Ellis Vidler's Unpredictable Muse: Dare to Believe

Friday, September 21, 2012

Dare to Believe - excerpt

At Amazon and other sites

And the winner is . . . Polly Iyer!

GIVEAWAY!

L.A. Sartor is giving away a copy of her romantic suspense novel, Dare to Believe. Anyone who comments between now and Sunday, September 23, by 8 p.m. Eastern time will be entered to win an eBook or, in the United States, a print book.

Here's an excerpt.

Last night, after she'd been fingerprinted, Cate had either paced the small holding cell or stared at the ceiling. She hadn't been able to talk to Jason and had imagined every possible worst-case scenario. This morning a female deputy had allowed her to freshen up and then brought her to the judge's chambers.

And now, as the new day dawned bright, she was about to find out just how accurate her imagination was. At least Jason was allowed to be present. She'd never been as grateful for a familiar face as she was at this moment.

She glanced around the small room. It wasn't fancy. The yellowed, pine-paneled walls were dotted with framed diplomas proclaiming Arnold P. Struthers had been awarded this or that degree. Haphazardly placed between the diplomas were autographed photographs of famed skiers from Steamboat. His pine desk was massive but scarred and nicked, as if it had already seen a lifetime with its owner.

Judge Struthers wasn't fancy either. A big bear of a man with a tanned face and brown eyes—deep and unfathomable. His head was crowned by a head of thick black hair. He looked unapproachable.

Cate's heart plummeted to her feet.

"In front of me are two pieces of paper." The judge's voice rumbled out in a rich baritone, perfect for the bench. Not perfect for her.

"One is the charge of Breaking and Entering, with the recommendation of pursuing said charge."

Cate couldn't find the voice to protest, and Jason sat stone still in the only other chair in the office, hands resting on the arms of the old oak chair. A facade, for she felt the tension radiating in waves off his body.

"The other is the search warrant." The judge stared at her, then at Jason and back at her. Surely the judge could hear her frantic heartbeat. Surely she would pass out right at his feet.

Cate forced herself to breathe; going to jail meant she couldn't keep looking for Haley, and when she was found, hold her tight—then keep her tethered to her the rest of her life!

She looked at Jason, knowing he was Haley's only lifeline if she went to jail. "Find her and keep her safe," she begged, then quickly looked back at the judge, and met his eyes squarely and hopefully, bravely.

He nodded and with bold strokes, signed the second paper.

Damn. Just get it over with. By signing the search warrant he was postponing her fate.

"Now it's your turn. Tell me why I shouldn't remand you back to the sheriff's department to be charged with the crime of unlawful entry."

To learn more about L.A. Sartor, visit her website: http://bit.ly/Msu6J8

Amazon Kindle: http://amzn.to/Qjzzgm

Amazon Paperback: http://amzn.to/MMSLXS

Barnes and Noble: http://bit.ly/QNQCh2

Smashwords: http://bit.ly/MlYSSA

Paperback: http://bit.ly/MENfX5

And your favorite e-reader store.

Five Scribes Blog for Dare to Believe: http://bit.ly/PekVM4

Facebook Profile: http://on.fb.me/NxXQPL

Facebook Writer: http://on.fb.me/MUU9HK

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

What do you do when your English teacher tells you "you'll never be a writer?"

Print or eBook, all formats

L.A. Sartor, author of the new romantic suspense novel Dare to Believe, is my guest. “Ms. Sartor splashes action and suspense across a backdrop of rugged mountains and tropical paradise in a panicked search for a little girl kidnapped for reasons deeper than anyone suspects.” (Giveaway details below.)

I stopped writing. Immediately, according to my parents.

This was in Junior High School, I think 8^th grade during a parent/teacher with the student conference. My sweet, pretty teacher told us that I'd never be a writer because I wouldn't learn what writing was all about. Grammar, parsing, nouns, verbs, participles. And that all I wanted to do was to tell stories.

Well, yeah. Duh.

But here's an interesting kicker: I didn't remember any of this. I knew I loved reading even from an early age, and that stories transported me to new worlds, romance, mystery, biographies…I'd read almost anything. Even the newspaper.

Then many years later I read a truly terrible romance, and literally threw the book against the bedroom wall in our small condo. My husband came running in, worried I'd had an accident. I told him I could write better than that. He looked at me kinda funny, then said, "So do it."

I called my mom and told her I was going to write a romance, and she said, "It's about time, I knew you'd get back to it." I had no idea what she was talking about, and she told me the story.

Frankly, I was pissed. Why would a teacher tell something like this to a child filled with dreams?

So I wrote a book, and I loved it. It might not have been great, but it was a start. Then I wrote another and another and here I am, 20 years later, still telling stories.

I want to transport people into adventures, and romance, and mysteries. And if I'm lucky, show them something new, be it a place, an occupation, a perspective.

I'm also am old enough to know that in a small, miniscule way, that teacher was right. I still struggle with the intricacies of grammar. But you know, you can find people to help with that part of the process.

I believe with all my heart, that being a storyteller is a great and even noble undertaking. Don't ever, EVER, let anyone take that dream away from you. And if someone wants to try, you come to me and I'll talk you back into it. You can be a writer, believe it.