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You never know about a person until you’ve traveled with them.

Artemis Stephanos has her life all figured out. First on her list is keeping her family in line. Second is keeping the family business afloat. And third, staying as afar away from marriage as she can get even as her flock of younger sisters urge her to take that trip down the aisle so they can follow. What Artie didn’t figure out was how to not fall in love with her runaway cousin’s fiance.

Nick Constantine isn’t thrilled about marrying Artie’s cousin, but as a member of a traditional Greek family, arranged marriages are the norm. And a contract is a contract. What he doesn’t expect is to have his almost bride take off on a cross country trip to find herself, while he trails behind with Artie in tow and trying not to fall in love with the child/woman, shrew businessperson/thrill a minute mixture that is Artie Stephanos.

Join Artie and Nick on a cross-country pursuit that is filled with as many surprises as the contents of Artie’s almost magical purse and two people who never thought love would happen to them.

Have a Happy Christmas and a Joyous New Year

Miriam and Jackie  writing as J.M. Jeffries

Thanksgiving is a day of wonderful memories for me.  Getting together with my family as a child and seeing all my aunts, uncles, cousins, my grandparents.  Some of my happiest moments are at Thanksgiving: the birth of my daughter, the family get-togethers, the wonderful cooking and the smells permeating the house.  Even though those memories are darkened by the loss of my husband who passed away on Thanksgiving Day, I’ve tried to see the positive side to even that.

I think about all the things I’m grateful for: my family, my friends, my life.  My family is my rock.  My friends are my blessings, and my life is still unfolding.  I’m even grateful for glue both physical and metaphorical.  For without glue things would fall apart, the hems on my clothes would fall down, my life would fall apart.

What are you thankful for?  Let me know.

Until next time, Miriam

Protecting Lulu, February 2012

Darcy’s Margic, Fall 2013

The new book is currently titled Darcy’s Magic and because it’s a Christmas book and the 2012 Christmas books are already filled, it will be a 2013 release.  We are thrilled and delighted.  A special thank you to Shannon Criss of Harlequin Kimani.

Wishing everyone a Happy Thankgiving.

For me a good story engages my interest, has characters I can fall in love with, creates a believable world and connects to an idea.  We all have ideas that we tell ourselves will make a great story, but once we start working on it, after awhile the idea just doesn’t pan out.  As many things can go askew as can go right.

To me a good story has an enduring story idea that creates enduring scenes that move the story forever forward until it concludes in a manner that is both satisfying and appropriate to the story.  Which sort of brings me to the crux of my reason for this blog.

Of late I’ve read a number of stories that moved along with engaging characters and enduring story ideas. Yet when I got the end, the stories fell apart.  Why?  In my opinion the author didn’t work enough on the antagonist (or villain) giving the antagonist a good enough reason for trying to thwart the protagonists (hero, heroine) and keep them from attaining their goals.  For some reason, insane villains have cropped up in writing who do things that keep the plot moving forward, but in the end the reason for why they do what they do is because they are insane. Say what?

I don’t like insane villains who have no other reason for being in the story than to be insane and provide insane acts to puzzle and threaten the main characters.  No matter how insane a villain is, the character must be as motivated to want what they want as the protagonists.  Insanity by itself is not motivation.  Every character in a story must have a reason for doing what they do.  The answer to why the villain does what they do should never be ‘because he/she is insane.’  Even insane people have a reason for acting the way they do.  And the reason must make sense to the reader.

This is a subject I’ve visited in the past.  And will probably return to in the future.  So in my mind, an insane villain does not help create an enduring story.  Insane villains are a cop out. They are easy to construct because the author feels they don’t have to provide them with any other motivation.

What about you?  Have you read a book with an insane villain that didn’t provide any motivation other than the idea that the villain is insane?  How does that make you feel?  Is the story complete?  Or do you feel left hanging by the too easy wrap up?  Because no matter how insane a villain may be, the reader should still have an answer the question, why.

Please share your experiences with insane villains.  Leave a comment in the box below.  Thank you.

Till next time, Miriam

Global Protection Agency:  Protecting Lulu by J.M. Jeffries coming in  February 2012

The answer isn’t easy because Jackie and I have vastly different reading tastes.  She loves erotica and I read a lot of science fiction and fantasy.  She loves Regencies and I like funny mysteries.

What am I reading right now?  Last Breath (The Morganville Vampires) by Rachel Caine.  Before that, Ghost Ship (Liaden Universe) by Sharon Lee and Steve Miller.  Fire Works in the Hamptons by Celia Jerome, a new author I discovered last spring.  Her books are so funny, I giggle my way through them.  Also,I have been reading Cherie Priest whose last book was Dreadnaught.  I’m not big for Steampunk but I do enjoy a couple of authors.  Victoria Laurie’s two paranormal mystery series.  I’ve also found a couple of independent authors who have self-published some amazing books.  Barbra Annino who writes the Stacy Justice mystery series.  Camila Chafer whose two books, Illicit Magic and Unruly Magic I really enjoyed.  Also, I like the Mary O’Reilly Paranormal mysteries by Terri Reid.  And last of all I adore George R.R. Martin, I devour his books, and David Weber whose Honor Harrington military space stories will always be treasured beyond measure.

Jackie loves hot, hot paranormal romances.  She loves Lynn Viehl Kyndred books, anything by Christine Warren, Lora Leigh.  She also reads Jacquelyn Frank’s The Nightwalkers.  She also likes romantic suspense.  Shannon Butcher and Jaci Burton.  She also likes Victoria Dahl and adores Suzanne Brockman.  She also likes Lee Child and Tess Garritson.

We both read Chloe Neill’s Chicagoland Vampires, Kelly Meding, Jim Butcher and Katayna Price.

We both have TBR piles that are taller than we are.  Jackie’s more organized that I am.  I just have all my books in a pile on my dresser.  Jackie has her books organized into small piles of 4 or 5 books.  Each pile has one regency, one paranormal romance, an historical, an erotica and depending on her mood a serial killer mystery.  Jackie’s a little more bloodthirsty than I am.  I like puzzles, she likes shoot first and ask questions later type books.  Sometimes I’m amazed that we can come together to write the way we do since we are so different and bring such different reading tastes to the table.  What works for us, works.

Until next time Miriam

COMING SOON

Marilyn Monroe was wrong. Rubies were a girl’s best friend.

Hestia Stephanos ran her fingers lovingly over the heart shaped ruby surrounded by dazzling diamonds and sapphires. Until a month ago, the necklace had been submerged in salt water for over three hundred and fifty years lost with the Santa Bernardine during a storm.

Spanish treasure never failed to turn her on. Tia turned the pendant over. Etched into the gold backing she translated the words ‘My Love’ and beneath the words the date, 1622. She thought for a moment, she was pretty sure she’d seen the necklace before, but couldn’t quite remember where. A drawing! A painting! She wracked her brain trying to remember.

As the head of the Stephanos Historical Foundation—an organization set up by her grandmother Moira O’Shaughnessy Stephanos—she loved this part of her job, seeing the first major find of an excavation. But her second favorite part was piecing together the mystery of how a priceless necklace ended up on the ocean floor. She turned to her library shelves and pulled out a half dozen art books.

Beyond the shelves, snow gleamed on the windowsill. New York sparkled in winter. She loved it. For a moment, she stared at the street below with people bundled up against the cold as they went about their business.  A dog walker wrestled with his canine charges while a women on turned down a path into Central Park her face covered in a muffler.

Tia smiled.  She loved her life except for one nagging little thing her mother would never let her forget. She wasn’t married.  Because her traditional Greek family believed in tradition, Tia had expected to stay single since her older sister, Artie had showed no interest in marriage until six months ago when she’d met Nick Constantine and promptly married him.  Tia, second eldest, had now come under her mother’s intense scrutiny to join the wifely ranks.

She sat back down at her desk. After perching thick, horn-rimmed glasses on her nose, she opened the first book, flipped through it and discarded it. The second and third book were perused and returned to the shelf. The sixth book, Royal Mistresses of Europe, fell open and Tia knew this was the correct book.  Sometimes, she simply had a sixth sense about something and just knew when she would find an answer. She looked through each section, examining each painting carefully taking her time. She slowed when she reached the section, Spanish Mistresses. The necklace was on page 238 draped about the elegant neck of ‘The Mistress’ to Philip IV of Spain. Tia’s fingers tingled.

The woman reclined on a fur-lined settee, arms behind her neck, breasts thrust forward, and legs crossed. The woman had no name, just a satisfied smile on her lush lips. The necklace rested against her peach colored skin, the pendant dangled provocatively between her full, rosy-tipped breasts.

“Jackpot.” Tia grinned, her heart racing.

The necklace was one of the most important finds the Foundation had made in the last five years. The fact was only marred by one thing, she had to share credit with Shane O’Malley, the treasure hunter whose grant request had produced this rare find. At the time, she had thought O’Malley incapable of finding his way around his own kitchen.

He had not impressed her with his diligence or his need, but eight months ago she had been overruled by the Board of Directors, namely her grandmother Moira who believed in his quest. Moira signed the check and promptly disappeared on her own quest, leaving Tia to deal with the impertinent Mr. O’Malley.

She had thought the money wasted, but then the package had arrived, brought to her personally by Jack Bickford, her assistant curator. O’Malley had presented Tia with the gemological equivalent of a slam-dunk. If only he could go the distance and justify the money he’d weaseled out of the foundation.  She didn’t have much faith in him which was why she’d sent Jack to Florida to keep an eye on the excavation.

Bending over the book, a silken tendril blue-black hair slid along the line of her cheek. She pushed the hair back behind her ear and tugged at an earring. Cool black jet slid between her fingers. The earring matched the black jet necklace she wore about her neck, inherited from her rebellious grandmother whose collection of antique jewelry rivaled that of Wallis Warfield Simpson, Duchess of Windsor. But unlike Wally, Moira purchased her baubles herself. She had not had to earn them the old-fashioned way.

A knock on the door drew her from her concentration.

“Come in,” she said.

Jack Bickford stood in the doorframe, balancing his crutches as he eased through the door. His navy Dockers were cut off at one knee to accommodate the walking cast covering his leg from toes to knee. As he moved, long brown hair swayed about his shoulders. Leaning his crutches against the wall, he eased into an over-stuffed leather chair and pushed back his tan, Indiana Jones fedora. “I’m not going back.”

“To Florida? Why not?” Tia eyed him innocently.

“The place is a hell-hole.  It’s hot, humid and the bugs are bigger than my head.”

“But Jack, New York is in the grip of the worst winter we’ve had in years. Who wouldn’t want to go to sunny Florida for an all-expense paid vacation?”

“Not me.” He reached down to rub the cast. “I hate alligators. I hate fish. I hate water. I’m not going back. I’d rather spend a week on Stanton Island.” He shook his head back and forth, vehemently, “instead of that island zoo.”

Tia stared at him, unable to believe he was leaving a job in the middle. “Nothing is that terrible.”

“You weren’t there.” He brushed a smooth hand across his face, “the horror, the horror.”

“Jack,” Tia slapped her desk, “get over it.” She had to make him go back otherwise she would be forced to go in his place. She hated the thought of leaving the confines of her safe museum, her office, her comfortable little world. She didn’t like messy anything. “You have to go back.”

“You go. I simply can’t return and face that wacky Noah’s Ark O’Malley calls a home.  And that includes his kids.”

“But, Jack.” Tia picked up the necklace and swung it back and forth. “This could be the find of the millennium.” She held up the book with Philip’s nude mistress and pointed at the necklace around the woman’s neck. “Your name will be all over it. Think of the glory, the prestige, the better class of women you can seduce.” She knew his weaknesses—his ego and his libido.

“I almost lost my family jewels to that rapacious lizard.” He squeezed his thighs together and whined.

She held up her hands spaced a few inches apart. “It was just a little alligator.”

“With big teeth. You weren’t looking into the jaws of death.”

“Jack.” Tia pointed at him. “I’ve known you for ten years. You’ve excavated caves in the middle of civil wars, and stared down Contras with nothing but a smile. You eat cheap, petty dictators for breakfast.”

“So what’s your point?”

She smiled at him, hoping she looked calm. “I can’t believe you’re afraid of one little, itty-bitty, teeny-weeny baby alligator.”

Jack glared at her. “You go.”

“Jack—”

“You go.” He jabbed a bony finger at her.

“Someone from the Foundation has to be on site, that’s always been you.”

He glared at her, a mulish glint in his eyes. “You qualify, too.”

Tia hated Florida. She hated anywhere out of Manhattan, but especially Florida. Bugs, creepy-crawly things and kamikaze flying insects were not her idea of a pleasant recreational experience. “Indiana Jones would go,” she coaxed in a last-ditch effort.

Jack stared at her, a deep frown on his handsome face. He stood, took off his fedora, and stuffed it on her head. “Be my guest, Indy.” He grabbed his crutches and hobbled out. She took the hat off, leaned back in her chair, picked up the necklace and draped it around her neck. The pendant settled into the hollow between her breasts.

Even through her thick, turtle neck sweater, she felt the jeweled pendant grow warm. She stroked the jewel, thinking about the nameless woman in the painting who had owned this extraordinary ruby. And the man—she had seen paintings of King Philip. He had an elegant, sensual aura to him and a royal manner that would have excited women in any age.

Tia fingered the necklace again. Deep inside the ruby, shards of fire danced. Twisting and turning the gem to catch the light from her window, a flutter of pleasure shot through her.

Reluctantly, she removed the necklace and set it down on the desk. A postcard from her sister, Artie and new husband, Nick Constantine, lay on the blotter. Tia read the postcard again, happy for them, yet ambivalent over her own feelings that the family was going in new directions. Her mother had been pressuring, in her typical sledgehammer manner, for Tia to start her own husband search.

Tia wasn’t certain she wanted to be married. She had figured she’d be safe since Artie had spent most of her adult life avoiding the marital trap. But Nick had caught her, and caught her well.

She pushed away from her desk. After storing the necklace in the wall safe, she told her secretary to book her flight to Miami and points onward to Shane O’Malley’s Diablo Island.

Noah Wyle is superb as a college professor turned soldier.  With military history as his forte, he brings a different perspective to the fighting often comparing it to ancient battles and how certain tactics worked and didn’t work and how people banded together to take back their own.  It’s also ironic that the show is placed in Boston, the heart of the American Revolution.

Noah’s little band of freedom fighters is led by a seasoned soldier who tends to not want to listen to Noah’s suggestions, but when he does he realizes there’s more to Noah’s dissertation than just hypothetical pomposity.  Some tactics work, some don’t.  They regroup and try again.

The mystery is why the aliens need the children who are fitted with a harness that is slowly revealed to be more than just a device to control them.  What I like best about the show is the slow and logical way the freedom fighters uncover information about the aliens and about themselves.  Some bits of info are obtained in a brutal manner, but others are obtained through observation.  Little hints are dropped along the way that don’t pay out until several episodes later.

Last night was the season finale and the series won’t be back until summer 2012.  I don’t know if I can wait that long.  Okay, I was a little bitter knowing I’d have to wait that long, but then I realize the anticipation will keep me thinking about it.

This is a show worth watching, not only for the interaction between the characters, but the way they are rebuilding a new civilization, the practical problems of survival in such an uncertain environment and the knowledge that life will never be the same again.  Also, I’m constantly thinking about how other cities and countries are dealing  with the aliens since this is a global invasion.  There’s lots of story potential here that could keep this series going for years.  I’m hoping the ScyFy channel picks it up.

What the series did spur in me was a desire to go back to writing science fiction and fantasy.  Jackie’s not too thrilled about the idea, but I’m going to manipulate her and make her think it’s her idea.  Sh!  Don’t anyone tell her what I said. Popular TV series like Falling Skies and Game of Thrones is a shot in the arm for writers by introducing new ideas and new thoughts about directions in writing. If people are watching these shows as avidly as I did, they’ll want books about similar situations, pushing writers to try our wings in many different directions.  So I’m pushing Jackie, though it is like trying to push a twenty ton boulder uphill.

Let me tell you what I’ve been doing.  Have you all heard of the 2011 Dieux du Stade calendar?  What?  You don’t know?  Let me tell you.  Sigh.  First let me get a cold drink and a fan, because just talking about the calendar heats me up.

Every year Stade, Francais, puts out a calendar for a children’s charity to entice women everywhere to spend money and have beautiful, buff, naked French men hanging on their wall.  Mon Dieu!  Stop: I have to fan myself.  The calendar is a smorgasbord of beautiful man meat.  Although they aren’t all French, this year it was an international cast: Argentina, Scotland, South Africa, Italy, England and one year they even had an incredible hot Canadian, but not this year.  Needless to say, I’ve been spending a lot of time alone with the calendar.  Make your own inferences.

I know as a romance writer, we look at gorgeous men all the time: at least their photos.  And we should be somewhat jaded, but I have to admit, this year the calendar was extra special.  I am so intrigued by the cover that I’m started watching rugby, which makes no sense to me.  It is exciting to watch, though I have no idea what the rules are or how anything is scored.  There are no pads, or helmets, or elaborate uniforms to hide the players from me.  And once in a while, someone will grab onto a pair of short and I get to see bare-naked butt.

The calendar came a couple days before I went into the hospital so I didn’t get a chance to look at it thoroughly.  By the time I got home, I was salivating even in my Vicodin induced haze and finally had the time to really look and really enjoy it. I didn’t get past the cover for a couple days.  Because my favorite rugby player, Dmitri Szarzewski was on the cover.  Ladies, what a treat.  If you have five seconds, go to YouTube, plug in his name and just watch.  Keep your fan on with a cold drink because you’re going to need both.  He is hot.  When you’re done with him in about five days, check out Fulgence Ouedraogo.  (Do you remember Designing Women and the Sugarbaker sisters’ friend, Bernice?  She would spontaneously break into song every time she saw Anthony.  Black Man.)  Yeah, I get it now and know why.  Looking at Fulgence revealed all to me.  And then there’s always the sweet, young Alexis Palisson who when I watched him play on BBC looked about twelve.  In the photo he is hot and intense and makes my inner cougar purr.

After mentioning the calendar to my doctor and my friends at work, they all bought one. It’s a twofer: helping underprivileged French children and looking at hot rugby players.

So remember—calendar, hot men, and altruistic lust.  Lust for a good cause. 

Excuse me.  I have to go be one with my calendar.

Until next time, Jackie

Life has been filled with lots of challenges the last few months. Between various surgeries, both me and Jackie, and lots of time recovering, it’s finally over and I survived. Maybe I shouldn’t say that because the karma goddess is probably laying in wait to make me regret making rash statements.

I’m exhausted which is interesting because Jackie’s the one laying on the sofa taking a snooze. Her mouth is hanging open and Snuggles (my dog) is sniffing at her mouth and I’m wondering if I should take a photo or shoo the dog away. I’m having a hard time not laughing, but I don’t want to wake her up. So much for keeping her promises since it’s my turn to take a nap.

I’ll survive. I had caffeine today. But my bed beckons. I keep looking at my bedroom door wondering if I sneak away will she wake up asking in that pathetic whining voice of her’s if I would mind getting her a blanket or a pillow. My snarky answer would be, “I’m not your mother.” Unfortunately, my snark would be wasted on Jackie. She’s in a Vicodin haze today. Do I really want another repeat of our trip to the emergency room? About $10:30 am I’m in the middle of a meeting and my phone starts vibrating, which I ignored. Then I get another one and finally a third. I answered the third. It’s Jackie. And she’s crying. She tells me I have to come home immediately, she thinks she’s dying.

I dropped what I’m doing and make the thirty minute journey home in thirteen. I pulled up into the driveway and Jackie comes out looking pale. She’s shaking and can barely walk. I’m working to stay calm as I bundle her into the car and head for the hospital. As we’re walking out the door she says to me, we have to go the post office first. If I hadn’t been wearing a dress and high heels, I’d have kicked her in the ass. I’m trying to close my mouth and get her in the car. She’s moaning and groaning. I lied and told her I’d go to the post office later after we’ve sorted out what’s wrong with her.

We get to the hospital and I try to get help for her. Finally a man saunters out and helps her out of the car and takes her in. I park the car and hurry back. Jackie’s sitting in the hall in her wheelchair, half passed out and nobody is doing anything. I try to get help for her, but the receptionist keeps telling me they’ll get to her when they get to her.

A woman eventually comes out and calls Jackie’s name. I’m trying to get the wheelchair moving and it keeps stopping. I’m juggling Jackie’s purse, my purse and the wheelchair. I ask the woman for some help while she’s propping the door open and she says to Jackie, “Well, can’t you walk?”

I was appalled. Jackie is sitting in a wheelchair, most obviously for a reason. What part of emergency room doesn’t make a woman sitting in a wheelchair an emergency? Jackie staggers to her feet and is clutching at the door in such obvious distress I can’t understand why the woman just stands there. Yet she just stands there and watches. Obviously sympathy and the mission statement for the hospital are not on this woman’s to do list.

Finally, we get into the emergency room. I have to get her undressed. This is the first time I’ve ever seen Jackie’s boobs and it’s making me way uncomfortable. I get her onto the Gurney and a handsome young man comes in. Boy did Jackie perk up and I perked up a little, too. He gets her comfortable and is laying out supplies to start an IV. Jackie looks at me and says, “I’m so glad I took a shower this morning and shaved.”

The young man just stares at her, his mouth open and a look of such astonishment on his face I almost forgot why we were there. I patted him on the hand and say, “Just ignore her. That’s the way her mind works.” He doesn’t look relieved and is replaced by a nurse who gets the IV started and fills Jackie with morphine. She falls asleep while I’m trying to get the hospital to call her doctor. They won’t call him. I’m wondering why. He’s her doctor; he knows what’s going on. When I get a hold of him and explain the situation, he tells me to have the emergency room personnel call him. They still won’t call him even though I’ve given them the number and his instructions. Apparently since he isn’t on staff at this hospital, they won’t call him. I talk to him again.

By now the hospital is trying to get Jackie to sign a release to have an ultra-sound done on her stomach. The doctor has already told me the situation is normal for the procedure she’s just had and that if they do an ultrasound they’ll insist on a hysterectomy. First I fought with the emergency room staff to get her cared for, then I fought with them to have them speak to her doctor and now I’m fighting with them to have them follow his instructions. The emergency room doctor and nurses tried to get Jackie to sign a release for the ultrasound four times. She refused, I refused and still they kept asking.

After five hours, they give up and I was able to liberate her. Her pain is under control; she’s been re-hydrated and is high on morphine.

Next time I’m calling an ambulance or just putting a pillow over her head. Jackie felt really, really guilty over this. She not only took me out to lunch, did my laundry, but she also put gas in my car.

Jackie guilty is a beautiful thing.

Until next time, Miriam