Question

Hey, y'all, need a quick favor.

I'm trying to pull together a sampling of my work. If you've read one of my titles, what scenes would you, the reader, include in that sampling? You know, the scenes that are "evocative" of a Linda Winfree read.

Feel free to leave ideas in the comments section or you can email me at linda_winfree @ yahoo.com (no spaces).

Um, please feel free to leave ideas in the comments section, LOL.

What?!

It's THIRTY-THREE degrees outside.

It's MARCH!

Geez Louise.

Yet Another Weirdness

My students tell me all the time how weird I am. I usually shrug, agree, move on with teaching.

I've discovered yet another weirdness in my personality: I don't celebrate.

Over at writeminded, Sharon is blogging about celebratory traditions. I know Carol has a bottle of bubbly stashed in the event her requested H/S manuscript sells. Mary blogged about all the things she did to celebrate the release of her first book. Elisabeth and her DH went to dinner to celebrate her recent three-book deal.

Okay, here's my weirdness. I didn't celebrate selling my first book. Or my second. Or my . . . you get the picture. I haven't celebrated book releases. I was chosen STAR teacher at school. You guessed it -- no celebration. Birthday and wedding anniverary in February? No celebrating.

I do things for my Monsters on their birthdays. The DH gets some kind of celebration around his (birthdays were a big deal in his family). But I am not a celebrator (its that a word?).

Yes, I'm weird. What's your weirdness?

Covert Art Goodness

It's official!

I have been dying to share this cover. It's for my June release, Memories of Us.

All I have to say, other than Anne Cain is a goddess, is yuuuuuuum!

Link: http://www.samhainpublishing.com/coming/memories-of-us

Wondering over Breakfast

Just how do they make Poptarts, anyway?

Now that there are whole grain Poptarts, I can have childhood nostalgia for breakfast and not feel guilty about it.

Oh, man, that sounded like one of those cheesy advertisement voices from Feed.

Hauntings

I spend the first few minutes of first period each morning talking with my seniors. The subject varies daily, from the DH buying the truck with the huge NAPA hat on it to their college visits and anything and everything else under the sun.

As I dedicated Anything But Mine to them, I've been sharing with them it's daily placement on the MBAM Top 1o list (it's been there a week, I think, moving from nine to eight to seven to six, back to nine now back to seven). One of my favorite students is a voracious reader and she always has "author" questions for me whenever we're talking books or writing.

This morning, she asked if I was jealous of other writers or felt like I was inferior to them. Wow, that's a tough question and it was an eerie echo of a conversation I had with Joan last night.

Am I jealous of other writers? Honestly, no. That's like being jealous of another teacher. Oh, I envy Gabe his ability to make his classes engaging and interesting on a daily basis (he uses the neatest techniques I have ever seen). I used to envy my friend Pam's ability to be such a consistent classroom manager. I envy Lucy Monroe her ability to write gorgeous Harlequin Presents (man, I wish I could write those!). I envy Fitzgerald's ability to twist words around descriptions. But I'm not jealous. That's a destructive emotion. A pointless one.

Inferior? Oh, boy. Hell, yes. As a writer, I am inferior to Fitzgerald or King or any number of authors. Fact of life, baby, just like one tennis player can be inferior to another. So, yeah, some days I really feel that inferiority more than others.

Mine and Joan's conversation centered around that sucky, nebulous feeling of "not enough." I hate that because it's hard to pin down (like one of those EVP's on Ghost Hunters). Instead it's this hazy little thought that hangs around whispering, "This book? This idea? Not enough." Or "Not ___ enough."

Fill in the blanks with the appropriate adjective. ;-)

However, feeling the "not enough" and letting it cripple me as a writer? Two completely, totally different things.

Gee, can't wait to see what tomorrow's conversation holds . . .

Progress Report

I survived! Edits turned in on MOU, print galleys turned in for HOL, graduate paper subbed on time, report card grades imported.

So now I'm polishing up A Life Unlived. I have an agent request on it (actually, two requests, although I'm considering not sending to one agent for varying reasons) and I kinda/sorta promised Maya Banks (under duress) that I'd get it out this week.

We will not discuss the number of rejections the poor book is garnering. Or rather, the number of rejections my query letter is getting. At least I've gotten to the point where I can differentiate between a rejection of my work and a rejection of me. Couple of years ago, it was all personal. Now? Not so much. And that's a good thing.

I've seen the preliminary cover art for MOU. It is gorgeous and I cannot wait to show it off. Soon, I hope.

Well, I'm headed back to line edit. Gotta keep Maya happy, LOL.

Buried But Digging

Grades are done!

Working on edits on MOU.

Over 1/3 of the way through print galleys on HOL.

Should have the final installment of Forever with You up at the yahoo group in the next day or so. I, um, somehow managed to mess up the file.

What are you up to?

ANYTHING BUT MINE Now Available!

Will her need to do the right thing cost them everything?

Anything But Mine by Linda Winfree
Book Four of the Hearts of the South series.

Public Defender Autry Holton is in a "shunned if she does, disbarred if she doesn't" position—honor-bound to defend an accused serial killer. To complicate matters, she’s pregnant and hasn’t told the father about a baby she’s sure he won’t want.

Sheriff Stanton Reed never believed he was the right man for Autry. He’s already raised one family and suffered a failed marriage. When an attempted break-in at Autry’s home highlights the real danger she faces, at first all he can think of is protecting her. Before long, all he can focus on is how much he loves her and wants her back in his life.

But just as Autry dares to hope there’s a future for them, an act of home-grown terrorism shatters her trust—and threatens their lives.

***

This had to stop.

Autry put her lotion away and wrapped a towel around her body. Irritation and unfulfilled desire had her nerves jumping and the worst part was she had herself to blame even more than Stanton. Sure, he was clueless about other people’s emotions, let alone his own. She’d known that going in. Now suddenly, she wanted him to change into Mr. Perfectly-in-touch-with-his-feelings? So being pregnant had made her emotional and now completely irrational. Instead of sitting around whining about how blind he was, maybe she needed to show him where to go.

He’d asked for more time. That had to mean something.

They were having a baby together. She wanted to forge a relationship with him. He said the same thing.

What was she accomplishing by holding him away?

Sleeping in the spare room wasn’t getting her any closer to him, wasn’t in any way binding him to her.

So what are you going to do?

Taking a deep breath, she knotted the towel at her breasts. Before her spurt of courage and resolution could desert her, she marched into the bedroom and gathered her things. Her hands full, she slipped down the hall to Stanton’s bedroom. The door stood slightly ajar and the fresh smell of his soap hung in the air.

Her stomach turning slow rolls, she nudged the door open with her knee. The bedside lamp shed soft light in the room. Stanton lay on the bed, arms under his head, clad only in his khaki slacks. At her entrance, he glanced her way, his eyes dark and shuttered.

Her simmering level of irritation, with him and herself, flashed into anger. She tossed her overnight bag on the floor. “Just tell me one thing. What the hell is your problem?”

Surprise flared on his face and he levered up to lean on his elbows. “Which problem are we talking about?”

“What do you really want? Is this all about the baby and your so-called duty? Or do you want me at all?”

He moved to a sitting position, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. He kept his gaze trained on hers. “Of course I want you.”

She clutched the knot between her breasts. “If there were no baby, would we be together?”

He opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed hard enough his Adam’s apple bobbed. “I don’t know.”

Irrationally hurt, she laughed. “What am I saying? The only reason we’re together now is because I got pregnant.”

“Autry…”

“It doesn’t really matter how much time I give you.” How could this hurt so much? “Nothing changes the fact that you didn’t really want me.”

His head jerked up. “That’s not true.”

“You dumped me. If that doesn’t say ‘I don’t want you’, I don’t know what does.” Why was she doing this? Hell, why was she even here? What she should do was march back to her room, get dressed and demand he take her to her parents’ house.

Shaking her head, she spun and stalked to the door.

“I was afraid, all right?” The words emerged in a near-hiss, as though he pushed them out between clenched teeth. “What I felt for you scared the hell out of me, and I got as far away as fast as I could. Happy now?”

“Afraid.” She couldn’t quite catch her breath, couldn’t quite believe what he was saying. Holding her breath, she turned.

“Yeah.” He ran both hands through his hair, leaving the short brown strands disheveled.

“Why?” she whispered, still clutching at her towel.

He shook his head. “I’d already failed with Renee, hell, to the point she had an affair. I was scared of screwing everything up with you too, and it just seemed easier to get out, let you find somebody who could be what you needed.”

Renee had cheated on him? He’d never revealed that before, and as badly as she wanted to explore that, see how it related to their relationship, she needed more to make him understand what was most important.

She took a step forward. “I needed you.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m a real prize. An emotionally unavailable ass, as Renee says.”

Unavailable? She wouldn’t say that. Reserved, yes, until she’d managed to get under the layers of professionalism and seriousness. Then she’d glimpsed the real man underneath—honest, compassionate, intuitive, blessed with a wry sense of humor.

She took another step toward him. “I think I’d say more confused than unavailable. Whenever I’ve needed you, you’ve always been there.”

“Autry, you don’t get it.” The words were rough, torn from him. “If I failed again and lost you…”

She closed her eyes, his words thrumming through her. He did care; there was hope. She simply had to reach out and take it, show him the way. They could have so much more than she’d dared dream. If only one of them took the first step.

Opening her eyes, she caught his ravenous gaze. Those eyes whispered of starvation, of a wanting that went far beyond the physical.

She reached for the knot and let the towel fall to the floor.

Link to book: http://www.samhainpublishing.com/romance/anything-but-mine

***

What did Mrs. Giggles say in her review of Anything But Mine? Find out.

Well . . .

I was going to rant about how I don't watch American Idol and therefore don't really like to read recaps on author blogs, but some of my friends do them and, you know, that might be a tad rude.

So then I was going to blog about my new roof, which we just finished today. But, I thought, that might be a tad on the boring side.

I could post an excerpt from Anything But Mine but you know, I'm going to be posting those for the release date . . . TOMORROW!

I could tell you how I've been sick and my Monsters have had the flu.

How behind I am on grading. (Did I mention my grades are due tomorrow?!)

Or . . .

I could . . .

Tell you the absolutely true, completely traumatic story of how the lovely and gracious and talented Maya Banks threatened to kill me!

She did. For real. Earlier in the evening. I have the email as proof. And there might have been some cursing going on in there, some of that language, I -- as a good and prudish English teacher (Hey, seniors, stop snorting! I am your STAR teacher; therefore, I do not curse. Much. And only when I write. Or when I'm working on a the roof.) -- would never use. And since I'm fairly certain she doesnt't live anywhere near me, I can say . . . bring it on, baby!

I would start a huge blog kerfluffle and maybe even bring out the rabid fangirls . . . but I think she might have more than me.

I'm going to grade papers now.

Stuff

I think Monster #2 has the flu. Headache, sore throat, cough, fever, body aches. We saw the pediatrician on Friday and they did a flu swab. Said they'd call if it was positive. No call, but the kid sure has flu symptoms.

I'm in the first round of edits on MOU and I get to within 20 pages of the book's end and realize, "Oh, my God, I have a plot hole." Not a small, pinprick hole. One of those you could drive a truck through.

So . . . I'm rewriting the end of my book.

Great.

What are you up to?