Let's see what happens with this post, considering it's THREE YEARS since I last blogged and because in the interim Blogger has changed - updated as they call it in the techie world which means...never mind, we all know what it means. Now for the reasons I've started blogging again.
Recently I've read some really interesting blog posts from around the world. I'd have to say that when I stopped blogging three years back, the posts from all over were getting blander and blander and more and more repetitive. Because I'm a writer I followed lots of other writers' blogs but they all yelled "buy my book!" I wanted something more...something interesting.
Of late, though, I've seen some great stuff such as Ann Montgmery's blog - what an interesting life she's led - and Sloane Taylor's segue from hot contemporary romance author to hot cookery author. (Some like it hot). And I thought, "Maybe it's not so bad out there in the ether. Let's try again, Vonnie." I also noticed that the smart-think business blogs have not spruced themselves up much lately. Covid? Would have thought that our communication skills would have sharpened. Guess we're all just sick of navel-gazing.
So here I am, older than Methuselah, tapping away in la-la land once more disagreeing madly with the inspiration/perspiration rule.
And if you've actually got to the bottom of this uninspiring post, have a look at a couple of my books. I still write in two main genres, suspense and Regency adventure. Cheers!
HOMECOMING: Both of them are
scarred by war; she because of the shattered men she nurses; he because of the
loss of friends and the horrors he must endure daily.
Colwyn Hetherington has a chance to put it all behind him and return to England. Juliana Colebrook desperately wants to go to England to seek out her relatives. They take an almighty chance and travel together, setting in train a series of events that neither could have anticipated.
LETHAL REFUGE: Inching along the wall, Célie reached the window. She held on to the door jamb, a little island of security in a sea of fear. Then she stretched across and peered out. A featureless face stared back at her.
She screamed and jumped back, bashing her elbow on the laundry tub.
Peaches lumbered to his feet, shaky and confused.
The face was still there. No eyes. No mouth. No nose.
Peaches staggered over to the door and snuffled.
Mesmerized, Célie kept staring at that distorted face as she backed into a corner.
Then the face moved and a hand spread across the glass. The forefinger and thumb rubbed together.
Flashes of memory seared her mind.
She gasped, remembering that fearful morning when she’d discovered poor Occy’s disemboweled body. Stunned, struggling not to vomit, she’d been hovering over what was left of Occy when she sensed she was being watched. For a few precious seconds she had stared back at the creepy figure silhouetted in the early morning gloom watching her—just watching her.
Then he’d rubbed his thumb and forefinger together covetously, as if he were contemplating the best way to eat her alive.
And she’d bolted.
And done her best to bury those memories.
Whoever that monster had been, he was outside the window right now.
And now I've done what I complained about that so many other authors have done - spruiked some of my books. But look at it this way - at my age I surely can't write many more books?
Have a great Spring/Autumn (Fall).