Things I love about March:
And did I mention I wrote a book about St. Patrick’s Day? #SilverBracelets, book 2 in my #HermosafortheHolidays series is available in both print and ebook on Amazon. Okay, yes, I know I’ve mentioned it before, but if you haven’t read it and you’re looking for a spring romance, I hope you’ll check it out. Here’s the blurb:
#SilverBracelets by Tari Lynn Jewett
So, you’d like to go viral on social media?
Fourth grade teacher, Ashley Swensen finds herself in a hashtag nightmare, when a picture of her crashing a bicycle at School Safety Day, goes viral, with the tag #AshleyAccidents. And why is it that every time she screws up one hunky cop happens to be around? Before she knows it, she becomes an unwilling poster child for community safety. And even a St. Patrick’s Day birthday isn’t bringing her luck.
Officer Benny (Benito) Lopez just wants to ask the cute teacher for a date, but she doesn’t want anything to do with him. And his friends keep making things worse. Then he remembers his grandmother’s advice, to make a grand gesture.
Will they accidentally fall in love? Or will social media keep them apart? Only her girlfriends and a little ‘luck o’ the Irish’ can help her now. And chocolate of course…
In the meantime, tell me what you love about March?
0 0 Read moreI was stumped for something to write about this month. I have been working on a book due to my editor next month. Plus, I need to review the edits for my mother’s first devotional. I’m so proud of her. I went on the hunt for something from my blog and came up short. However, I found something I thought would be good to share…my first published work.
I had the privilege of writing a piece for Christian Fiction Online Magazine (I don’t know if it’s still publishing). I remember being so excited at the opportunity. Looking back now, I see how different my writing is. I used to use this as a free download for new subscribers. I took it down, because it no longer represented my writing style. In looking at the publish date, I discovered it was the fourteenth anniversary of my first published writing piece. Talk about shocked. I can’t believe it’s been that long since I began my writing career.
Here’s my first short story. Tell me what you think. If you’ve read any of my current works, this will be extremely difference. Trust me, I won’t be offended by your comments. See you next month.
_____________________
CAREER REBORN
(Published 01.21.2010 Christian Fiction Online Magazine)
I had been wanting to quit my job for the past year and a half, but the timing was never right. But fortunately, that is no longer an issue. My boss was fired last week, and it seems likely that everyone on her team will be fired as well, leaving me, her assistant, or as she referred to me “The person she was forced to hire,” jobless.
I know God hears me when I pray, and I was trusting Him to show me what to do next. But in the meantime, I put on my favorite black Prada skirt and pumps, black cashmere sweater, and the floral print Hermes scarf my generous but scathing boss gave me for my last birthday, and grabbed my most recent Christmas gift from her, a black leather YSL Muse handbag. I figured mourning attire would be appropriate, since I was on my way to the funeral service for my dead career. I took one last look in the mirror, picked up my keys, and walked out the door, not quite sure how painful today’s meeting with Human Resources would be.
I treated every step of this morning’s walk to work like a funeral procession, absorbing everything in sight and unsure if I would travel down this street again. When I arrived at my office building, I rode the elevator with the rest of the people from my boss’s team, each of us quietly staring at the brass doors, trying not to look at one another. As the doors opened and we exited the elevator to our new futures, we were greeted by Marcy Gibbons, the head of Human Resources.
No greeting. No smile. Just her curt command: “Follow me.” Surely an omen of what was to come. She turned and led the way down the hall. We followed her into the conference room and took seats around the large oval mahogany table, waiting for the official word ending our time with the company. As we fidgeted in our seats, still avoiding eye contact, the door whooshed opened. Mr. Thomas, the head of the company, strode in. This was a first. In all the years I’ve worked here, I have never known him to personally fire anyone. He didn’t even fire my boss. He never lowered himself to deal with such menial tasks; he left those duties to Marcy.
He surveyed the room. “Good morning, everyone. As you know, Christina was let go, and after careful examination of your collective work, I have uncovered some rather interesting information.”
As his voice rumbled around the room, I looked over at Marcy, sitting as still as a statue.
“Marcy and I have come up with a plan to handle this unique situation.”
He cleared his voice and our eyes met. Instead of feeling nervous, I was very calm. Okay, God, hit me with it. I know whatever it is You have planned for me, You have also instilled in me everything I need to do it.
Marcy stood and walked around the table, handing everyone a packet with their names printed on the outside. When she came to me she walked past without giving me anything. Okay, I guess that means as Christina’s assistant I won’t be getting a severance package like every one else. I shifted a little in my seat and placed my hands in my lap. All eyes were on me, but I remained calm.
“Jillian Morgan.” A chill ran up my spine when Mr. Thomas called my name. “Sir.” When senior level executives are fired, it’s customary to fire their assistants as well. And in extreme situations, their entire team is demoted.
“You worked for Christina for five years, giving you access and insight to every account her team handled. Is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And is it true that among your many duties, you assigned the territories to each manager, developed the team strategies, composed the quarterly reports for upper management, and did the team’s bonus reviews?”
“Yes, sir.” I needed a good review for my next job, so if ever there was a time to toot my own horn, it was now.
His eyes locked on to mine. “Tell me, Jillian, when exactly did you start doing Christina’s job?” Busted. I thought my duties for Christina were a secret. Now I know I’m getting fired . . . and without severance.
“Uhm, I-I . . .” I cleared my throat and looked around the room at all of the people on Christina’s team. They all thought she was a genius, generous, and a dynamic leader. After all, every year the strategies the team had employed worked; they exceeded their goals and got big fat bonuses. “She had me . . . I mean . . . for the past four years.”
“I see.” He nodded his head and looked over at Marcy before continuing. “Come here, please.” I got up and walked over and stood next to him. “I have reviewed every report this team has filed in the past three and a half years and discovered the change in productivity occurred when Jillian arrived. I know you all thought you were being fired, but there’s been a change in plans. No one is being fired.”
A collective sigh resonated around the room.
“However, Jillian, you will no longer be allowed to stay on as an executive assistant.”
No surprise there. My stomach clenched.
“Instead, I am promoting you to Senior Director for this team.”
“Excuse me?” I couldn’t keep my mouth from hanging open as he extended his hand to congratulate me. How had I gone from a lowly assistant to Senior Director? Thank you, God. I shook my head trying to process everything. I looked around the room and everyone was smiling.
“There is nothing wrong with this team. You all work well together. And I believe with Jillian at the helm, you will continue to do even better. Keep up the good work.”
“Thank you, Mr. Thomas. We won’t let you down.” He shook my hand as everyone jumped to their feet and applauded. All I could do was try not to faint.
A new year means new goals. Last year, one of my authorship goals was to build my mailing list to 10,000. A lofty goal, considering my mailing list was only 3014.
So what was my plan and why build my list?
First, a little history on my mailing list. When began my writing career, I knew very little about author marketing. I have another business which I have mentioned in previous posts. However, I didn’t realize some of the marketing tools I use there could be used in my author business. I have a decent mailing list with my lingerie business, but like any mailing list, it requires nurturing which I failed to provide for both entities.
There are several authors who do well with a list that size. Frankly, if everyone on my list bought every book I released on release day, I would be excited and pocket quite a bit of money on that day only. No matter how much I may like my stories, every reader on my list won’t feel the same and that’s okay. Let’s say, every subscriber did buy everyone one of my books, what happens in between releases? What if I only release one ebook a year at $4.99 (before printing fees), that would yield approximately $15,000. Not bad by any means, but that’s all I would earn based on a mailing list with no growth. We’re only talking about my mailing list not any additional sales. This example also doesn’t include my backlist, because those subs would already have every one of my books.
Relying solely on my list seems a great idea, but in order for this to be sustainable or for me to have a steady income, I’d have to release four to six books a year. For me, that isn’t doable, because it’s more detailed than it sounds. Trust me, I speak from experience. Remember my lofty release a month project in 2016?
Back to my reason for building my mailing list. When I started my writing career, I wasn’t focused on a mailing list. I thought you wrote a book, put it up for sale and it would magically sell, but that’s fantasy. In order to sell books people need to know about your book. With my first release, I had a handful of organic sales. The rest were family and friends. It was a crawl building my list. Once I did, I saw some movement with that book, but even more with the next release. The list was slowly growing but I needed to make a move. Then I discovered Mark Dawson’s free course on how to build a list. I followed the plan and it worked. My list got up to 3000 plus. I was rocking. Some of my new subs preordered my new releases making release day better. I still didn’t have every sub buy every book, but I was making strides.
I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the way, the list started to shrink. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I tried pretty much everything…paid list building, facebook group promos, newsletter swaps, signing events and ads. All were nice, but didn’t produce the results I desired.
The other reason I wanted to increase my mailing list was author swaps. I had tried some swaps, but because my list was so small, I wasn’t able to swap with authors with larger lists. In order to sell books, the book and author need access to readers. I am not knocking authors with small lists, because that’s where I am. However, there are authors with grand lists…20,000…40,000…60,000+ subs. I already hear you saying, a list that large is expensive and you’re right. However, a list that large more than likely will supporting itself.
Here are the facts about my journey. My mailing list has 4084 subscribers. However, for some reason not all of then want to receive the newsletter. At the beginning of this challenge, I had 3014 subscribers who wanted to receive the newsletter. However, I believe some of those not receiving email, neglected to click the “receive email” box.
Here are the numbers.
Goal to get to 10000…………………6986
Mailing list at start of 2023………..3014
Lost Subscribers……………………….-432
New Subscribers……………………….7451
New mailing list total……………….10033
When this challenge was completed, I had reached my goal plus 33. Side note, I haven’t done a thorough review of the new subs, so there might be some duplicates. Like most lists, some will probably leave and that’s okay, it only makes room for people who want to be on the list. Also, remember with each email sent, some subs might leave. In my case, I lost 432 plus the 1070 who opted not to receive emails.
So how did I grow my list? I joined a lot of Book Funnel promotions. These are free and easy to join. I’m still not fully versed in how the BF system works, but I’m learning. I also joined an assortment of paid list builders, a few facebook group list builders and a couple of book signings. Since the Book Funnel promos are built on free books, that meant I gave away 7451 books. Not too bad. I also did bi-weekly newsletter swaps. The mistake I made here was not tracking the results of the swaps. I also failed to track the organic growth not associated with any of my promo efforts.
I am a fan of the Book Funnel promotions and have decided to make the Book Funnel promotions part of my ongoing marketing campaign. If you’re looking for a free way to build your mailing list, I highly recommend the Book Funnel promotions. Now that I reached my goal, I’m eager to see how this effects my author career.
See you next month.
Emotional and heart-wrenching stuff. More about the above next month.
So…………. for this February post here’s some fun stuff for Super Bowl Sunday! and the upcoming Valentine’s Day
I had my old Home Movies digitized and when I posted the short video above of me in–you’ll never guess–Las Vegas–(I was talking about my Valentine’s Day short story about a kissing bandit in high school which I posted here!) a reader mentioned that I look like Taylor Swift. Thank you! How cool is that?
Now for the football angle — when I worked at a local radio station (on-air, voicovers, and doing PR) I had the opportunity to work with the Rams cheerleaders for a promotion we did on Catalina Island. I got to be a ‘cheerleader’ for two weeks working with them and their routines in LA for the event.
We (the cheerleaders and me) sailed to Catalina Island on a small yacht and I was in the parade at the Chili Cook-Off wearing–are you ready for this?–a pink sequin mermaid costume!
So how did I ‘swim’ to the float? I didn’t… I had two big, strong Rams football players carry me and my mermaid tail to the float. Oh, my, yes…
=================
Bonus:
Writers write what we know… even when it’s embarrassing.
Take my first kiss. High school. Drama class. Me, the shy new kid. And a snarky guy with a big ego.
Keep reading….it gets worse.
Valentine’s Day is a time for kissing.
But what if your first kiss was just plain awful?
Meet Riley Murphy. She’s a kissing virgin, waiting for the right guy to come along. Until she joins the Drama Club at Holywell High and has to kiss the class dweeb on stage in front of the whole school on Valentine’s Day.
==============================
VIRGIN KISS
Jina Bacarr
Introduction
What’s in a kiss? A kiss by any other name is—
—sweet, romantic, intimate, passionate, wet, sloppy, disgusting, probing, awful, nasty, sexy, tingly, and sometimes just plain wonderful.
But what if it’s your first kiss? And you have to pucker up in front of a live audience at your high school? What then?
Pass the Altoids, please.
The kiss-from-hell happened to me, Riley Murphy.
This is my story.
* * *
A few weeks before Valentine’s Day…
I’m the new kid at Holywell High School, a shy, skinny freshman with cinnamon-colored freckles sprinkled across my nose. Flat-chested. I’ll never be Miss Popularity with the bouncy boobs and flirty lashes.
I’m more like an olive stuck on the end of a toothpick.
Even with that dossier, I’m not a total dork. I’ve gotten pecks on the cheek and quick brushes on the lips, but I’ve yet to experience the soul-melting kisses you see in the flicks. The passionate lip-lock I’ve dreamed about, wrote about in my diary.
I’ve pined for that kiss, but it’s yet to happen to me. God knows, I’ll be in graduate school facing lifelong debt before the right pair of lips meet mine.
To overcome my shyness, my mom convinces me to try out for the Drama Club. Somehow I land the leading role in a one-act Chekhov play.Yes, Chekhov.
I play this mad, beautiful countess with passion and heart. I love it. I come alive on stage. I can do anything, be anybody, say anything, I can—
—kiss the male lead?
A gangly sophomore named Harold Brimwell with long, greasy hair and an upper lip curled in a perpetual snarl. He’s going to anoint my virgin lips with my first kiss?
Forget the Altoids. I need a stress pill.
I quit the play. They can find another dupe. Not me. I’m not going to let him use my lips for kissing practice.
Then I hear this little voice in my head telling me this is acting. Going through the motions at rehearsals and on stage don’t count on the kissing scale. I can pucker up with Harold on stage and still be a kissing virgin.
Right?
After my pep talk to myself, I sail through rehearsals, knowing my lines and ‘connecting to my character’ according to the director. He says I’m a natural, my emotions raw but real. This is amazing. Me, Riley Murphy, the kid who’s always the ‘new girl’ at school because we move around so much because of my dad’s job, found something she’s good at.
Then the trouble starts.
The director insists on method acting.We don’t rehearse the kiss. He wants a real kiss on stage, not a phony smooch.
Worse yet, we open on Valentine’s Day with a preview performance at the afternoon school assembly. Not only do I have to kiss this guy, I have to do it on the most romantic day of the year in front of the entire student body.
I dump the Altoids… along with my confidence down the toilet.
* * *
Valentine’s Day dawns rainy and cold. Perfect weather for a Russian play.
I arrive at the gym early, put on my makeup in the girls’ bathroom then, with my hands shaking, I hook up my long Victorian black lace dress borrowed from the costume department, the silk petticoats rustling around my feet. I’m way nervous, but something cool happens as I run my lines over and over, my fear slowly dissolving into a shaky confidence as I slip into my character’s skin. Humming ‘I will survive’, I check my props, my fingertips tingling as I pull on my snug dueling gloves, then twirl the dainty parasol over my head like a spinning top.
I grab the small pistol for my big dueling scene, then heave out a big breath, praying I don’t drop it and everybody laughs at me.
I save putting on my lipstick for last.
First, I gargle mint-flavored mouthwash until my lips turn green and my mouth goes numb. Next, I line my lips with Chekhovian, dark red lipstick and smack them together. Perfect. I’m ready for my lip close-up.
It’s showtime.
I’m so nervous when the lights come up, I garble my opening lines. Then I trip over my own feet and nearly crash into the backdrop. Hot tears form in my eyes, but I want this too bad to give up now. All my life, I’ve stayed in the shadows. If I fail now, I may never get the courage to try again. I ignore the smirks and catcalls and swish my long skirts around like a real countess to boost my confidence.
I can do this.
Somehow, I get my groove on and my theatre training takes over. I sail across the stage, chin up, shoulders back, my voice clear, my lines down to a T. I’m ‘in the moment’. Much to my relief, the dueling scene goes off without the pistols misfiring.
Then it’s time for…
… the kiss.
I’ll never forget the expression on Harold’s face when he takes two long strides toward me. A mixture of sadistic pleasure and baddass ‘tude comes over his face, as shiny and sweaty as his palms, freaking me out. Lower lip snarling, my co-star gives me that ‘I’ve got you now’ look all fired up in his eyes, pinning me to the wall.
My teeth chatter. My mouthwash stops working.
It’s so quiet in the high school gym you can hear the director chewing on the end of his pencil.
My heart pounds so hard I can’t get my breath on when Harold pulls me into his arms, yanking me around like I’m a dollar store rag doll and then—
—he slams his mouth onto mine.
Bile rises in my throat as he pushes my lips apart and thrusts his mushy, saliva-coated gum into my mouth, making me nauseous. I swear if my dress wasn’t hooked up so tight, I would have ralphed all over him. Before I can push him off me, he shoves his tongue down my throat, way down, nearly gagging me.
I start choking.
I can’t breathe. Oh, my God, I’m going to pass out.
No, I can’t, I won’t. I’m determined not to faint. I have to get him off me. No gum-chewing, phony-macho sophomore is going to get the best of me.
I’m an actress, I tell myself, so act!
With stars circling around in my pounding head, I pull up my strength and kick him in the shin. There.
Startled, he jerks backward, but not before he bites my lower lip.
What the—
I taste coppery blood. Fresh, oozing, smearing my perfectly-applied lipstick. I’m in shock, disbelieving. It can’t get any worse.
Can it?
It can.
Dabbing my bleeding lip with my silk sleeve, I struggle in his arms, but he holds me tight, slobbering all over me, licking my face, my throat, coating my skin with stringy gum. My ears won’t stop ringing. The audience is going crazy, yelling and shouting like they’re at a basketball game and I’m the bouncing ball.
No, no, he’s not going to take advantage of me. I worked hard to get this part, learn my lines. Practiced how to walk, how to find the core of my character. Gosh darn, this is the first time in my whole life I’ve come out of my shell and done something really special.
He’s not going to ruin it for me.
I have to do something. Fast.
The pistol.
Where is it? After the mock dueling scene, I threw the prop gun down on the round table. It has to be there, but where?
I reach out behind me, my nails catching on the lace doily… I twist my head just a little… yes, I see it. I edge the gun toward me, an inch at a time. Sweat oozes down my too-tight collar and my knees buckle, but I don’t give up.
Almost got it… there. My fingers wrap around the pearl-inlayed handle. I suck in a breath then, without losing my nerve, I jam the prop into his ribs. Hard. I yank my body with such fury, I rip the black silk sleeve right out of the armpit. It slides down my shoulder, but it doesn’t stop me.
‘Get your hands off me, you sloppy-kissing, gum-chewer!’ I yell, ignoring the script and re-writing Chekhov. ‘Or you’re getting an “F” in drama class.’
The director gasps. Loudly. But he doesn’t refute what I said.
‘Yeah, sure,’ Harold stutters, letting me go, raising up his hands and backing away. ‘Anything you say, Riley.’
‘That’s telling him!’ a girl yells from the audience.
Amy Zanderbar. His ex-girlfriend.
She’s not the only one. All the girls stand up and start chanting, ‘Go, Riley, go!’
Wow. I hit a nerve with the females sitting in the bleachers who had their share of bad kissers.
They love it.
The audience starts clapping wildly and stomping their feet and continue chanting my name. I break the fourth wall and give them a ‘V’ for Victory high sign until the chanting dies down, then my thespian instincts kick in and I get back into character, giving Chekhov his due and ending the play as he wrote it.
I’ll always remember this night when a shy freshman girl in a borrowed Victorian dress took on a snarky sophomore and became empowered to stand up for herself in front of the whole student body.
It changed my life.
* * *
Epilogue
We performed the one-act play for the next few nights without further incident, faking the kiss each time. Harold is cool, not attempting any more way-out kissing. For me, it’s strictly acting.
I’m still a virgin in lip-land.
But I’ll never forget V-Day and my experience with the gum-toting, kissing bandit. Not a bad guy, just a rotten kisser.
And in case you’re curious, next semester I do find the right pair of lips to land that first kiss.
A hottie junior. Jack Dwayne.
When Jack takes me in his arms and lowers his face to mine, I quiver with anticipation and soon discover a kiss isn’t just a kiss, it’s…
… magic.
Happy Valentine’s Day!
——————–
PS — yes, Riley is me, a shy freshman back in the day.
2 1 Read moreThe deck beckons you to turn over a card. The cryptic symbols on the backs intrigue you, but you aren’t sure you want to wade into the tarot just yet.
A friend gave you the deck yesterday, on your birthday, telling you with a smile, “This will help with your decision.”
Britt knows you too well—that you are often indecisive and in fact have put off this most important action until it is almost too late.
“But I know nothing about fortunetelling,” you sputtered after opening the small box that neatly held the tarot deck.
“All the better,” she said with a knowing nod. “They will guide you.”
And now you stare at the deck, your hands trembling slightly. You feel like a skier at the top of a steep hill: Once you push off, you will be on a downward slope without any ability to stop until you reach the bottom—or hit a tree.
Britt has already nudged you gently. “Start your session with the cards by asking a question.” She winked. “You already know one, right?”
Yes, you do. And, so here you are, whispering the question to yourself. The deck is ready even if you are stalling.
The first card’s smoothness belies the fellow on the other side: a joker. You wonder if you’ve misunderstood the intent. Are these meant for playing a game like poker? Then you notice that the card’s name is the Fool. Ah, that makes sense. Who’s the Fool now?
From some memory your mind dredges up—was it a carney attraction when you were a kid?—you recall that a handful of cards are turned over and from them your fate is revealed.
The memory comes crashing back: The woman with the short-cropped hair and dramatic eye liner, her long, blood-red fingernails tapping the cards as she discussed your future. The musky perfume that infused the small room off the main carnival path.
“Today is here, make the most of it.” Then her frown as she turned over the last card.
You fled before she could pronounce your fate. What had seemed a lark had become menacing. Now, you mull over her cliched answer and realize how spot-on she was: You were indecisive even then.
The Fool’s card is followed by the Six of Wands, then you flip up Judgement, then the King of Cups. Is that enough? Once again, you mine that long-forgotten memory, but the number of cards on the threadbare carney tablecloth is just beyond your grasp.
You decide to turn just one more face up. This time it’s the Wheel of Fortune, reversed.
And now you should have the answer you reluctantly seek . . . somewhere in these images.
The words form in your mind, as though someone or something is dictating them: You are at the cusp of a new beginning. This is your wake-up call; once you take this step, there is no going back, but this is good news. You have long seen your life as one in which you are waiting for the best to come. That changes with today.
And now you are texting Britt. She has posed a question to you, one that will indeed change your life.
“Yes,” you text. “My answer is yes.”
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Celebrate all year long through Romancing the Pages
More info →A Slice of Orange is an affiliate with some of the booksellers listed on this website, including Barnes & Nobel, Books A Million, iBooks, Kobo, and Smashwords. This means A Slice of Orange may earn a small advertising fee from sales made through the links used on this website. There are reminders of these affiliate links on the pages for individual books.
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