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"The writing is almost lyrical, sensual and passionate." Author Mona Risk "a slow, sensual build-up where every scene is heightened through rich, flowing prose" Author Lindsay Townsend "It's a visual kind of story." Author Celia Yeary "I loved this book. The characters were realistic and intricately drawn." Author Maggie Toussaint |
The water caressed her skin as she stroked through its depths, dipping underneath for solitude and rising above for air. It both pushed against her and held her up. It rushed over her face to stroke her cheeks and made her close her eyes in defense and in pleasure. It made her heart beat fast, from exertion and excitement. It pumped blood through her system. And it was there for her to decide when she wanted it and to avoid when she didn’t. Its soft splashing and rushing and receding and lapping was far, far better than a man snoring in her ear.
Pier Lights
Instead, she stared out over the beach, over the water rolling in waves against the wet shore, sliding back out to slam against water coming in, the force pushing some of it up into foamy waves that settled again just to repeat the process. A natural process. In and out. Like oxygen. Breathing. In and out. A simple thing. Like talking to someone in conversation. They speak. You speak. Sometimes it came together and one would back down and wait and then the first would crest and wane and make way. Simple. Natural. In and out. Back and forth. Give and take. Such an easy process. Speech. Laughter. A look. A smile. Second nature. Something you do without thinking. Just talk. Answer. Listen. Repeat. Simple. If everyone else could do it, so could she.
Shadowed Lights
The water washed up over their feet as they took the moves slowly, from as much distance as possible while staying in hold, and then he sped the count and closed in. “Ball-flat, ball, ball-flat, and bounce. Samba is much about the bounce of the knees. Right. Good. And now the whisk, the same steps, only move the right foot behind the left and only touch the ball with it.”
Emma nearly stopped dancing when he started humming a song, a soft slow song, music only, and he sang the beat counts with it as though she’d forgotten. She gave him a soft grin and focused on her steps, and on his voice, his touch, the warmish breeze off the ocean, and the water brushing at their feet.
“You are a beautiful dancer.” He returned the grin and went back to humming.
Pieces of Light
With settings from Folly Beach, South Carolina to Barnegat, New Jersey, and Provincetown, Massachusetts,
the Dancers & Lighthouses books focus on dancers of different levels and different genres,
so far including classical ballet, Latin, and ballroom.
Dancers & Lighthouses
Pier Lights
Instead, she stared out over the beach, over the water rolling in waves against the wet shore, sliding back out to slam against water coming in, the force pushing some of it up into foamy waves that settled again just to repeat the process. A natural process. In and out. Like oxygen. Breathing. In and out. A simple thing. Like talking to someone in conversation. They speak. You speak. Sometimes it came together and one would back down and wait and then the first would crest and wane and make way. Simple. Natural. In and out. Back and forth. Give and take. Such an easy process. Speech. Laughter. A look. A smile. Second nature. Something you do without thinking. Just talk. Answer. Listen. Repeat. Simple. If everyone else could do it, so could she.
Shadowed Lights
The water washed up over their feet as they took the moves slowly, from as much distance as possible while staying in hold, and then he sped the count and closed in. “Ball-flat, ball, ball-flat, and bounce. Samba is much about the bounce of the knees. Right. Good. And now the whisk, the same steps, only move the right foot behind the left and only touch the ball with it.”
Emma nearly stopped dancing when he started humming a song, a soft slow song, music only, and he sang the beat counts with it as though she’d forgotten. She gave him a soft grin and focused on her steps, and on his voice, his touch, the warmish breeze off the ocean, and the water brushing at their feet.
“You are a beautiful dancer.” He returned the grin and went back to humming.
Pieces of Light
With settings from Folly Beach, South Carolina to Barnegat, New Jersey, and Provincetown, Massachusetts,
the Dancers & Lighthouses books focus on dancers of different levels and different genres,
so far including classical ballet, Latin, and ballroom.
Dancers & Lighthouses
Queen Anne’s Lace and other less pretentious weeds had taken over the parts of the gardens not densely carpeted with dead leaves. The lemon balm had jumped its retainer in the herb garden and filled the whole thing, spilling out into the grass. Even the hydrangeas were messier than normal. Her father never trimmed them back for winter. He waited until summer after the growth returned and only cut those not providing new growth. That hadn’t been done, either, for years, or so it seemed. Pale yellow-brown thin bare stalks stuck out everywhere in different lengths, discouraging the darker brown stalks attempting to regenerate the shrubs with new life. Her father would thrash his hands through what little hair he’d had left if he saw his beautiful gardens in such a state.
Shadows of Greens & Memories
"...you’re not much of an outdoor type, I’m guessing.”
“Why would you say that?” Stupid pride. Of course she wasn’t, but only because she didn’t want to be.
He scanned her outfit. Her chic new pants in their oh-so-soft fabric in a luxurious dark green that flowed around her legs as she walked, usually, were dirt-stained and wrinkled and stuck to her moist legs. Her cream blouse showed sweat stains and was all kinds of catty-wompus from switching her handbag to one side then the other. Luckily she had a dark green cami underneath so nothing else showed through.
And her shoes. Not close to $500 Guccis but expensive enough and usually comfortable enough to tread the city sidewalk all day long if needed. Now scuffed and dusted in dirt.
Shadows of Blues & Echoes
Instead of creating a pot on the wheel and then carving bricks into it, Holli decided to hand cut the slab into individual bricks and build it the way a wall is actually built, placing one by one, using slip instead of mortar to hold it together. It would take more time, but she didn't at all care how much time it took.
Planning in her head while cutting out bricks, she could see ivy crawling up through the outer crevices and from the smooth inside to meet along the top. It maybe didn't make sense, since water came from wells, not ivy, but that's what she saw, so that's what it would be, whether or not it made sense. Art didn't always, and it didn't have to. That was one thing she loved about art. She could do as she pleased and it would only be called creative, not crazy.
Shadows of Rust & Reels
With settings from Storm Lake, Iowa to Durango, Colorado, and Williamstown, West Virginia,
the Artists & Cottages books focus on fine artists of different genres,
so far including oil painting, wood carving, and pottery.
Artists & Cottages
Shadows of Greens & Memories
"...you’re not much of an outdoor type, I’m guessing.”
“Why would you say that?” Stupid pride. Of course she wasn’t, but only because she didn’t want to be.
He scanned her outfit. Her chic new pants in their oh-so-soft fabric in a luxurious dark green that flowed around her legs as she walked, usually, were dirt-stained and wrinkled and stuck to her moist legs. Her cream blouse showed sweat stains and was all kinds of catty-wompus from switching her handbag to one side then the other. Luckily she had a dark green cami underneath so nothing else showed through.
And her shoes. Not close to $500 Guccis but expensive enough and usually comfortable enough to tread the city sidewalk all day long if needed. Now scuffed and dusted in dirt.
Shadows of Blues & Echoes
Instead of creating a pot on the wheel and then carving bricks into it, Holli decided to hand cut the slab into individual bricks and build it the way a wall is actually built, placing one by one, using slip instead of mortar to hold it together. It would take more time, but she didn't at all care how much time it took.
Planning in her head while cutting out bricks, she could see ivy crawling up through the outer crevices and from the smooth inside to meet along the top. It maybe didn't make sense, since water came from wells, not ivy, but that's what she saw, so that's what it would be, whether or not it made sense. Art didn't always, and it didn't have to. That was one thing she loved about art. She could do as she pleased and it would only be called creative, not crazy.
Shadows of Rust & Reels
With settings from Storm Lake, Iowa to Durango, Colorado, and Williamstown, West Virginia,
the Artists & Cottages books focus on fine artists of different genres,
so far including oil painting, wood carving, and pottery.
Artists & Cottages
Maybe it smacked of desperation, but he didn’t care. He’d checked every club he could think to check, asked owners, bands, and patrons relentlessly if they’d seen her. Bruce told him to stop, he was far too obsessed, that one singer with a good voice didn’t matter that much. But he didn’t get it. He’d looked into her eyes, and he knew better. He needed to find her.
The Texture of Glass
Songwriters & Cities
The Texture of Glass
Songwriters & Cities