To start off the year right, the Roses are finding inspiration in the words of others. For January:

Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow. The important thing is to not stop questioning. ~ Albert Einstein

Isn't it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet? ~ L.M. Montgomery

And suddenly you know: It's time to start something new and trust the magic of beginnings. ~ Meister EckhartT

Saturday, January 24, 2015

Each Day is the First Day by Brenda Whiteside

Isn't it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet? ~ L.M. Montgomery

Or Today is the First Day of the Rest of Your Life. Some of you may remember this mantra of the 60's. I painted it across the dashboard of our Volkswagen bus. But that's another lifetime and another story. Although no one is entirely sure, it is widely believed Charles Dederich who ran a drug rehab center said it. Whoever coined it, I still live by it to this day.

And that's a good thing since the release of my latest book had me reeling with the timing. Normally when I release a book I have a two month plan and schedule for getting the word out and promo. Not so with Southwest of Love and Murder, book two in my Love and Murder Series which released on January 7th. I received notice of the release date days before Thanksgiving, in the middle of taking care of a very sick daughter-in-law and my granddaughter, and planting garlic on the farm. In the midst of the holiday season and worrying about my daughter-in-law, not to mention the late planting of the garlic, there was no way to get a promo plan.

I had to take a deep breath and keep in mind this book will be out in the world for a long time. Release day is not the first and only day. So, not only for my life but for the book's life, today is the first day for the rest of our life!

Mystery writer, Phoebe Anderson, owes her success to killing her first husband on paper seventeen years earlier. Now, someone has actually done it. When she decides to take a few days away on the ranch of her best friend’s brother-in-law, she doesn’t expect romance to find her...or murder to follow her.

Mason Meadowlark is happy with his wild cowboy ways, avoiding love since the death of his baby and the end of his marriage twenty years ago. When Phoebe shows up, he fights to control his emotions, but soon wonders if she just might be worth the risk of opening his heart again.

With an obsessed fan close on her heels, Phoebe is thrown into her own murder mystery…and the next target on his list is Mason.

Phoebe shuddered and stilled.

Like the aftershocks of an earthquake, trembling overtook her body. Her knees wobbled, but Mason caught her before she collapsed.

“What’s wrong?” He hugged her briefly then brought his face even with hers. “Phoebe, tell me. Why are you shaking? What’s happened?”

“Oh my God, Mason.” She spread her hands on his chest and glanced back at the bathroom. “Tell someone to call an ambulance. Hurry!”

He took a step toward the ladies’ room, but she grabbed his shirtfront. “No!” She peered around him and shouted. “Someone call nine one one.”

Mason touched his pocket. “My cell’s in the truck.” He grabbed the shoulder of a male customer, the closest person to them. “You got a cell on you?”

The man nodded and pulled a phone from his pocket.

“Call nine one one right now. There’s been…” His face questioned her.

“Someone’s badly hurt in the bathroom. Oh hell, hurry!” She thumped her palms against his chest.

The man pulled out his cell as he raced into the ladies’ room.

Phoebe wrapped her arms around Mason, tipped her chin upward, and found the words. “It’s that
waitress, Mason. Carla.”

His expression went blank, from concern for her to no comprehension.

“There’s so much blood.” She stifled a gag, the sweet, copper penny reek still heavy in her nostrils. “Her throat.” A shudder rippled the length of her body. “I think she’s dead.”
Buy Links:  Amazon   ARe  TWRP

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She blogs on the 9th and 24th of every month at
She blogs about prairie life and writing at

The Magic of Beginnings by Liz Flaherty

Roses and Readers, please join me in welcoming Liz Flaherty to the blog today.

And suddenly you know: It's time to start something new and trust the magic of beginnings. ~ Meister Eckhart

          This explains why, although I have only nine-going-on-ten published books and just a few old and forever-unsold manuscripts, I have a virtual drawerful of Chapter One through Chapter Threes. Some of them, it must be said, I regret not finishing—Molly Linden’s story still wakes me in the middle of the night occasionally with an insomnia-inducing “what if you did this instead of that?” mantra.
          Most of those beginnings, though, shouldn’t really have happened. They are what I did when I got to Chapter Six or Chapter Eight of the work in progress and...oh, crap, it wouldn’t go anywhere. It is the occasional plight of a pantser, when the whole flying by the seat of said pants runs out of gas and you’re grounded because you have no conflict. Your hero lacks oomph. You have no black moment—not even a dove gray one that will darken the horizon before, voila, the sun of the happily ever after starts struggling up over the land line.
          A reason I’m here—aside from the fact that I really love writing blog posts and Brenda said I could come and take her day—is that my editor just called the other day and offered a contract for my next book in the Harlequin Heartwarming line. I spent the afternoon zipping around like one of those battery bunnies, meeting my husband at the door with “guess what!” and planning (several times) how I would spend my advance. This was my behavior on the first sale—why should the 10th be any different?
          I don’t have a release date yet, and goodness knows my title of The Winter of Letting Go, probably won’t stick, but the word “contract” gives instant birth to the word “promotion.” So, by all means, remember I have a book coming with the title, and I hope you enjoy it a lot. Oh, and here’s my whole backlist at a glance:
          Okay, commercial’s over—back to beginnings. The book I just sold was shockingly difficult to write. It took ten months or so, not a really long time for me, but it seemed longer. Because I had trouble with those things I listed up there: the conflict, the oomph, the black moment. Because one time I closed the file and mentally consigned it to that drawer of beginnings. Well, not exactly one time—it was more like a dozen times.
          But every morning, I opened the file again. And there is a lesson in this. Not for everyone, but definitely for me.
          Beginnings, as the starting quote of this post says, are magic. When it is the right time. When the reason for the beginning is that yesterday or the day before or last Friday at midnight, there was a finishing. When I only begin a new story because writing the old one has defeated me, there is no magic in that, only desperation and more than a hint of self-pity.
          Maybe it is time to empty that drawer (except maybe for Molly Linden’s story—I so like her) and just start a new story when the last one is finished. When the time is right and the beginning really is magic.
          Thanks for having me here today. I wish you all magic beginnings and happy endings!

Retired from the post office, Liz Flaherty spends non-writing time sewing, quilting, and doing whatever else she wants to. She and Duane live in the old farmhouse in Indiana they moved to in 1977. They’ve talked about moving, but really…30-some years’ worth of stuff? It’s not happening!
She’d love to hear from you at or please come and see her at: