News!!!

Posted on October 5, 2016October 4, 2016 by Alyssa Alexander

Me, trying to show you I’m excited. Scatter-Cat got in the way.

I’m pleased as punch to report you’ll be able to read the remaining two books in the Spy In The Ton series! Last week Entangled Historical Select bought both manuscripts. (Squeal!) You will soon find Maximilian and Vivienne’s story (Book #3) available on your e-reader of choice, and not long after that, Jones and Cat’s story (Book #4). Both books will also be available as print-on-demand, should that be your reading preference.

Seriously, my lovelies, I cannot wait to share them with you. Maximilian and Vivienne are very dear to my heart, and as I write Jones and Cat’s story (working on them now!) I’m falling in love with Jones all over again and getting to know Cat.

You can meet Vivienne, Maximilian and Jones in IN BED WITH A SPY, and you might be seeing Julian, Grace and Lilias again as well, so do be sure to reread THE SMUGGLER WORE SILK for a little brush up on their history.

I’ll post more on release dates as soon as I know. In the meantime, be happy, laugh much and read well!

The Smuggler Wore Silk

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He went looking for a traitor. He found a wife.

After he is betrayed by one of his own, British spy Julian Travers, Earl of Langford, refuses to retire without a fight, vowing to find the traitor. But when the trail leads to his childhood home, Julian is forced to return to a place he swore he’d never see again, and meet a woman who may be his quarry—in more ways than one.

Though she may appear a poor young woman dependent on charity, Grace Hannah’s private life is far more interesting. By night, she finds friendship and freedom as a member of a smuggling ring. But when the handsome Julian arrives, she finds her façade slipping, and she is soon compromised, as well as intrigued.

As she and Julian continue the hunt, Grace finds herself falling in love with the man behind the spy. Yet Julian’s past holds a dark secret. And when he must make a choice between love and espionage, that secret may tear them apart.

In Bed With A Spy

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Revenge has never been so seductive.

When her husband is killed at Waterloo, Lilias Fairchild takes up his cavalry sword and boldly storms the front, earning herself the nickname Angel of Vengeance. But there is another angel on the battlefield who is just as single-minded, and just as ruthless…

Alistair Whitmore, the Marquess of Angelstone, is a British spy. Code name: Angel. Still haunted by a first love felled by assassins, his mission draws him to Waterloo, where he is captivated by a beautiful and mysterious woman fighting amongst the men—a woman who becomes his most intoxicating memory of war.

Passion has never been so dangerous.

Two years later, Lilias and Angelstone lock eyes in a crowded ballroom and the memory returns in an exhilarating rush. The history they share, and hide from the world, is as impossible to ignore as the heat of their attraction. But it’s that very connection that spells doom for their scandalous affair. When someone from the shadows of their past proves a dire threat to their lives, passion might not be enough to save them.

Adventures: There are some that make me cry

Posted on August 22, 2016August 21, 2016 by Alyssa Alexander

Remember that trip to Europe? It wasn’t all fun and games. I laughed at myself, cried a bit, got in trouble with security guards, got lost—and was overwhelmed to the point of tears.

For those of us in the US who—like me—have never traveled beyond our own country (not including a couple of vacations in Caribbean resorts, which totally don’t count), you cannot possibly imagine the sheer enormity of standing in a spot others stood on 2,000 years ago. More, even. You can’t imagine what it is like to walk on the stone floor of a church that is 1,000 years old. How many other feet have touched those stones? Kings, princes, paupers, lepers. The Bubonic plague, the cholera epidemic. Wars, famine, the Middle Ages. THE MIDDLE AGES. Like, with swords and knights and fealty. Death, starvation, persecution.

All and more have happened in churches of every religion in every part of the world. It is simply that, for me, no church in my own country has existed more than 400-500 years. And those that did—Native American structures—are not plentiful.

So. This post is not about religion. I don’t care what religion anyone is, and any comment that strikes me as bigotry will be deleted.

What this post is about is history. Tradition. Connection. It’s sitting in silence beneath soaring stone ceilings, knowing that you are sitting in the same place another woman sat a thousand years ago. A woman who lived, died, bore children. Who made her own soap, slaughtered her own feed. One who probably buried one or more children, and possibly one or more husbands. A woman who got up at dawn to feed the fire and mended her children’s clothes by the light of a candle late at night. A woman who didn’t have aspirin or band-aids, skinny jeans or margaritas. (Because let’s get real about the important things in life.)

I left the V&A Museum on my first day in London, passed by a beautiful church with a gate standing open. Beyond that were heavy, carved, wooden doors.

I went in.

And I cried, sitting there in the silence of the church, basking in a single ray of light through a stained glass window while I contemplated an altar made of gilt and gold and marble.

Brampton Oratory
Wikipedia Commons – Public Domain
Credit: dcaster

April 14, 2016
4:30ish
The Oratory

I’m sitting in almost utter silence.

I’m in the Oratory, in a ray of light.

The only ray of light.

To my right is the most stunning depiction of Mary & Christ. Gilt and gold, marble and huge and carved. I have never seen anything like it. I cannot take a photo [per the rules]—but even if I could, I’m not sure I would. It’s somehow too beautiful to be photographed. It shall have to stay in my memory.

There are others wandering here, all quiet. It is like every one of us is holding our breath.

A man just bought a candle, using another to light it. He is praying, as so many thousands have done before. And so many have died for that right. So many have died because of it.

Yet, as I sit here in my sunlight, watching it fade away, I cannot help but think about all the souls that have walked these floors, breathed this air, felt this silence.

There is something peaceful and precious in these walls, whatever religion it is.

Tradition. Love. Respect. History. Whatever else might be part of religion, there are also those four things.

The ceilings here simply soar, domed, high, painted and mosaicked. There is a loveliness that defies the imagination—and a beauty as well, that shocks the soul and draws it in. The corners with saints to pray to, for confessions, for quiet reflection. Each is as interesting and detailed as the last. The memorial to fallen soldiers 1914-1919 features a pieta-type statue that holds so much sadness—and yet grace and peace. I hope those soldiers found grace and peace.

—

Peace and reflection can only happen in certain places, when the soul is open and ready for it. I was ready for it, as I was again a few days later on Hampstead Heath. (A later post, my dears).

When you travel somewhere alone, somewhere unknown and without friends, you are so much more open to new experiences and new feelings than you are at home while in the familiar. I sat in the church for a half hour, doing nothing but looking. Respecting. Feeling. I can understand the magnitude of faith, of dying for faith. I can almost hear the voices of the thousands of people who have sat there before me. Of those that have come before. Of those that have gone before me.

Almost as if they were still there.

—

I’ve stepped outside now into noise and bustle again. Cars, people, buses—so much life.

Yet I find myself wanting to step back inside and think about those I’ve lost.

May all of you find peace and grace.

Adventures: An Afternoon At The Museum

Posted on July 8, 2016July 6, 2016 by Alyssa Alexander

Adventures of an Author in Europe: If you haven’t read the beginning of my adventures, you can start here.

After my little foray into Hyde Park, and going around and around the same roundabout a few times, I finally got to the Victoria & Albert Museum. Of course, as per usual, I was very loud when I walked in. Why? Because as security was checking my bag for explosives (Europe was on high alert after Brussels) I was looking around for the ticket counter.

Me: Where do I buy a ticket?
Security: There are no tickets.
Me: [very loudly] You mean, it’s free? I can just come in and wander around for as long as I want?
Security: Yeah. Don’t get lost.
Me: [even louder] Oh, this is going to be GREAT.

And just imagine my squeal of delight when the very first room I see is the historical fashion display.

Oh, oh, oh, it was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen—except maybe for the Three Centuries of French Fashion exhibit I saw a few days later in Paris. We’ll get to that. But first, the fashion.

I took pictures of Every. Single. Item. Far away shots. Close up shots. I looked at stitching on hems and gloves so closely I fogged the glass. I can’t possibly put every picture here or describe every item, but I have so much fodder for future historical clothing blog posts my heart goes pitter-pat just thinking about it.

STAYS!

And when I found the extant stays, I literally shouted “Stays!” and made the people around me laugh.

What makes me so excited? Certainly I can look at historical fashion books where the details are enlarged and I don’t have to fog the glass. The V&A also has a lot of images online, which I’ve used for research purposes in the past. I’ve seen some of these items already.

But it’s not the same. It’s just not. You can’t understand sizing, texture, color from a photograph. The people of the past really were smaller than us. I kept thinking the men were the same size I was, and some of the women’s gowns seemed impossibly small. And some impossibly large!

How the heck do you sit in that?

The shoes were much narrower than I expected. No way would my big ol’ wide feet get in them.

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The fans were exquisite in their detail, and I could just imagine a workman standing over them with a teeny-tiny paintbrush. My eyes hurt just thinking of it.

The other reason I love fashion exhibits like this—and why I like antiques in general—is because someone wore those clothing. They woke up one morning, put on their undergarments just like we do, then their outergarments, then their accessories. They lived their life, just like we do now. Just because their clothes and society were different doesn’t mean they didn’t laugh and love and cry. More, they came before. Who we are now is because of who they were then. Every day of my life is built on the days and lives of others no longer here, but who left a legacy.

And when I see those gowns and morning jackets and horrifically narrow shoes, I think of where they wore them, and what they did in them, and how their actions shaped my life. Maybe some statesman drafted a world-altering law while wearing that jacket. Maybe the woman carrying this parasol fought for women’s equality.

Or maybe they lived, married, bore children, touched the lives of others, and left a legacy in that way.

OK, so now that I have waxed poetic about historical figures, on to the marble statuary and jewelry sections!

IMG_20160414_122412 I took lots of pictures of the marble statues because I find it interesting to know what people looked like in the past (see me waxing poetic above). Put a face to the name, so to speak. And because marble is so white and pure, there is something both sad and beautiful about them, even when the faces are smiling.

Now, onward and upward! On the second floor of the V&A was a really cool room full of jewelry. The room was dark, with lights only on the jewelry so they sparkled in the cases. It was almost like walking into a night club—dim, dark floors, dark walls, with the flash and blink of lights here and there. Naturally, I start to take pictures, and what do I hear?

“Ma’am, no photography. Ma’am. MA’AM!”

I was busy photographing and didn’t hear him at first.

“MA’AM, there’s no photography!”

Oops. Turns out there was a really big sign next to me that said NO PHOTOGRAPHY.

So I apologized profusely, stumbled on my words, stumbled on my feet. And the security guard/porter—we shall call him Fred to protect his identity—came over to tell me about the display I was stupidly photographing. It was the Townsend Jewel Collection, which had once contained the Hope Diamond. [Fred the Porter thought it was interesting that the Americans got the Hope Diamond and Britain got the rest]. The jewels were arranged in a swirling circle, with the hardest jewels in the middle (diamonds) fading to the softest on the outside (opals, etc.). They were also stunningly beautiful! So wish I could have posted a picture, but I think the one I took might be slightly illegal.

Fred the Porter then showed me their computer system and how I can view all of the items in the jewelry collection online. (GO HERE AND DROOL) Then he filled my head with fact upon fact upon fact about stones. He was a font of information, and I was a willing listener. A few of those facts are in my journal entry below.

The conversation then briefly drifted to history, the discovery of the Americas, and a few other subjects I’ve forgotten now. It was fascinating to get the world view of a man so enamored of stones and gems. He was my first of many interesting conversationalists on the trip! And if you ever are so lucky as to go to the V&A and find Fred (which of course you can’t, because I changed his name), ask him to tell you about the stones. The V&A couldn’t have picked a more perfect person to guard them!

Obviously, I have no pictures of the jewelry except a couple of illegal ones I took before Fred the Porter stopped me and we had our lovely conversation. But I can tell you that aside from famous jewels, there were displays going as far back as Ancient Greece. There were lover’s eye brooches, French chatelaines, 1970’s bangles, gorgeous medieval girdles, tiaras worn by princesses, death rings—oh, how I wish I could have taken pictures!

But at least I know—thanks to Fred the Porter—that I can see these all online!

April 14, 2016 3:30 pm
Courtyard of the V&A

I have now been here 4 hours! I think I’ve seen everything now but the paying exhibits.

I’m sitting in the central courtyard at the little wading pool. There are perhaps ten children running and splashing and shrieking. I find myself wanting to join them, though I fancy the American would be taken up as crazy. [I took the pictures after the kids left to protect them.]

Since I left the fashion area, I’ve seen many marble statues and took pictures. Busts, statues in the classical style and a few funeral pieces that were at once a celebration of life and so very sad. The girl on the couch had the most lovely poem on the side of her statue.

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And the Finch family effigies, with father and mother, and the names of all twelve children was very interesting. It was commission when he died, but his died a decade later. What must it be like to look on your husband’s cold stone face every day?

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Then I found the jewelry. Oh. My. God. From Ancient Greece to 2000. I also got yelled at for taking pictures. Stupid American! But Fred and I spent a pleasant half hour discussing jewelry and history and the Americas and all sorts of things.

Notes from the jewelry collection:

The Townsend jewels; part of the Hope Collection.
The Londenderry jewels brought back from India
The green stones (chrysoprase?) that were for Charlotte’s wedding day
A rough cut green diamond – green from radiation a billion years ago
Death and love rings from the Middle ages
Girdles!
Chatelaines!
Tiaras from the 1800s
Steel that was intricate and black

Apparently much of the collection is online. Just need to find the jewelry page.

Also, Fred the Porter said that we are part of the earth, and all of the things inside stones—iron, magnesium, oxygen, radiation—they are all part of the earth as well. I would add they are all also part of the Universe, as are we.

Oh, and when tourmaline gets hot, it creates and electrical shock. They used to use them in Geiger counters!

After jewelry I looked at silver and gold stuff, mostly religious, but then I found the portrait gallery. I only spent about 15 minutes there, taking pictures of anything from my time period so that I can study hair and clothing. [That shall be a historical blog post for another day!]

Then I found the tapestries! My God, they were huge. 20 feet tall? 40 feet wide? More? They were from the 1500’s, mostly religious in nature. So intricately woven they were amazing. [Another post for another day—but these things were COOL].

Oh, and I bought a book about underwear. 🙂 All historical. 1500s to 2000 it seems. £10

Now I shall look at the architecture in the courtyard, watch the children, drink my water and figure out where to go next. The temperature is dropping and I’m starving. And tired as well. My poor feet! [Remember, I had walked Hyde Park that morning too!]

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There you go then. My Afternoon at the Museum.

But it wasn’t the end of my day. I made another stop that brought me to tears. You’ll have to wait for that one, though. (How’s that for a cliffhanger?)

Adventures: Lost in Hyde Park [It’s just a tad bit big]

Posted on June 17, 2016June 17, 2016 by Alyssa Alexander

Sunrise

I woke on Day 1, unable to believe I was actually in London. Pretty sure I squealed before I even got out of bed.

But I did get out of bed. Fast. I ate breakfast (more on that here) and then I headed off in the general direction of Hyde Park. I say general direction because I knew it was south of me and stretched a bazillion miles east and west across the city, so unless I got completely twisted around, there was no way I wouldn’t run into it.

And I did. Ran right into it. Unexpectedly, even, because I was busy checking out the “area” around each townhouse I passed. (For info on the area, I’ll post a bit about London townhouses someday. Stay tuned!)

IMG_20160414_091516 So I crossed Bayswater Road and smelled the entrance to Hyde Park before I realized where I was. That’s right, smelled it. Hyde Park is gated all the way around with little entrances here and there. I entered at the Westbourne Gate (I think), which was a little hilly path. On either side of the path were all sorts of blooming spring bulbs: tulips, daffodils, those spike-y ones I think are called hyacinths. And at the end of that path was A little brick lodge which (now that I am home and can look it up) is called the Buckhill Gate Lodge. I completely forgot to take a picture of the flowers because I was so stunned by the fact that I was entering Hyde Park! But I did get a picture once I crossed through, and if you look carefully to the right of the lodge you can see a few of the flowers.

At that point, I pretty much stopped breathing.

I could see the Serpentine.

The Italian Gardens.

Kensington Gardens weren’t far away.

Basically, I was standing right where my characters stood. Or rode, anyway, since when Lilias in In Bed With A Spy was in Hyde Park she was on a horse both times. [I don’t ride horses, btw, because I tried that once and was bruised for weeks.]

Also, now that I’ve been to Hyde Park, I’d probably write those scenes a bit different. Ah, live and learn, no?

Looking back, it’s just a park. Grass, buildings, flowers, tourists. It shouldn’t be as exciting as I thought it was. Yet for me the excitement was twofold–I was standing in the same spot my characters would have stood 200 years ago, and I finally get to see a place I’ve read about for years. I set off that morning ready to experience–not learn, but experience. Every scent of flowers or sun-warmed earth, the breeze in my hair, the weak sunshine on my face, the crunch of gravel under my very used tennis shoes, the unleashed dogs orderly jogging beside their owners and the construction workers who saw the park as a job rather than a feast of the mind and soul–all of these and more will be imprinted on my soul.

I wandered the park for hours, breathless, taking pictures of EVERYTHING and looking exactly like a stupid tourist. I didn’t care in the least! I photoed the Italian Gardens from every angle, went into a little Grecian-looking structure (turns out it’s called Queen Anne’s Alcove), and then I sat down to journal next to a huge stone statue of a guy I knew nothing about .

The guy named Jenner.

April 14, 2016 9:00 am

I’m sitting in frickin’ Hyde Park. I’m at the fountains at the head of the Serpentine River. Beside me is a stone gentleman by the name of Jenner. I don’t know who he is, but the snake on a stick medical thingy is on the side of his chair.

The bench I’m sitting on says:

For the love of the Park
Dany and Phillip Bandawil

I wonder who they were. Did they sit here often? Dream here?

On the north side of these fountains is a lovely stone building with a wrought iron fence on the roof. [The Alcove] How long has it been here?

It’s peaceful, with the water running in the fountains, the sounds of the city faded away. There are ducks and tourists, locals and construction workers. And the vague scent of fishy water.

Off to explore and find the museum.

The museum, by the way, was the Victoria & Albert Museum, which has a fantastic fashion and jewelry exhibit. That was supposed to be my destination that day. I did eventually make it, two and a half hours later. (!) In between, I…

Followed the Serpentine, got super excited about trees, found a closed museum, got distracted by something shiny, realized I was completely lost, found the Princess Diana Memorial, took a sweaty selfie, crossed the road and managed not to die [I kept checking the wrong side of the road for oncoming traffic], stood on the Jubilee Steps, got lost again and walked around the same roundabout over and over until I found the museum.

Eventually I ended up back in Hyde Park again, first in a little garden spot, and later just sitting in grass. It was better, actually, than the morning trip, because by now people were out of work and taking the evening air. So I journaled again about my day.

April 14, 2016 5:07 pm Hyde Park Again, somewhere on the SW corner

I’m utterly in love with this little spot. Yellow tulips and something else that looks like yellow bells are blooming. Between them are low purple flower with cheerful yellow centers. Behind me I hear the road, but in front of me there is only birdsong.

There is an arbor here that you can walk under. I imagine by midsummer it will be full of trailing blooms.

You can *just* see the arbor to the right

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I will be moving on soon to Park Lane, but for now, I’m going to sit in the sun a moment and imagine Hyde Park in 1810. It wouldn’t be developed, but people would have sat here just the same.

April 14, 2016 6:00 pm

Walked down Park Lane, then cut across Hyde Park. I’m bushed! Need sustenance!

But first, impressions Day 1:

London is a mix of old, new and older. It is also a melting pot of races, cultures, young, new, traditional, crazy. If you want it, it’s here.

The locals seem to walk everywhere, and there are hundreds upon hundreds of joggers! Also, dogs. And none of them are on leashes. They are all very well trained. It must be an unspoken rule!

Following the Serpentine

More following….

I made the rounds today, getting lost a number of times. I started in Hyde Park, the Italian Gardens, and followed the Serpentine.

The Serpentine started at the Italian Gardens, which were lovely. I entered Hyde Park through a gate bordered on either side by blooming spring flowers. Bulbs, tulips, crocuses, larkspur. Smelled heavenly!

Look. I went all the way to London to photograph a duck. Pretty sure there’s something wrong with that.

Peter Pan

A WHOMPING WILLOW!!!!!!

Hyde Park in the morning was damp, with a pretty gray light. I found a statue of Peter Pan, and took a picture of a whomping willow. Really. It looked ready to whomp.

NOTE: I didn’t journal about seeing Princess Diana’s Memorial, but I did find it. I believe it is a called an infinity fountain, and it was right on the shore of the Serpentine. It was lovely, and a little sad, too. I remember being enamored with her as a child. I even had Diana paper dolls!

Serpentine Gallery (CLOSED)

Oo, Shiny. Can you blame me?

I found the Serpentine Gallery but was 10 minutes early. They wouldn’t let me in! I saw in the distance a gold steeple glinting in the dull morning light, almost like the sun—it was so bright! (More later)

When I came to the other side of Hyde Park, I had intended to go left, east, but I was distracted by two things.

Rotten Row! It’s really there!

A sweaty selfie in front of Rotten Row

First, Rotten Row. I had walked right over it without realizing it. So I went back, snapped a selfie and imagined myself in a smart military style riding habit.

Second, the shiny gilt spire. I ended up at Albert’s Memorial, then found Albert’s Royal Hall.

NOTE: When Albert died, Queen Victoria mourned him by wearing black for the next 40 years. That’s both awesome and horrifically sad.

Royal Albert Hall – And I crossed the road and managed not to die!

I meandered around to the left and rear of that and discovered “mansions” (self-styled and OMG, 7-8 stories!) and then QEII Julibee Steps and Statue.

I am NOT washing my feet ever again… I stood where QE II stood!

Then I got lost at the Tunisian consulate, then the UAE consulate, and the Royal College of London. Eventually I made it to the V&A!

I walked back through Hyde Park, Park Lane, Brounten area. What a conglomeration of cultures. Lebanese, Mediterranean, Arabic, French shops, clothing shops, Patisseries.

Park Lane was a little disappointing. Too modernized. But there are gems such as Apsley House & Grosvenor House. I shall save those for Sunday after Spencer House. Along with the rest of Mayfair.

Hyde Park was different in the afternoon. Brighter, and more populated with locals. Joggers, dog walkers, but also people just sitting in the grass, having a picnic. If only we knew how to relax in the sun in a huge park in America!

I sat there for about 30 minutes, half-amazed I was even in London, half-amazed at the unattended dogs wandering all over the park, and half-amazed (I know, that’s three halves) at all the wonderful things I’d seen that day.

I was in flippin’ Hyde Park, y’all!

A few more random pics:

Breakfast tea. When in Rome…

A statue of something important I can’t recall.

Me, at 6 am, looking silly. Not my best time of day, hence the black and white. Otherwise, I might have frightened you.

A cool building in Hyde Park that had no purpose I could discern.

I forgot. But it’s pretty.

No idea

And therein lies the tale of author lost in Hyde Park. More on the museum trip and the cathedral I went to later. And more on the lovely woman I met in Hyde Park.

Next up, I get in trouble in the jewelry section of a museum and then spend an hour talking to the security guard about everything from Geiger counters to politics.

Gift From The Angels

Posted on May 21, 2016May 21, 2016 by Alyssa Alexander

I would like to make a “speech”, a little late because I didn’t know how to say what I wanted to say. But it is no less heartfelt for it.

A few weekends ago I attended the Mid-Michigan Romance Writers of America Chapter’s annual Retreat From Harsh Reality. It’s a weekend of writing, camaraderie, learning and fun. Every year, the members nominate one person who has gone above and beyond in their service to the Chapter.

IMG_20160501_205354 This year, it was me.

Thank you for the Angel Award. I’m humbled, honored and so very happy to receive it and be among the Angels.

MMRWA has meant so much to me over these last nine years. I wouldn’t be who I am without it—and that’s a writer. I’d always wanted to write and the biggest step—the biggest hurdle—was acknowledging to someone other than my husband that it was my dream. It was one of those things I kept close to my heart because I was afraid if I said it out loud, it would be real. And if it was real, then I had to do something about it.

But I finally couldn’t NOT be a writer. So I joined MMRWA. I came to a meeting, terrified I’d be thrown out because I didn’t know what I was doing.

Please note, I still don’t know what I’m doing. I’m just better at faking it.

But I found my people that day. And they were warm, kind, and didn’t throw me out. In fact, the first meeting I went to was a critique. Margo Hoornstra’s advice that day still rings in my mind every time I start a book. Sometimes you have to write some pages just to get into the character’s head, and then the story can start. That’s close to verbatim, though it’s been nine years since she said it.

Before MMRWA I thought I was slightly crazy to hear voices in my head. When I discovered other people did too—and they weren’t the crazy schizophrenic kind of voices—I finally felt normal. Writers have stories to tell and people to tell them about. Sometimes it’s the plot that sings, and sometimes the characters. Either way, I discovered I was not alone in wanting to tell stories.

In the end, I found a group of women who love romance. Who love the adventure of writing. Who love the crazy of writing. And they let me in. Or, you know, maybe I pushed my way in. Because I’m me, and I’m loud, I laugh a lot and I have much to say.

So I started to love the organization. And then I volunteered for a committee. And then I was a newsletter editor. Then I started being more involved. Then more. And suddenly I was President. (Who the hell voted for this idiot, anyway?!?!?)

And then I sold. It was thrilling and wonderful and amazing, and the ladies of MMRWA celebrated with me. I entered the wild and woolly world of publishing. I was editing, writing a new book, holding down a family, a full-time job, a Presidency, a deadline, setting up my website, joining another local writing group. I couldn’t tell when I was coming and when I was going.

MMRWA was always a safe haven. A place where women understood.

That cannot be measured with any cup or bowl or device we humans have developed. Friendship and encouragement simply are. Without boundaries. Oh, I’m sure I’m annoying as all hell when I really get going. But they never kicked me out.

For that, I will always be grateful.

But they did one more thing. They gave me an Angel Award. Members nominated me. Previous Angels approved it.

I don’t work for the Chapter for recognition. I do it because I love it. Yes, it’s hard. Yes, it takes time away from writing. But I wouldn’t be a writer without the ladies of MMRWA. So this is my way to give back to a group that gave to me.

I did not give MMRWA an Angel.

I have been gifted with Angels.

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