Life out from under the covers (of a book, that is):

It’s good to come up for air once in awhile!  All work and we know what happens to Jack.  I try not to let my “real” life and my writer’s life encroach on one another.  There’s a line.  But when I’m trying to finish a book in the month of May, that line gets downright fuzzy!
For example, civic duty- something I take seriously.  If you live in a community, you should be an active part of that community – give back when you can.  I’m a big supporter of non-profits especially when they raise money to further the education of young adults.  Of consequence, I belong to the University Women of Flagler, a local group that fundraises to provide scholarships for young women graduating high school and entering college.  I think I wrote about our fundraiser this year – bringing Craig Johnson of Longmire fame to Palm Coast?

So, May is the month we interview possible scholarship recipients and give our money away.  In the last two years we’ve awarded almost  forty thousand dollars to a very bright, talented, group of young women.  It’s a lot of extra work (we had 29 applicants this year that narrowed down to 14 to interview and then decided upon 5 recipients). And I find myself needing to juggle writing vs. being on the scholarship committee.  I know what you’re thinking, but saying No is not an option.

I’m happy to say that this May I’ve survived – I’ve managed to finish a “rough” version of my next Ben Pecos novel, Under A Mulberry Moon, AND, as of yesterday, to hand out  five scholarships! Whew! Back to getting between those covers!

Oh yes, if you’re curious about Mulberry, here’s an excerpt. I’m liking this book (can you forgive me saying that?), but
I’m bringing Ben and Julie to Florida and enjoying introducing them to my new home….

  . . . She heard the nervous giggles before she looked up. Or maybe she heard a click, she couldn’t say for certain. What she did remember was staring at the revolver as it came toward her—at the barrel before it came to rest against her temple. There was a confused moment of “Where am I?” Her brain refused to register the situation. But a chorus of “Miss Beltzer, help me, me first” echoed in her ears. She had to calm her nerves—this was a third grade classroom. She was the teacher and she acted accordingly. “Put the gun down, Toby.” She kept her voice just above a whisper and didn’t try to get up from her kneeling position beside the low table. She was helping the group of boys with math, nothing more, nothing less—she didn’t want to put others in danger. . .


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