So Ava and I decided that the cover for The Duke of Morewether’s Secret didn’t fit with the rest of the series.

We had it remade. It will go live on Amazon sometime probably after the holidays.

What do you think?

I have this app on my iPhone that tells you what each day of the year celebrates. You know like Mother’s Day or Arbor Day, only the days this app reminds you of are things no one has ever heard of before.

Here’s what it says for December 18th:

1. Answer the phone like Buddy the Elf day.

OK – that might be fun, except the only people who call me during the day is my father and he’d be totally clueless and all the fun would get sucked out of it. I think I’ll pass.

2. Bake Cookies Day

This one I like for obvious reasons.

3. Free Shipping Day.

Perfect. I’d like to be shipped to New Zealand please.

4. International Migrants Day.

Sigh. There’s no joke here.

5. National Regifting Day.

Interesting that they’d put this one 1 week before Christmas. I think this day was designated for really lazy people. I also suspect that the National Retail Federation does NOT endorse this.

6. National Roast Suckling Pig Day

Don’t you think this one is oddly specific? Why not just roast pig day? Or roast day? No, this is suckling pig day. That’s a pig with an apple in it’s

Now it all makes sense

mouth, right? That kinda creeps me out and the only time I can see myself eating one of these is if I’m transported back to Medieval Europe in a time machine or something.

7. National Wear a Plunger on Your Head Day.

What? I suspect drugs were involved when this one was thought up. Not only is it unsanitary, it’s also stupid. Promise me that if you see someone with a plunger on their head you will ignore them. They are only desperate for attention and you don’t want to give it to people like that. Then the next thing you know, everyone on MTV is wearing a damn plunger everywhere and then we’ll have young men with their pants hanging WAY too low and plungers on their heads. I can see this getting rapidly out of control. Just say no to plungers. No. No. No.

We got a new refrigerator. The Bandit is campaigning heavily for the old refrigerator to go into his room. I don’t think he’s really thought this through since I have no idea where he would put it.

“What furniture should we move out of there?” I asked, thinking to humor him for a moment. I always enjoy his thought processes.

He thought for a second. “Well, I need my desk because I wouldn’t have anywhere to put my computer to play Minecraft.”

“True.”

“And I like my bed.”

“It seems appropriate that a bedroom should have a bed.”

“I don’t really need my dresser,” he suggested.

He’s totally right. All of his clothes, clean or dirty, are scattered on his floor. No amount of nagging seems to change this. Ava’s head would explode if she saw his room.

“Still–” I shook my head “–I don’t think we’ll be putting that old fridge in your room. You’ve already got enough food hidden in there.”

“Oh, come on!” he protested. “Sassy gets a laptop.”

Like a laptop and a refrigerator cancel each other out.

“I never get anything good.” He narrowed his eyes. He does this like he’s Old Ben Kenobi and he can convince me that these are not the droids we’re looking for or something.

“You’re right. You don’t.” I shrugged. “And it’s too late to tell Santa about it now.”

He snorted in disgust and went to say goodbye to the old fridge.

“Mark this down in that notebook I gave you to mention to your therapist some day: Reason 753 why I had the worst mother EVER.”

Sincerely – this commercial is our life. We almost feel like they wrote it for us. Amylynn’s favorite part is the woman eating the corn dog while working out on the elliptical machine.

We don’t do a lot of self-promotion here at the Quill Sisters. Today I’m going to make an exception.

Finish What We Started is out! Ready for you to purchase!

This is Lee’s story. You’ll remember Lee as the brother of the hero from Cooking Up Love. And the lady of Lee’s dreams is going to run him through the wringer before they find their happily ever after.

Five years ago, Lee Bennett’s whirlwind romance with Candace Claesson ended as abruptly as it had begun, and just when he needed her the most. Since then, Lee’s built a successful construction company and a satisfying, if solitary, life. When he’s hired to build Candace’s new veterinary clinic, Lee finds her as irresistible as ever—but he’s never forgiven her and he’s sure as hell not letting her break his heart again.

For years, Candace has wrestled with regret and guilt over leaving Lee. At the time, nothing was going to stop her from achieving her dreams of studying in Scotland and becoming a vet—not even young love. They’d been inseparable for six months, but anything that intense couldn’t last. Or so she thought.

Reunited in their hometown, neither Lee nor Candace can resist picking up where they left off. But with so much from the past standing between them, how they can rebuild what they started so long ago?

IT’S AVAILABLE EVERYWHERE YOU PURCHASE EBOOKS.

Amazon   Barnes & Noble  Kobo  Carina Press

We’re still feeling out this business of the Sisters being separated. It’s not like we haven’t ever been apart before, but for the last ten years, we’ve been together more than nine hours a day, five days a week. And then we’d talk at night and all weekend. Now, Ava’s trying to figure out if she can actually work in an office again, and Amylynn has been trying to navigate the world without a wingman. It’s been rocky. First of all, no one thinks we’re funny, and that’s a tragedy. Second, we have to eat BY OURSELVES or with strangers. The only thing that perks Amylynn up is that her Chipolte consumption is way down. Also, it’s really good that our cellphone company doesn’t charge us by the text or we’d be selling a kidney to pay for that. We’ve wiped away a tear and found some funny stuff to share. At least there’s that.

1. Snake House. Somewhere in Saskatchewan, Canada 310 garter snakes were removed from a family’s home. They were everywhere–the kitchen, basement, and even the upstairs rooms. Now get this, the family had rounded up 221 snakes on their own before they called snake experts. The Sisters live in snake country and you’d think that would make us used to it, but we want to assure you that if one snake slithers through our kitchen there is going to be trouble. If another one wanders into our bedroom, shit is going to fly. The experts had better show up with guns a blazin’. Our favorite part of this story is that the family has asked to remain anonymous so that people could visit without fear. Our recommendation is that if ANYONE in Saskatchewan invites you to visit, you stay the hell away. Better safe than sorry.

2. Flurry of furries. This is one of those stories that you’re going to think we made up.  We swear we didn’t. Seriously. Ok, here we go. A hotel in Chicago that was hosting a Furries convention–hold on, do you know what a furry is? They are adult people who enjoy dressing up in cartoonish animal costumes. You’ve seen them. Amylynn was traumatized by an episode of CSI that centered around furries.  Anyway, this Chicago hotel was hosting the Furfest annual convention when emergency workers evacuated the hotel due to a toxic chlorine gas issue. “Where did they evacuate the furries to?” you ask. To the dog show next door. Because of course they did. Can you imagine the look on the Pekinese owner’s faces when the 6-foot-tall rabbits, foxes and dragons poured into the arena?  Good times!

3. Lion on the run. We talked about this before. The forest service down here keeps trying to reintroduce big horn sheep to our area. The mountain lions keep gobbling them up. First let us state that we disapprove of eating the sheep. The sheep are probably very nice, but lets face it–they don’t seem very cuddly. The Sisters will always side for the cuddlier animal. Or maybe it’s the fuzzier animal. There’s probably a chart we could put together for reference.  We suspect this affinity is our fatal flaw. Most likely it will get us killed one day. Nevertheless, we’re rooting for the latest mountain lion to escape with his full belly.

4. Our favorite Nobel Laureate. Nothing funny here. We’d like to say we’d be brave enough to do what Malala Yousafzai did, but we fear that we’re closet cowards. She also makes us feel ungrateful, but we strive to live a life that is worthy of the Malala Yousafzai’s out there who don’t have our conveniences. We’ve had conversations with our daughters about what Malala means to all women, but we doubt they’ve really grasped her importance. We’ll keep at

The burnt dog bed

it. She’s a wonder. At the risk of sounding stupid, we’ll raise a cupcake in your honor today, Malala. We recommend you do the same, Internet.

5. Dog trouble. Coming full circle, we head back to Canada for our final thing. In the Yukon some crazy dog set his owner’s house on fire when he was playing with matches. Yes, the dog was playing with matches. There is a serious lapse in details in the article we read as we don’t know what kind of dog this was. One of those juvenile delinquent breeds, most likely. Apparently, said dog was lounging on his bed and chewing on a box of “strike anywhere” matches. No animals or people were harmed in the fire, but it did cause extensive smoke damage to the house. We’re wondering if there wasn’t more to this story. Like maybe did he see a snake? If there was a snake then burning down the house may have been the only solution, something those people in Saskatchewan should look into.

The book that I’m writing is making me crazy. It’s by far the hardest one to research yet–and I thought the one where the cast went to Greece had been difficult. Believe me, it’s nothing compared to this one.

And the craziest part is, the bulk of this “Regency” takes place in America. Early America. 1815 America to be exact. You’d think that would be a lot easier to research what with me being an American and all, but this has been a nightmare. Everyone thinks they know the answer and I’ve been given lots of advice, all of which I know is unequivocally wrong based on what I’ve learned so far. Everyone is an expert who doesn’t know shit.

I don’t want to divulge the actual issue I’m dealing with–I’ll have it all worked out eventually (bah!!!!) and you can read it when it comes out–but it has to do with traveling. I’ve been all over the internet. I’ve read old books, read personal accounts, looked at maps on line till my eyes crossed. I’ve contacted the Missouri State Historical Society, who sent me to, of all places, The Arizona State Historical Society–more on that later. I’ve

can you even remember the last time you used one of these?

requested historical articles from the 1816 Missouri Gazette. Yet, I’m still floundering over a specific issue. I wish I could just change my plot and get rid of this nightmare, but that’s not going to work out either.

I started out today with a great deal of hope. I headed down to the AZ Historical Society library. I’ve never been in a historical reading room before. Not that I don’t have hopes of making it to the Vatican and poking around in their library some day. At least now I’ll be prepared. Did you know you can’t take anything in the room with you? ANYTHING. The librarian made me sign a huge form that promised a long and protracted death should I maim the books in any way such as marking in them, folding or tearing a page, or exhaling garlic breath on the bindings.  Then she gave me a quarter and told me to put EVERYTHING in a locker outside. No, I may not keep a notebook. No, not a pen either. I shoved my purse into the locker, but squirreled my cell phone in my jeans pocket, because really. After a stern look from the librarian, she gave me the book I needed.

It was in fabulous shape considering it was written in 1818. I suspect that’s because no one is

I don’t know what library they’re at but this would not have been allowed where I was

allowed to look at the books too sternly.

Don’t you know the minute I settled in with my official AZ Historical Society pencil and piece of blue paper parceled out for notes, my nose started running. I didn’t have any Kleenix since I didn’t have my purse. There was none in the library either. What the hell would they do to me if I got snot on their book? Holy shit. I was terrified. I sniffed and sniffed and sniffed until I started sounding like a cocaine addict.

At one point, I noticed someone–someone who was NOT me–had made “x’s” in the margin on pages 164 and 165. Do I narc them out? Do I erase them? What if the librarian noticed me erasing and assumed I wrote the “x’s” in the first place. She’d never believe the girl with the obvious cocaine addiction if I told them it wasn’t me. I quickly turned the page just in case. I have no idea what was on those pages. I’ll bet the exact information I needed was right there.  I’ll never know.

I left the library still frustrated, but not remanded to the library prison so I consider that a win. Still, I’m not accepting any calls that come from that number.

Dear Life of Leisure,

I miss you. I really do. I don’t know what I was thinking to get a job and let you go but I’m sorry. Please, please come back to me. Baby, come back. Here’s what I did today without you and Amy: I went to work where they made me WORK. I swear it’s true. I had to work like a . . . I don’t know what you call it . . . like a WORKER.

It’s odd. I have not had to be to any job on time in decades. By on time, I mean at a certain time, in this case 8:30AM. They expect you to be in the office by 8:30AM. Not around 8:30AM but AT 8:29AM or earlier. It’s just crazy. In fact, I really need to talk to them about such an unreasonable demand.

I Miss You

I’ve also been able to come and go as I pleased. And let me tell you, it pleased me and Amy no end to come and go as we pleased. I’m not saying (with the exception of recently) that I’m not used to doing my job at work I’m just saying I’m not used to being treated like a worker.

I feel like a captive. After you get there, you can’t leave until lunch. And lunch is a disaster! Lunch is only for an hour. ONE HOUR. Who the hell can get lunch, eat it, run errands, etc. in 60 measly minutes. Honest to Zeus, it’s barbaric. And no one is grateful that you show back up after your tiny lunch hour. Nooooooooooooo. Now get this, they EXPECT you to return after lunch and stay until closing time. It’s expected. Apparently, everyone does it.

I’m not even going to tell you what happened when I asked where the nail polish and TV were located . . . let’s just say – I don’t see this working out.

Half of my family is from Missouri and My Honey’s is from Arkansas and Oklahoma. Plus, we live in AZ so there’s always access to guns running in the background. As you can guess, there is a serious redneck gene running through my kids’ blood–something my husband is quite proud of, actually. I do my best to make my children speak proper English and urge them to have an expansive desire to fulfill their curiosity, thus not falling into the stereotypical redneck trap.

But then there’s my boy.

We’ve always had trouble with him and clothes. He had a real aversion to underwear when he was little. As a toddler, the day care asked me to make sure he was wearing some when I dropped him off. It got so that I would have to do a butt check at the front door and send him back in for drawers.

These days he’s embraced the concept of underwear. So much so in fact, that now I’ve had to enforce a rule that pants must be worn to the dinner table. The minute he gets home from school, off go his pants.

Then he requested white “wife-beater” tank tops from Walmart that he wears with his underwear to sleep in. And walk around the house in. And eat dinner in if his father and I allowed it. The two of us find this disconcerting.

Now his sister on the other hand, LOVES clothes. She wears approximately seventy-five outfits a day, all of which then end up on the floor of her room requiring laundering. Am I the only parent who has a conniption when they find folded clothes, married sock pairs, and clothes still on hangers in the dirty-clothes basket? Invariably they will be moldering under a wet towel thus requiring that they be washed AGAIN.

I’m like Sisyphus with the laundry. I’m always doing it – washing, folding, putting away. The very second it’s done, the laundry baskets are full again and no one has “anything to wear.”

Not that the boy cares. He’d be just as happy as a pig in mud to wear dirty underwear and a dingy t-shirt for the rest of his life.

You’ve probably seen this on television, but there’s a few more silly seconds at the end they’re not showing on the networks that are totally worth while.

You’re welcome.