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Wednesday, January 31, 2018


MEET SKIP QUINCY, SHORTSTOP for the  New York Nighthawks. While this is book 6 in the Bottom of the Ninth series, it is a stand-alone read. 

   One minute ten-year-old Skip Quincy was riding in the backseat of his parents’ car, the next, he woke up in Little Angels orphanage. Within six months, he was adopted. He was welcomed by Mrs. Quincy, the woman he learned to call “mom”, but Mr. Quincy wasn’t a fan.
   Athletically gifted early on, Skip pursued baseball. He loved the sport and excelled, despite his indifferent dad. Driven to succeed to prove his father wrong, Skip worked hard. Under the guidance of his beloved high school coach, he won the coveted, challenging position of shortstop.   Though plagued by self-doubt, Skip made it to the Nighthawks. He focused on baseball and relied on brief encounters with groupies as a substitute for love. When two women entered his life, satisfaction with one-night stands faded. Mimi or Francie? Could either one give him the love and acceptance he’d never had?


Skip, Bobby, Jake, and Nat donned sweats and headed for the field. They loped along, staying in a group until they’d done the warm-up, then they headed inside to pump iron. Skip loved the challenge of the weight room. He was reduced to adding reps, because Vic wouldn’t let him take a heavier weight. To avoid pulled muscles, the trainer insisted they stretch before working out.“Keep going. Push yourselves, just a bit. One more rep. Two more. But no pulled muscles!”Sweat soaked Skip’s T-shirt. He stopped to down a bottle of water, then jumped on the bike for cardio. Feeling his body perform, work, stretch, and grow stronger stoked his fire. Each session readied him more and more for the contest with the Washington, D.C., Wolverines. Playoffs were next week. He’d be ready.The men took a break. There was a buffet spread for lunch in the dining hall. Bobby got behind Skip in line.“What happened to that Banner chick? You didn’t bring her last night.”“Right. I’m taking her out tonight.”“Big night?” Bobby nudged him in the ribs and wiggled his eyebrows.“None of your beeswax, jerkoff.”“Just thinkin’ it might be nice if you got a little, for a change.”“I’m gettin’ plenty.”“Yeah? From who?” Bobby picked up a plate.“None of your damn business.”“Not from Francie?” Bobby’s voice rose.“No way. I keep tellin’ you, she’s like my little sister.” Skip speared a piece of ham and put it on his dish.“Good. Leave her alone.”“Says you?”“Yeah. She’s too nice for you.”“Fuck off. I’ll go out with whoever I want.”“She’s got enough problems, without you messing up her head with your dick.”“That’s weird, buddy. What you just said? Very weird.”“You know what I mean.”


Dan swiveled and fired at Bobby, who was between first and second. Skip ran to second, anchoring himself with his back foot up against the bag, and stretching out toward the second baseman with his other one. Bobby tossed it to Skip, who bent down and tagged Weeks’ right foot as he slid into base. The bastard raised his left foot, aiming his cleats at Skip’s back leg, but the shortstop dove forward, into the dirt, bending his back leg at the knee, barely avoiding the spikes. And he kept hold of the ball, nestled snugly in his glove.

“Out!” The umpire called, making a fist and pumping it toward the ground.Weeks jumped up and immediately argued with the umpire. Skip smiled and loped toward the dugout. He knew he’d tagged him before hitting the ground. One glance at the Jumbotron, which showed a replay, and Skip shook his head, his grin widening. Eddie Weeks, once an asshole, always an asshole. Skip hit the dugout and nabbed a bottle of water, downing it in almost one gulp.Cal Crowley sidled up to him. With one nod and a pat on the shoulder, the manager said, “Way to go, Skip.”“Thanks.”After several teammates high-fived him, he sat down, waiting his turn to bat. Nat was up first, then Bobby, who was in the on-deck circle. Skip couldn’t wait. Confidence flowed through him. This was going to be his game. He felt it, in his bones. All the weeks, months, and years of endless practice would come together on this field, starting today.He stood up, walked to the front of the dugout, and glanced at the stands. The seat he’d bought for Mimi Banner was empty. Swinging his gaze to the left, he spied Francie Whitman, sitting next to Elena Delgado. That was all he needed to know.


Glancing up, he spied Mimi, hesitating at the front of the restaurant. She wore a low-cut black dress. His gaze zeroed in on her chest. He marveled that such a petite woman could have such large breasts. He wondered if they looked bigger because she was so tiny. When he finally looked up at her face, he frowned. She looked lost. Skip raised his hand to catch her eye.She smiled and headed for his table. He rose and pulled out her chair. She smoothed her skirt over her thighs and sat down.“No one’s done that for me in a long time,” she said.“Rowley didn’t pull out your chair?”She shook her head.“You were his wife.”“Didn’t seem to make much difference.”“Don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but he must have been kinda stupid.”“Thanks.” She shot him a warm smile.The conversation was going exactly where he wanted. He needed to come off as a thousand times better than her dead husband if he wanted to warm her bed. Soft, brown curly hair caressed her shoulders. He wanted to touch it but suspected she was skittish and would freak out if he reached across the table to comb his fingers through her locks.Rowley had smacked her around and been suspended, and eventually fired, for it—and for steroid usage. According to the coroner, steroids had caused the heart attack that killed him.“You must miss Rowley,” Skip said, signaling for the waiter. “What do you want to drink?”“Just ginger ale.”Skip raised his eyebrows. “I have a game, but you have no reason to avoid a drink.”“I stopped drinking two years ago.”“Why?”“Alcohol made Rowley more violent. I needed to stay sober to keep my wits about me when he was drinking. It just became a habit.”Switching to her choice, Skip ordered two ginger ales. He couldn’t imagine what it was like to be chained to a guy like Banner.“Makes sense. Are you hungry? All the food here is good. Trust me. I’ve eaten everything on the menu.”“All at once?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

Buy the ebook or paperback here:


Tuesday, January 23, 2018


After so many bad men making the news, let's look at the positive side of men. Although we sometimes berate men for not communicating more, most men share their love by doing, not talking. Today I honor those men, the ones who help for the sake of helping...the men who do small, unselfish acts everyday. 

Today is your day guys as I dedicate this blog to my everyday heroes, men I know, and don't know who have touched my life in positive know who you are:

1) To the two gentlemen who stopped, briefly, to pick me up, one guy on each arm, when I slipped and fell at the bottom of the wet subway stairs on a rainy day.2) To the man who stopped in the parking lot of Peck's grocery store in Narrowsburg. The second I put my hands under the hood of my car, he was there, asking me what was wrong and if I needed help. Then he proceeded to show me where to put in the wiper fluid, unscrewed the cap to the little tank and left before I even made eye contact! 
3)  To all the men on the streets of New York who have stopped to pick up whatever I dropped before I even bent my knees. Klutz that I am, that number is huge.
4)  To my friend in the community who came down to the lake because I told him I was going there to swim by myself and he felt it was unsafe.
5)  To all the men on airplanes who, when seeing me with a large carry-on bag, stood up and put it in the overhead rack for me without even being asked. And also, to those who took it down for me when we landed.
6)  To the thousands upon thousands of men who have held doors open for me, allowing me to pass through first.
7)  To the two young men on line in the grocery store who offered their frequent buyer cards to me so I could get the discounts, too.  
8)  To the man who took the dead mouse out of my mousetrap and disposed of it for me. Yucky!  
9)  To all the young men in high school and college who politely took "no" for an answer and either still continued to date me or became my friend.
10) To all the men who got up to give me a seat on the bus or subway when I was pregnant.
11) To my male writer friends who encourage me every day.
12) To the men I met on countless vacations who danced with me, bought me a drink at the bar and didn't hit on me.
13) To the man who came to the emergency room with me on a first date, waited forever and held my hand while I got a tetanus shot. 
14)  To my writing partner, Ben, who encourages me every day, never tells me my ideas are dumb or gives me a hard time about my typos or lack of punctuation…and listens, patiently, to me rant about life.
15) To the man who took two hours out of his day to show me how to do my website for the price of a bagel.
16) To the two men who took my pictures and designed book covers for me just because they are my friends.
17) To the man who walked me home after dark when I ducked into a bar because someone was following me...and took "no" for an answer with charm and grace. 
18) To the man who drove me through a blinding snowstorm and back so I could bring a stray cat with an infected paw to the vet.
19) To Doug, our guest, who surprised me with a Tiramisu cake just because I had admired it in the bakery window. 

20) To the man who jumped into a Facebook group to defend me when several people attacked my opinion.
21) To all the men who let me go first...from the checkout counter at the grocery store to the bread counter at Zabar's... simply because I'm a woman. 
22) To the unknown young man who gave me a lift 60 blocks up Madison Avenue to Mt. Sinai Hospital when the subway wasn't running and my father was in surgery.
23) To the men in IRM who are never stingy with hugs or encouragement. 
24) To DH who sometimes fixes things before I ask. 

To all you everyday heroes, thank you. Thank you for all you've done and continue to do quietly without fanfare...and for the shy smile you give me when I acknowledge your help. Love you all!

Who are the everyday heroes in your life?

Monday, January 8, 2018

BASEBALL IS BACK! SKIP QUINCY, SHORTSTOP....The New York Nighthawks have returned...

Meet Skip Quincy, Shortstop for the New York Nighthawks. Up for Pre-Order! 

I'll be posting new excerpts of this book right up to release day. Here's excerpt #1

Francie Whitman, barely twenty-six, was getting her Master’s degree in studio art at City College. Her stepmother controlled a trust fund her father had left when he died. A frugal woman, Calista Whitman, counted every penny, sending Francie to a public university, and putting her up in a tiny studio apartment. When she became twenty-seven, control of the fund would shift, and Francie would steer her own way.

Because she was still in school and four years younger, Skip considered her a kid. Although he was strongly attracted to her, he kept his hands off, settling for bantering, teasing, and kidding, instead of dating.

She seemed okay with their friendship, until today. Her willingness to play strip poker shocked him. Not that he wouldn’t have jumped at the chance, had they been alone, but she’d never gone beyond harmless flirting with him before. The minute she had said, “strip poker” blood had pumped to his dick. It stopped when he teased her and backed away. Her frown also surprised him. He’d expected blushes, stammers, and recanting. Instead, she’d faced him with a bold stare, daring him to take up her challenge.

Rather than sort through his mixed feelings, Skip focused on his date with Mimi. He expected to take a lot of shit from his teammates if he started seeing her seriously. Hell, she was the widow of one of the most hated guys in baseball. Even though they had attended his funeral, every single Nighthawk had despised Rowley Banner. Skip had pitied the guy and his addiction to steroids. But that was no reason to stay away from his beautiful widow.

Get it now for only $2.99. Price goes up to $4.99 on release day. 
(Steamy, contemporary romance. Caution: locker room language)



Tuesday, January 2, 2018



Dan Alexander, Pitcher
“No more hitting batters, unless they’ve pissed off my buddies. Buy my girl flowers once a week. Try not to yell at her parents. Remember, all I said was try.

Matt Jackson, Catcher
“I plan to block the plate against all runners, and hide it from the umpire. Also pledge to stop criticizing Stormy, and telling her how to play softball. Yeah, I know, good luck with the second one.”

Jake Lawrence, Third Base
“I promise not to try out for any more Broadway shows, with or without Kate. I plan to run two extra miles before every game. Or at least try to. Trying counts, right?”

Nat Owen, First Base
“I swear I’ll stretch my legs until I can do a split. Or at least add three more inches so I can get every bouncer that comes my way. No, I haven’t been missing, but you can always do better, right? As for women? Stay away from celebrities. Honest. Really. I will. I’ve learned my lesson. I have, I swear.”

Bobby Hernandez, Second Base
“I promise to read the rest of Elena’s romance books in order. Also promise to stop giving Skip Quincy a hard time off the field. Yeah, right --on the second one.”

Skip Quincy, Short Stop
“I don’t have to make any because my book’s not out yet. But here goes anyway. I will stop listening to Bobby Hernandez off the field. And I’ll forgive Billy Holmes. Women? Well, I don’t want to spoil the story, so I’m keeping my resolutions about the women in my life to myself.” *snickers.*