Five More Days!

We're almost there, and I can't wait! The event kicks off Friday night with a Meet & Greet, just like last year, with some of the authors reading from their books, available to chat with readers. Then everyone else joins in the fun on Saturday and Sunday for the signing. If you want to know about all of this year's authors, click on the graphic above--it will take you to the event website, and you can read each author's bio to find out more, plus info about the venue and how to find us there.

I'm trying to whittle down my to-do list, for the weekend and to finish my prep for the signing. I went to the boys' yesterday to work on the shrub-trimming, because the forecast gave me a decent window of time before the rain moved back in. Ha! The forecast was wrong again, the rain moved in two hours early. I still have half of one rose of sharon, plus the entire other one, and then some weeding to do in the backyard, and then some trimming at the side of the house as well. They'll have to wait until the second weekend of May now. Friday will be all the things--loading the car so it's ready to hit the road early Saturday, some of the usual weekend chores, and last minute errands. So a normal day. Haha. I've also got a newsletter to get out, May writing goals to finalize, and a few other prep things between now and then. I think my list has everything, but I can always add things as I think of them. I'm not the only one who does that, right? Crossing things off the to-do list and adding more. Right?

Before I get back to The List, I have a quick snippet for you this week from Protecting Medusa.

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            Philomena parked beside her mother’s house. She’d arrived first, and she needed to get dinner on in a hurry. Once Jason got home, she’d be too distracted to focus on cooking.

            She went in the back door, balancing a grocery bag while she reset the alarm, then hit the light switch with her elbow as she continued into the kitchen.

            She took her mother’s cast iron skillet from its hook over the counter and put it on the stove, turning the heat to high and dropping in some ground beef before she shed her coat. As she put away the rest of the groceries, the meat began to sizzle.

            She rolled up her sleeves and dug a spatula out of the utensil drawer, but froze when she heard a creak from upstairs. She waited, then shook her head. It was a hundred year-old farmhouse. 

            She stirred the beef in the pan, adding chopped onions she’d picked up at the store--not out of laziness but because she knew she needed to move quickly after three days away and with an excitable six-year-old on his way home. She could take time tomorrow to do her own prep work for dinner.

            The sound came again from upstairs. She set the spatula on the spoon rest and turned the flame under her pan down to low, then tugged up the hem of her long skirt to pull her dagger from its leather sheath on her thigh.

            A loud thud reached her ears, and her heart beat faster.

            Dear Gods, someone really was in the house.

            She crept up the back steps, keeping to the edges where she knew her weight wouldn’t make the stairs creak, the smooth handle of her long knife comforting in her sweat-damp hand.

            More thumping, accompanied by running water.

            She frowned when she got to the top of the steps, wincing as something hit the porcelain bathtub, followed by muffled cursing.

            She stuck her head around the corner, but the partially-closed bathroom door at the other end of the hall blocked her view. All she could see were shadows.

            Two people? In her mother’s bathroom? She wished she’d grabbed the phone on her way up so she could call the police. No, she should’ve called before coming upstairs. Too late now.

            More thumping and a crash.

            Her jaw clenched, and she stepped into the hallway, her pulse pounding in her ears.

            “I’ve called the police,” she lied, moving slowly along the hall. Frigid air drifted toward her. Either the bathroom window was open, or something was seriously wrong with the furnace. She frowned, holding tighter to her knife.

            A dark blur went out the window, and her eyes widened. It was quite a drop to the ground, even with all the snow mounded below from the big storms so far this winter.

            When a large, naked man with a gun went to look out the window, she froze in the middle of the hall, her dagger shoulder high.

            Naked. 

            She swallowed, and then he turned around. Her lungs stopped working.

            “Hello, Philomena. Have I ever told you how much I love a woman who can handle a blade?” He caught the edge of the door and pulled it wide open.

            She’d know that voice anywhere, and that face, even if she’d only seen him in photos. Ryder Ware, Jason’s father.

            And wow, was she seeing him in person. 

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What does your to-do list look like for this week? Do you have tons to do, or will you have an easy week this week? And are you finding time to read? I'd love to hear about it!

Until next week, happy reading!