and Texas Ranger far behind. He wants nothing more than to work the ranch, charm the ladies, and live a life of carefree bachelorhood.

Ginny Sorensen has accepted her responsibility as the sole provider for herself and her younger sister. The desire to continue their journey to Oregon is crushed when the need for food and shelter keeps them in the growing frontier town of Splendor, Montana, forcing Ginny to accept work as a server in the local saloon.

Luke has never met a woman as lovely and unspoiled as Ginny. He longs to know her, yet fears his wild ways and unsettled nature aren’t what she deserves. She’s a girl you marry, but that is nowhere in Luke’s plans.

Complicating their tenuous friendship, a twist in circumstances forces Ginny closer to the man she most wants to avoid—the man who can destroy her dreams, and who’s captured her heart.

Believing his bachelor status firm, Luke moves from danger to adventure, never dreaming each step he takes brings him closer to his true destiny and a life much different from what he imagines.

Excerpt:

 “Hold it right there.”

Ginny froze, not recognizing the deep growl coming from behind her.

“Put your hands up and turn around.”

She did as he asked, her heart pounding, wondering if someone had slipped by Hank to come in the front door. Slowly she turned, raising her eyes to meet those of the man holding a gun on her. Her breath caught at the sight of Luke, his face hard, his mouth in a thin line. She could see the instant recognition dawned. He lowered the gun in a quick motion and slammed it into the holster.

“What the hell are you doing here? And why are you dressed like that?”

She swallowed the hard lump in her throat and took in a shuttering breath, anger replacing the fear she’d felt. “You scared the daylights out of me,” she hissed and pulled the hat off her head, exposing soft brown wisps of hair which had escaped the loose bun.

He held his ground, taking in the sight of her in men’s trousers, a too big shirt haphazardly tucked inside and held together by a wide leather belt. The coat he’d given her covered the ridiculous outfit. He let his gaze wander over her, his eyes softening at the same time his body tightened—a reaction he was powerless to control.

“I asked what you’re doing here, sneaking around the house. Stealing?”

“I am not stealing,” she threw back at him. “I work here.”

“What?” His voice took on a hard edge as his eyes narrowed, signaling his disbelief.

“Dax and Rachel hired me to take on Bernice’s job.”

He took a step forward, then thought better of it, crossing his arms over his chest, planting his feet shoulder width apart. Frustration warred with the desire he felt toward her. This was not what he’d expected to come home to—Ginny living at the ranch. It slammed into him that he’d see her every day, obliged to be around her, and forced to fight his constant attraction toward her. His jaw hardened as he processed the implication of her new position. He didn’t like it. Not one bit.

“We’ll see about that.” He turned and stormed from the room, walking into the study, slamming the door behind him.

 Buy Links:

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00RUYQB7K

Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00RUYQB7K

Apple/iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/wildfire-creek/id955583047?mt=11

Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/wildfire-creek-shirleen-davies/1121005233?ean=2940046495669

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/508037

Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/wildfire-creek

Confessions of a Reality Show Junkie

I am addicted to reality dating shows. I freely admit this. The cheesier, the more dramatic, the more over-the-top, the better. I’m sure I’m rotting my brain, and yet, like an accident scene unfolding before me, I CANNOT LOOK AWAY. I love to watch how people behave (and misbehave!) and analyze and dissect their behavior and body language.  It’s people-watching on steroids, and we writers eat this stuff up like an all-you-can-eat cheesecake buffet. (Oh, if only there were such a thing!)

It’s research I tell my husband. (As are all those half-naked pictures of men I view on Facebook. ) But this, as we both know, is pure cow-patty. I watch, because I long to see that one, rare couple that¾despite the unlikelihood of finding one’s soul-mate on a reality dating show¾ bucks the odds.

And I’ve watched them all: The Bachelor/The Bachelorette, Bachelor in Paradise, Temptation Island, For Love or Money, Ready for Love, The Millionaire Matchmaker, Love in the Wild… you get the idea.  I’ve seen ugly crying, inappropriate groping, and cringe-worthy kisses, and I adore every single salacious minute of it. The knowledge that it could all go horribly, tragically, humiliatingly wrong only makes me watch more. Because, whether these folks are seeking fame, revenge on their ex, or their one true love, they’re bumbling through it all like the rest of us—but in front of millions of viewers.

Now, I think about this fact and it does not escape me that it takes a certain amount of chutzpah (or narcissism) to expose one’s bikini-ready body and bumbling courtships to the general public. I would rather eat nothing but broccoli for a year than date on national TV. Can you imagine?  Considering it wasn’t easy for me to reveal to my (then) boyfriend that I was in love with him (I expressed myself so eloquently, he thought I was breaking up with him. True story.) I have a great deal of respect for those willing and able to bare themselves emotionally for my viewing pleasure.

These people are risk-takers in the name of love, and I applaud their bravery. As gut-wrenching and awkward as baring your soul and facing your fears can be, it can also be transforming. In every one of my Betting on Romance novels, my characters are forced to take risks for love. Whether it’s starting over after a failed marriage (Luck of the Draw, Aug. 2014), reconnecting with a high school crush (Stacking the Deck, Oct. 2014), or going on national TV to find a wife (All or Nothing, Apr. 2015) these experiences are scary but life-changing.

Like the contestants on TV, my characters step out of their comfort zones. And, there’s that part of us (not the ‘better him than me’ ugly side of us, but the ‘there by the grace of God go I’ part) that cheers for these characters taking risks we wish we had the guts to take. They’re living life¾and it’s messy and drama-filled and ugly as tear-streaked mascara. It’s relatable.

And wonderfully, imperfectly, beautifully human.

When I watch these men and women expose it all in the name of love… When I watch them speak without thinking and open themselves to public embarrassment, and when¾on those wonderful, rare occasions¾the train-wreck the naysayers are all waiting for doesn’t come to pass… I say to myself, “Ha! Happily-ever-afters DO exist!”

Then I kiss my hubby and thank him for listening through my own drama-filled cry-fest long enough to hear what my heart was telling him all those years ago.

onfession time! Who else is a reality show junkie? What do you watch? Why?

 (Commenters will automatically be entered into a drawing for a free ‘Betting on Romance’ ebook of their choosing. Drawing to be held March 30^th. No purchase necessary. Please check back here for the winner!)

EXCERPT – LUCK OF THE DRAW

(A Betting on Romance Novel, Book 1)

“I don’t mind you standing there,” he added as he pushed aside the curtain and stepped from the tub, scrubbing his hair with the towel. “But you are somewhat to blame for this.”

“I am?” she squeaked. Heavens, he was good-looking all wet and frumpled. His water-soaked T-shirt was plastered to his chest. Kate’s tongue became the Sahara.

“Mmm hmm,” he nodded. Now he was finger-combing his hair, a crooked grin making his face boyishly appealing as he dropped the towel on his toolbox. “I was thinking about you, you see—”

“You were?” Kate backed up against the sink, the small bathroom feeling suddenly much smaller. Dangerously small. As small as the pocket in her lungs still capable of holding air. “What were you thinking?”

He paused, his eyes dancing. “I’m thinking I ought to keep that to myself.”

“Why?”

“I don’t think we know each other well enough for me to tell you that.”

Suddenly the flannel of her robe felt very hot on her skin. Kate sucked air through her nose and stared at his lips, that crooked smile teasing her, beckoning her.

“I want to know,” she said, her voice barely a whisper…

 AUTHOR BIO 

Cheri Allan writes humorous, hopeful contemporary romances. She lives in a charming fixer-upper in rural New Hampshire with her husband, two children, two dogs, four cats and an excessive amount of optimism. She’s a firm believer in do-it-yourself, new beginnings and happily-ever-afters, so after years of wearing suits, she’s grateful to finally put her English degree to good use writing romance. When not writing, you might find her whizzing down the slopes of a nearby mountain or inadvertently killing perennials in her garden.

Cheri loves to hear from readers! E-mail her at cheri@cheriallan.com, like her at facebook.com/cheriallanbooks, friend her at www.facebook.com/cheriallanauthor, find her on twitter at @CheriAllan or visit her website and blog at www.cheriallan.com.

BUY LINKS:

LUCK OF THE DRAW (Book #1) Amazon 1-click: http://amzn.to/1r1VePK

STACKING THE DECK (Book #2) Amazon 1-click: http://amzn.to/1sCELnt

ALL OR NOTHING (Book #3) coming April 2015!

All titles also available in print: www.cheriallan.com

It’s always interesting what I run across when I’m doing research for a story.  For my Dream Weaver series, which kicks off with Dream Man, I did a lot of research on the subject of dreaming.  It was fascinating to learn about the sleep stages, what happens during REM, and what dreams might mean.  Yet one article I kept regarded daydreams or mind wandering.[1]

According to research results, on average people aren’t thinking about what they’re doing thirty to forty percent of the time.  That’s a lot!  The human brain just seems hard-wired to wander.  Most often, the mind slips to everyday things such as “to do” lists.  Fantasies are the next most common, with worries coming in third.  In this way, the human mind seems to devote time to problem solving or planning for the future.

My wandering thoughts are like everyone else’s…  I go to my “to do” list.  Yet my “to do” list includes my writing.  If I’m stuck on something, the answer often comes to me in these little flashes of random thought.  If I think too hard, though, the answers just won’t come.

So how do your daydreams work?  Do you get more than grocery lists and carpooling schedules?  Do you think the list is in the right order?  I’m curious about what’s more interesting – your daydreams or the ones you have at night?

[1] Science Paying Attention to Not Paying Attention by Malcom Ritter, Associated Press, http://www.msnby.msn.com/id/17690541/

Dream Man

 Each night, Devon Bradshaw dreams of him – her fantasy lover.  She can feel his heated gaze on her and hear his deep breaths, yet as consuming as their shared desire is, they can’t connect.

Until she performs a love spell.

Cael Oneiros is stunned when Devon appears on his cosmic plane.  For months, he’s watched over her as her Dream Weaver.  As a sleeper assigned to his care, his job has been to lead the beautiful redhead into REM sleep.  Visiting her each night, though, has led to deeper feelings.  He wasn’t supposed to fall in love with her, but he has.

Now every night Devon visits Cael, their connection grows – but even the most innocent of spells can have repercussions.

All around town, people are acting strangely.  Tempers are short, and chaos is starting to reign.  Nobody is dreaming.  Nobody except Devon.

When her dream man shows up in flesh and blood, she has to decide if he’s really the man of her heart… or the demon of her dreams.

 Dream Man buy links:

Kindle │Nook │iBook │Kobo │All Romance Ebooks

Bio:

Kimberly Dean is an award-winning author of romance and erotica.  She has written for seven publishing houses, both domestic and international, and has recently focused her efforts on the exciting world of self-publishing. When not writing, she enjoys movies, sports, traveling, music, and sunshine. In her mind, a beach, some rock ‘n’ roll, and a good book make for a perfect day.

Social Media links:

Goodreads│Twitter│Website

Life in the Indie lane: Amazon’s Kindle Publishing Direct and BookBub been berry, berry, good to me.

My paraphrase of Saturday Night Live’s character Chico Esquela’s catchphrase, “Baseball been berry, berry, good to me,” is apropos to my writing experience. After almost fifteen years of mostly unpaid labor, I had a breakthrough that has been berry good, indeed.

Years before my name appeared on any book cover, I was researching family genealogy and uncovered a story I was convinced to be right up there with Lonesome Dove. The Texicans, my epic saga of Texas, involved two years of research and a year of writing, editing, and more editing. It was certain to be the next Great American Novel. After two more years of plastering my bathroom wall with rejection notices, I self-published it. In hardback! Of course with no real publisher, no agent, nada, the marketing opportunities and distribution for The Texicans was non-existent, and I soon ran out of relatives and friends willing to shell out twenty-two bucks for my masterpiece.

Selling by hand was the only option, one that sent me lugging books to everything from goat-ropings to craft shows, but selling an expensive hardback (even this gold-embossed first edition!) proved difficult, so I reduced the price. Okay, I slashed the price just to break even. I still have several boxes of this treasure in case any of you want to latch on to one before it wins that Pulitzer Prize.

Then, a break! Books in Motion, an audio book outfit that rented to travelers, using truck stops and restaurants as a venue, recorded The Texicans. Fame was now surely in the offing when some Hollywood producer listened to my book while tooling down Interstate 5; I was, after all, written up in Truckers Weekly. I considered hanging out near those wire display cases in said truck stops, hawking my wares, until someone suggested I might face jail time for solicitation.

Never one to cave in the face of abject failure, I kept on writing, landed a small publisher, wrote more. And then, just when my publisher and I parted ways, (drum roll here!) Amazon launched Kindle Direct Publishing, and I actually began selling a few books. But the real kicker-in-the-book butt was getting accepted by BookBub for promoting, and a year and a half later, my books tickle Amazon’s bestseller lists. The Texicans is not one of them, but hope springs infernal.

Is there a message of hope here for fellow writers who are clinging onto the Ground Hog Day Roller Coaster of this self-publishing bidness? Yep! Keep plugging, rewrite your books over and over, then edit a bunch, get new covers, and prepare to work several hours a day marketing and schmoozing. It ain’t easy, but with enough hard work (and KDP and BookBub) you can earn a living.

BY THE NUMBERS
Late 2011: Enrolled in Kindle Direct Publishing

Summer 2012: Finally got my books enrolled in KDP Select and had my first FREE giveaway. Gave away a total of 70,000 books, sold 5,000. Keep in mind, these are 70,000 readers who probably never heard of me or my books.

2013 August: My first BB Free Promo. Gave away 50,000 books on that one, then did three more. Total books given away: 160,000

2014: Nine BookBub campaigns for freebies, 1 BB for a .99 deal with Kindle Countdown. Gave away another half-million books, made several best seller lists, and earned a ranking of 121 in overall Amazon sales.

Oh, yes, BookBub and Amazon been berry, berry good to me.

But why and how? In a word: Series.

My Hetta Coffey series, all six of them, are the key; I offer a free book through Amazon and pay for BookBub, and sign up for every other promo site (free and paid) I can find. Yes, I spend around five hundred dollars for each promo, but sell-throughs of my other books in the series are paying for them before noon on the first day. And, giving away over 600,000 books in three years has introduced me (and my character, Hetta Coffey) to scads of new readers world-wide.

As a result, I have a following of fabulous readers who send me emails letting me know how well (or not!) I’m doing. I am forever grateful to them for giving me the best publicity a writer can get: word of mouth. Am I getting filthy rich? Nope. But each year gets better, I make new friends all over the planet (and a few I’m not really sure live on this particular one), and they encourage me to write faster. A win-win, in my book.

As for promoting, I have hitched my wagon to the Amazon/BookBub method of introducing my books to readers, and have incorporated a dozen other promo sites touted by fellow authors. Will this mode of marketing eventually head for a bar ditch? Some say yes. Many authors are very unhappy with the new Kindle Unlimited program that only pays us around a buck forty a book—great for those with .99 cent books, but for the rest of us has to make up the diff in pure volume.

So, for now, I for one will ride this train using my personal three V’s: Volume, Visibility, and Velveeta. If the first two fail, I keep a stash of the third.

EXCERPT FROM JUST ADD SALT: BOOK 2 of the Hetta Coffey Mystery Series.

Ten minutes later Jan stormed the boat. Before I could open my mouth, she held up her hand to stop me. “Hetta, if you are going to tell me you want to go to Mexico without the Jenkins men, do not waste your breath.”
“Just one word?”
She gave me a dubious nod.
“Professional captain.”
“That’s two words, but what do you mean?”
“How about if I hire a sure-enough United States Coast Guard certified delivery captain to take Raymond Johnson to Mexico? We can stop off along the coast, make a little dough, then on to Cabo. When we’re ready to come back, Jenks and Lars should bfi finished in Kuwait.” That last bit was a stretch, but I thought it sounded good.
“We can’t afford a captain. I think. What does one cost?”
“Not to worry, dear, for we have a benefactor. I signed a contract with Tanuki today, one which will prove very lucrative for us. All we have to do is stop off in someplace called Magdalena Bay in the Baja, do a little grunt work for a couple of weeks, then head for Mariachiville.”
“Tanuki? They hate you. And what do you mean by ‘us’?”
“I told them I needed an assistant. You are, as of now, a marine biologist specializing in gray whales. Pull your credentials together, I need to fax them ASAP.”
“Hetta, I am an accountant, with a degree in math and a masters in accounting. I don’t know a whale from a goldfish. The closest I’ve been to a whale is when you conned me into that whale watching trip off Monterey. Getting so close to those overgrown guppies scared the crap out of me. I don’t have any credentials.”
“Details, details. Truth is, we don’t really require a marine biologist because I can get just about all the info I need from the Internet. And, when I called Dr. Craigosaurus to ask him about whales, he put me in touch with a real marine biologist he went to vet school with: Doctor Brigido Comacho Yee, a Mexican naturalist who works out of Scammon’s Lagoon, which is supposed to be whale central.”
“A Mexican named Yee? Vet school? Marine biologists go to vet school?”
I shrugged. “Guess he got a double degree or something. Maybe he does whale surgery. Who knows? Anyhow, Yee will supply us with what we need: his curriculum vitae, which we will use to make your CV. Cool, huh?”
“Illegal, huh?”
“Oh, I don’t think anyone at Tanuki is going to be in a position to be very picky about legalities. Hell, it’s a bootleg project. That’s why they’re giving us the big bucks. Big bucks enough to hire a captain. What do you think?”
“I think we’re headed for a Mexican jail.”
“Oh, pish. Trust me, everything will be fine. Are you in?”
Jan frowned, then shrugged. “Only because I know you’ll go without me.”
“Atta girl. Now, let’s get to work. Gimme that Sea Magazine and let’s find us a bona fide captain.”
After twenty minutes of leafing through boating magazines, I had a list of candidates. I dialed a Southern California number and asked, “Hi, is this Captain Bob?” when a deep voice answered on the second ring.
“That’s me.”
“Uh, can you give me some idea of what it would cost to get a forty-five foot power boat from San Diego to Cabo, with a three to four week layover in Magdalena Bay?” Jan started jumping up and down and giving me dirty looks. “Make that San Francisco to Cabo.”
“What’s the boat maker and year?’
I told him.
“Nice boat. Did you say a four week layover in Mag Bay?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I get three dollars a mile, fifty a day, all expenses paid. Owner buys all fuel and that kind of stuff. I require a week on the boat before departure to check it out.”
I did a quick calculation. It was over fourteen hundred miles to Cabo, and I’d need this guy at least six weeks, at fifty a day. “That’s over six grand,” I squeaked.
“Close. Plus airfare to San Francisco, then back from Cabo. Will the owner be on board?”
“Yes.”
“Add a thou.”
“Hey, you don’t even know me.”
He chuckled. “Just policy. So, you the owner?”
“Uh-huh,” I warily told him. Maybe female owners got charged double.
“How many on board?”
“Just me and my girlfriend.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he quipped, “Honeymoon?”
I slammed the phone shut.
“What happened?” Jan asked.
“Smartass. He thinks we’re a couple.”
“A couple of what?”
“Lesbians.”
Jan broke out laughing. “What do you care? Call the man back, tell him you were cut off. You don’t have to hire him, just pump him for information.”
I hit redial. “Uh, Captain Bob? Sorry, my batteries were low. Where were we?”
“I was about to ask you when you had to be in Mag Bay?”
“Let me see,” I said, pulling out my calendar, “October 5th?”
“You want to get down there that early, you got two problems: time and weather.”
“I know it’s a bit early, but I pulled up an historical website on hurricanes. Magdalena Bay hasn’t really had a bad hit in October since the ‘fifties.”
“Then she’s due. Good luck on finding a captain that’ll leave that early, then hang out and wait for trouble.” Dial tone.

Bio

Jinx has written nine books, including the award-winning Hetta Coffey series. Hetta is a sassy Texan with a snazzy yacht, and she’s not afraid to use it! So’s Jinx.

Raised in the jungles of Haiti and Thailand, with returns to Texas in-between, Jinx followed her father’s steel-toed footsteps into the Construction and Engineering industry in hopes of building dams. Finding all the good rivers taken, she traveled the world defacing other landscapes with mega-projects in Alaska, Japan, New Zealand, Puerto Rico and Mexico.

Like the protagonist in her series, Jinx was single, with a yacht, when she met her husband, Robert “Mad Dog: Schwartz. They opted to become cash-poor cruisers rather than continue racing the rat, sailed under the Golden Gate Bridge, turned left, and headed for Mexico. They now divide their time between Arizona, San Diego and Mexico’s Sea of Cortez.

Currently I’m working on a series called Lipstick and Lead set in the late 1800s. It’s about three sisters who are bounty hunters, which is very unusual for women of the west. In fact, I could not find any actual bounty hunters that were women. But my girls father made a living bounty hunting and because they don’t want to become saloon hussies they have taken up the profession after several mistrials at other occupations.

But what about lipstick. When did lipstick become available to women of the west? Ancient Mesopotamian women were possibly the inventors of lipstick. They used crushed jewels to put color on their lips and around their eyes. Then Egyptian women used a dye from seaweed on their mouths to give color, but the stain from the seaweed made them very ill. It’s written that Cleopatra, crushed carmine beetles and ants and used the liquid on her lips. Gives new meaning to the word beetle juice.

During the 16^th century, Queen Elizabeth 1, popularized the look of blackened lips, by using beeswax and plant derived red dyes. But by the time Queen Victoria took the throne, makeup was once again taboo. Only low class women and prostitutes used the dyes on their lips and the  Catholic Church connected the use of cosmetics to worshipping the devil.

During the 19^th century lipstick was colored with carmine dye, which is produced by tiny Cochineal scale insects native to Mexico and Central America. The insects produce carminic acid, which when you mix it with aluminum or calcium salts it makes carmine dye. It’s like what Cleopatra first used.

During that time period lipstick came in a small pot and was applied with a brush to both your cheeks and lips. The look of carmine was considered unnatural and theatrical, so lipstick was frowned upon. Your normal everyday pioneer woman did not wear lipstick, or she would have been considered a scandalous loose sage hen. Only women on the stage or saloon girls, normally wore the lipstick on both their lips and their cheeks.

In the late 1890s, an oil and wax base was added to the dye giving lipstick a more natural appearance. By this time some women were wearing it at home. Sears Roebuck offered rouge for lips and cheeks in their catalog for the first time in the 1890s.

In Desperate, my western historical novella, the oldest sister, Meg starts using lipstick because it’s the only thing that makes her feel pretty. She dresses like a man, rides a horse like a man, takes care of the family and well…she needed something to make her feel like a girly-girl. So Lipstick and Lead was born, and my pioneer woman is now a trendsetter before her time.

Badass, bounty hunter, wearing lipstick to get her man.

Here is an excerpt from my current Lipstick and Lead book – Dangerous.

Slap her silly, but she was done! Annabelle McKenzie strode down the wooden sidewalk on her way to the bank. Done with raising chickens, feeding cows and goats, and shoveling manure. She wanted to go with her sisters to hunt for bad men. She wanted to be a bounty hunter.

Deep in thought about how she would explain to her sisters how she craved adventure and longed for excitement, she rounded the corner to enter the bank and slammed into the hard chest muscles of a large dark-haired man. The scent of soap and campfire spiraled straight to her center.

This was a manly man, and Lord knew, they were scarce in Zenith, Texas. Where had this specimen come from?

His hat was pulled low over his face, and he grabbed her by the arms, halting her progress. Her head fit just below his chin. She looked up at his strong, rugged jaw and serious face.

Long black lashes blinked over emerald eyes as he gripped her arms. “Slow down,” he said in a deep husky drawl. He kept his head down, barely looking at her. “There’s still plenty of cash left in the bank.”

What a condescending, egotistical, handsome renegade. Not an “I’m sorry” or “Excuse me”, but rather a crass remark about the money in the bank. “Maybe you should watch where you’re going.”

She tilted her head and stared into his handsome rugged features. There was something about him that seemed familiar, yet she couldn’t place him. Somewhere she’d seen his face. She gazed at him. “You’re tall enough you should be able to see a woman coming.”

He nodded, and she gawked at the way his shirt fit his strong shoulders and muscled arms. His lips were full and tempting, made for kissing.

“You’re right, ma’am. I should see a small package like you, barreling around a blind corner. Maybe I need to replace my spectacles with a pair that can see through walls,” he said, releasing her arms.

“Maybe you do.” The oversized giant was smarting off to her; he wasn’t wearing spectacles.

Where had she seen him before? “What’s your name?”

A sly smile turned up the corners of his full, luscious lips. “Why? You plan on having me arrested for running into you?”

The man had an ornery mouth, and she was just the woman to give it right back.

“Maybe,” she said. “I know the sheriff well. It would serve you right for being belligerent and disrespectful.”

He smiled a wickedly sly grin that sent tingles through her. “You have a really nice day.”

His voice was dripping with sweet sarcasm that made her feel like she’d eaten too many cookies. Tipping his black hat at her, he sauntered out the door.

Like a kick from a bull, it hit her.

His face was on one of the wanted posters she had out in her saddlebags.

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Lipstick and Lead Series

Desperate

Deadly

Dangerous — February 13, 2015

Daring – April 2015

Determined – June 2015

Deceived—September 2015