Bell Bridge Books

Night After Night

by Kathleen Eagle

Where do characters come from? From life, of course. From people. Even if the character is an animal, if it has thoughts, it’s a personification. Every writer’s characters come from people the writer has somehow experienced. Fiction is about the human experience—yes, even sci fi, even fantasy—fiction is about us. Writers find stories and characters in the world around them.

One of my most memorable characters is just a boy in THE NIGHT REMEMBERS, which was published in 1997. His father is black, his mother Lakota Sioux, and Tommy T—the nickname his father gave him—lives on the streets of Minneapolis. He’s resourceful, independent, witty, irrepressible, already a brilliant artist at the age of 12, when he “adopts” Angela, a woman who is out of her element and on the run. His older brother is a sad case, so Tommy T tries to look out for him, too. But Tommy T needs a hero, and he finds one in Jesse Brown Wolf, the enigmatic troubleshooter Tommy T calls Dark Dog.

Tommy T is one of my favorite characters, and he was inspired by a student from my early teaching days. Oliver was a terrific artist, a wonderful basketball player, a very smart young man. Years later—soon after we moved to the Minneapolis area—we ran into Oliver at an art show. It was so good to see someone from Standing Rock, the Lakota reservation where most of the Eagles live, where my husband and I met, where I taught high school for 17 years and where our 3 children were born. But here we were, out of our element, and here was Oliver, who was also glad to see people from back home, and who said, “I’m really doing good now, Mrs. Eagle.”

It wasn’t long after that meeting that Oliver died tragically. Heartbreakingly. Senselessly. Years later I wrote a story—not about him, but for him. And readers began to let me know that it wasn’t finished. Tommy T was one of their favorites, too, and he ought to be more than a secondary character. Tommy T had to grow up.  I knew who Tommy T was as a man, and I wrote NIGHT FALLS LIKE SILK.

Tommy T is now Thomas Warrior, a reclusive graphic novelist. He’s crazy successful and drop-dead handsome, but he’s also troubled by his past. He visits Angela, his adoptive mother, but only when Jesse isn’t home. He blames Jesse for his drug-addicted brother’s troubles. And now the characters in Thomas’s stories have begun to haunt him. They want him to go back to his roots, reclaim his heritage. Maybe that’s why he finds himself bidding on a set of century-old ledger drawings and feeling more than simply challenged by Cassandra Westbrook, the beautiful but outrageously privileged woman who outbids him. I believe NIGHT FALLS LIKE SILK is worthy of the irrepressible Tommy T as well as the irresistible Thomas Warrior.

Thank you, Oliver.

NIGHT FALLS LIKE SILK is only $1.99 through the 31st. Pick it up today: 

Second Chances

by Sandra Hill

How many times in your life have you wished for a do-over?  How many times have you said, “If only…” with regard to some past event, or person?  Does your heart ever ache at the thought of a second chance to do something differently?  If only we could turn back the clock!

Sometimes it involves carelessly spoken words that wounded. Or words not spoken that should have been.   Or a poor choice of career…or even a spouse.  Wasted time, lost years.  Desertion.  Betrayal.  Or lost love.

The heart aches at the finality of some of our actions.  If only…, if only…, if only…

It’s a favorite theme in many books and movies, sometimes with satisfying conclusions, other times the sorrow of lost chances.  The movies “An Affair to Remember,” “The Way We Were,” “The Notebook,” or “Casablanca.”  Or how about Scarlett in GONE WITH THE WIND?  Wouldn’t she have liked to turn back the clock?  One of my favorite examples is Diane Gabaldon’s OUTLANDER.  When Claire returns to the future, she thinks Jamie is dead.  What a fabulous plot angle when Claire discovers twenty-some years later that Jamie never died in the Battle of Culloden, and she goes back to find him.  <sigh>

Second Chances!  That’s what happens in HEART CRAVING.  Poor Nick DiCello, a Trenton cop, has only one week until his divorce from his wife Paula become final.  He loves Paula desperately, but he’s made so many mistakes.  He has to do something, though.  Clueless about where to start, Nick goes to a wacky fortune teller for advice.  She tells him to find his wife’s “heart craving,” but Nick hears only the word “craving” and thinks she refers to sexual fantasies.  What ensues is Nick’s hilarious, but poignant, and dare I say erotic, setup of a series of sexual events to woo Paula back.

I love novels about couples who have a broken relationship and somehow find their way back to each other.  They know how to push each other’s buttons, in all ways.  The hurts are deep; for that reason, the reunions are that much more emotional when they get another chance to change.

In my own personal life, there are so many things I wish I could do over.  How about you?  Well, in books, we get that chance.

Sandra Hill is an award-winning, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of more than 40 romantic humor novels.  Whether they be contemporary, historical, or paranormal, the underlying theme in all of them is humor…and sizzle.  For more information about her books, check out her website at www.sandrahill.net or her Facebook page at Sandra Hill Author.

HEART CRAVING by Sandra Hill is only $1.99 through January 15th! Grab it today!

MEMORY LOSS: THE GOOD THE BAD AND THE UGLY

by Don Donaldson

I once saw a guy on TV who could tell you what the weather had been every day of his life since he was six years old. He was what they call a Savant.  He wasn’t normal.  The normal brain is supposed to forget experiences like that, thereby keeping itself uncluttered enough that it can remember more important things. For example, while driving your car, it’s always good to remember which pedal works the gas and which one stops the vehicle. When crossing the street on foot, does the upraised hand on the signal across from you mean stop or go? Okay, I think you get the idea.  So forgetting what you had for breakfast on Sept. 15, five years ago, is nothing to worry about.  And nobody does.  (Except for detectives who are always asking people where they were or what they were doing so long ago nobody could give them a satisfactory answer.)

It takes a lot of memory to function normally.  What does my car look like?  Where do I live?  What’s my name? People generally don’t have trouble with questions like that because those memories are extremely important and they get reinforced practically every day.  But for many of us, anniversaries and birthdays sometimes get lost in the myriad of activities a typical day requires. If asked, we could recite the date of those special events, but we just forget to remember them at the appropriate time.  For men, those memory slips can be classified as bad or very bad depending on the temperament of their spouse.

In contrast to what I’ve described above, suppose you look at the clock one day and discover that you’ve lost four hours and have no idea what you did or where you were during that time. That’s not only an example of an ugly kind of memory loss, it’s one that would terrify you.  Now imagine that it happened for the first time shortly after you started your new job at a mental hospital where some of your patients were criminally insane. Did you leave any of the insanity wards unlocked?  Were you alone with any of the dangerous inmates?  What the h… is happening to you?

That’s the situation facing the lead character in my book, THE MEMORY THIEF. Marti Segerson has accepted a job as staff psychiatrist at an old mental hospital in a rural area of Tennessee.  She’s there to seek revenge on one of the inmates for something that happened to her when she was a child. She has a good plan, but couldn’t have anticipated the horrific events that soon overtake her.

In all my medical thrillers I try to push the existing frontiers of knowledge just a bit farther into the future.  It’s interesting to me that some readers will not accept such a thing.  They judge an event or situation in a novel to be believable only if it has already really happened somewhere.  But where’s the fun in that? To me that’s like preferring to get a nap in the hotel while the rest of the group is climbing on a bus for a sightseeing trip to some exotic location. When it comes to writing, I’d rather get out of the hotel.  In THE MEMORY THIEF, The nature of memory, how it’s captured, how it’s recalled, where in the brain it’s stored; all provided fertile ground for the kind of story I like to tell. I hope it’s one you won’t soon forget.

So who wants to go sightseeing with me?

Don Donaldson’s THE MEMORY THIEF is on sale for just $1.99 til the 15th! Pick it up today! 

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Mother’s Day

by Anne Stuart

My childhood was not the stuff of dreams.  I loved my mother, and she loved me to the best of her ability, but the fact is she didn’t like children.  Why she had three of them is beyond me – I think she figured she ought to love them, and post war everyone was having three and four children.

Needless to say, with three children she didn’t want and an alcoholic husband, my mother suffered from depression and rages, and life in the Stuart family was fraught with chaos.

Things finally imploded when I was seventeen, when both my parents were hospitalized and I was sent to live with my aunt and uncle.  I’d basically cut class the first half of my senior year in high school, and suddenly I had to toe the line.  One class, that I will forever bless, was called Personal Typing.

The teacher was a fluttery, elderly woman named Miss Hale, who drew a picture of a tree on the blackboard and would exhort us to “hang our troubles on the trouble tree” while we learned touch typing.

The week before Mother’s Day she decided to teach us how to write cards, folding the paper in quarters, writing a couplet on the outside and the inside.

I came up with something like “Roses are red, violets are gray, my mother is gone, she abandoned me today.”  I was being a smart ass, of course.

Miss Hale came around, checking everyone’s work, and when she looked over my shoulder she let out an anguished cry and flung her arms around me, much to my embarrassment.  I stayed after class to explain the situation in my nonchalant way, and she insisted I write a kind greeting card to my mother.  Sigh.

Some teenagers are just too cynical for their own good.

The happy ending to all this is I became an adult and my mother liked adults, she was enormously proud of me, and I took excellent care of her until she died at 98.  Her last words to me were, “it’s my darling Krissie.”

And I never sent her that Mother’s Day card.

Pick up Anne Stuart’s titles from Bell Bridge Books today: