Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas!
Merry Christmas Eve-Eve!
For those of you not around for last year, this is my Christmas tradition with my readers. On my blog, I release the first few pages of my next book as a little Christmas gift to YOU! I hope this post finds your tukis on the couch with your favorite warm beverage in hand in front of a tree with twinkly lights. If not, I give you full permission for the next five minutes to just relax and not fret about your never-ending Christmas to-do list. Here is a little Christmassy picture of my tree... taken four feet off the ground where the balls/tree have not been messed with by the children or dog. Ha.
When I think back on this last year of my writing career, I feel… Well, initially I feel exhausted. There have been SO MANY late nights and so much hard work and effort put into this last year, a portion of which I was pregnant and feeling like hell for. But mostly, I just feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude. For the first time, maybe ever, I feel like I can do this. I can write. As in full-time, hopefully. I have a small fanbase and people are reading MY words. It’s surreal and amazing and just… humbling. All that hard work is finally going somewhere. Thank you. Thank you all of you that have read my words and keep following along wanting more.
When I think to this next year, like I always do when game planning all I want to accomplish in a given calendar year, I feel excited and hopeful. Isn’t that the magic of a new year? 2019 can be your year, it just depends on how purposeful you are in attacking it.
While 2018 was the year that proved to me I could be a writer, 2019 is going to be the year that I reap in heaps of joy. The joy of finally, after years and years of grueling editing, having a whole series out. The joy of welcoming a new child into this world. The joy of chasing down my two biggest dreams… being a great mommy and being a great writer.
2019 is going to be really special, you guys. I can’t think about it without getting choked up.
Thank you for making my 2018 a year worth remembering. Thank you for proving to me that with hard work, guts, and a whole lot of prayer, my writing dreams and the crazy hours I keep are worth it. YOU are worth it.
Now. Without further ado, here is the first page or two of The Reckoning. You’ll find it won’t answer much, but it should be a fairly decent teaser into what you can expect hopefully this MARCH. Yeah, I said it. Out loud. Errr… typed it? Whaterrrrr.
My hope is for The Reckoning to be out early March. I have a date in mind I will release with the cover reveal. But things are full-swing, full-steam ahead for The Reckoning right now. As long as I don’t accidentally have a baby a little early (again), you will have your end of the series before I take a big ol’ break for maternity leave.
So enjoy these few pages. And your Christmas too! Merry Christmas to all, and to all some good hype! P.S. If you were wondering what to get little ol’ me for Christmas, a review is always the
best gift you can give me. 😊 …
I open my eyes but can’t see a thing.
Blackness. Total blackness.
I blink a few times and the blinking alerts me to the fact that my head is pounding. It feels like someone is trying to tunnel out of my skull using a jackhammer. Maybe an impact drill. Maybe both. Regardless of my blinking, I still can’t see a thing. Great.
Holy crap though, my head. Ouch.
I groan and try to move my hands, but they are tied together tightly and I’m sitting in some sort of chair. The harder I try to get them free, the more the ties holding them cut into my skin, rubbing it raw. Or even more raw. If I could see them, I think I would find some dried blood there. Possibly fresh blood too. And the more I try to move, the more the pounding in my head intensifies.
I sigh despite it hurting to do so and try to remember anything that can help me figure out where I am and how in the heck I am going to get myself out of this mess.
Lyncoln going to take some drifters down right before more came and surrounded the rest of us.
I gasp remembering Sarge. There’s no way he’s still alive after taking shots to the chest like that. He has kids. He had kids. Why did he have to die? Why? They had me. Why kill him anyway?
I stifle a sob with a loud, shaky sniff and hear a familiar voice groan in the darkness. It’s at that exact moment I know we are screwed. There is no way both of us are making it out of this alive.
“Reagan.” Henry’s relief is palpable. “Are you okay?”
“I think so,” I respond, wincing. “Although my head freaking hurts. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I think so? I came to while we were being transported somewhere in some sort of vehicle. It was loud and there were flashing lights. I think we were being pursued. And then they knocked me back out. I take it that was a drifter ambush back there?” he asks then pauses a moment to release a frustrated sigh. “Okay, stupid question. Of course it was, but what did I miss? The last thing I remember is the crash.”
I spend the next few minutes filling him in on the crash and what happened in the minutes afterward while he was still unconscious. I can’t help but start crying when I get to the part when the drifter shot and killed my beloved guard. I’m trying to not be loud, not knowing where we are, but I know, I just know, Sarge is gone. And that pain is way worse than any pain I am already in.
“Reagan,” he says gently. “I am so sorry. I wish I would’ve been awake and could’ve helped you. Or him.”
I try to sniff away my runny nose since I can’t wipe it and we both sit there in silence absorbing the seriousness of this situation. Why would they take both Henry and me? What is their end goal here? I feel overwhelmed and on the verge of a panic attack. This situation is utterly hopeless. And I can’t move or see anything, which does nothing to ease my anxiety.
“Listen to me,” Henry finally says. “Sarge wouldn’t have wanted us to give up. And he certainly wouldn’t have wanted you to blame yourself. You and I both know that Lyncoln is going to move heaven and earth to find you. All we have to do is wait this out and stall.”
“If Lyncoln is alive,” I offer with a sniff. Stalling was my last plan, and it went terribly.
“He is. If they caught him, he would be here with us. So he’s alive. And he’s coming for you. You have to believe that,” Henry says confidently.
I know he’s probably right, so I hold onto that small bit of hope, but that doesn’t help my immediate concern.
Where the hell are we?