SPECIAL SNEAK PEAK: Bachelor SEAL

They stared into each other’s eyes for several seconds. They never used to do this. It was all go at it, get to the sex or the argument. But tonight, they just looked at each other’s faces and absorbed what they saw. She saw a man damaged by his own hand and burdened by a past that wasn’t his fault. She saw a man who had one speed, and that was fast. On. Present. No daydreams or visions of greatness. He used to tell her he was just a man who was hired “to get ’er done” because he could. He did the things others couldn’t do, and for that, he’d paid a heavy price. But he also didn’t want anyone’s pity.

And she was a woman who couldn’t take the energy because it interfered with her own. He needed someone who could support him. She needed the same thing, and neither one could give the other what was needed. That was the long and the short of it.

Unmasked and without the emotional overtones, the angry upsets, and hurts, she could see better who this man really was. And he wasn’t so threatening. Or maybe he’d learned to couch some things, change his behavior in ways she’d not noticed. This could be the way he was all along, and she just never saw it.

Any way she served it up, she came to the same conclusion. She’d heard people say it on military blogs or at functions she used to attend. She’d seen it written on a plaque located on an island in the South Pacific, carved by men who knew what they were talking about and who’d just lost their best friends on a foreign beach. She stepped toward him without touching, inhaled, and said, “Thank you, Morgan for all you’ve done and continue to do to keep me safe. Thank you for my freedom. I appreciate you more than I’ve ever told you before.”

He was going to grab her and kiss her, but she pushed him away.

“Whoa! I didn’t mean that. I said ‘thank you’, not ‘come fuck me.’”

His smirk was so disarming, in spite of how wrong it was to love seeing it. He was forbidden fruit all the way. Every part of him. The way he looked, the imaginary way he made love to her in her dreams—full tilt without holding anything back. He made quick decisions just like she did, like it was ready, fire, and then aim. He’d always give his all and bear the consequences of the haunting afterward. He wouldn’t change for anyone or anything because being damaged looked good on him. Like a uniform that was perfectly tailored. His scars were his medals. He was a hurricane sometimes without a focus, and he’d never be tethered to anyone, no matter what the cost. But he could, and she honestly believed this with her whole heart, that he could save her from whomever was after her.

Just before he opened the door, he turned. “Darlin’, I’m revved and ready to go if and when you ever decide to drop that gate.”

Thought you also wouldn't mind a couple of other shots of my San Francisco model, Justin Thomas (who is about as nice to meet as he looks). Just 2 more days. Ok ladies, start your engines!

You can order Bachelor SEAL here. Enjoy!

F is for Flying #atozchallenge

I'm flying to Scottsdale for the Desert Dreams Convention. Teaching a couple of classes and looking forward to the reader signing on Saturday. I think I have only one suitcase close to the limit. I was smart and sent ahead my things, and I'll send any unused books to RT in Las Vegas.

Having dinner tonight with my friend from Tucson Festival of Books I think 3 years ago now, and his wife. He's one of those guys who has done things we don't want to know about. LOL. I have used him as a source for several FBI and other law enforcement questions I've had.

So, #atozchallenge is now at the letter F.

I get a lot done on the plane and in the hotel room. Meeting my narrator on Friday, and we'll be doing a class on audio books. After having worked together on 21 of them, I think we've got it down, but then we find something new just about every new project we undertake.

I am grateful for being able to fly to visit friends, to teach and to give back to the community of wonderful writers. It's like fishing, and that's another F word. I put myself in these places, and people show up, events happen and I learn something.

Friends is a good F word. Today I learned how to upload a movie file to my FB author page. Looking for a way to track it, and did not know the video is treated as an impression, rather than a click. I've got tons of videos I'd like to show off. And Facebook, okay, that's another F word, likes them right now.

I like Free also. Free books, free first in series.

And, as I write this, I hear frogs. I love frogs for various reasons. I've got 12 tattooed to my forearm, one for every SEAL book, just like my characters have in the series. And I have a pretty one on my back, something that could have been drawn in the 1960's. Love the color and the paisley symbols.

Flower Child. Some would make that one word, because it certaiinly is a THING! That's me. This flower child has a small garden this year. And that's another great F word:

Fabulous!

SUNDAYS WITH SHARON: Worshiping At the Altar of My New Computer

WORSHIPING AT THE ALTAR OF MY NEW COMPUTER....

Cleaning up my desk is good for my muse! The clutter-free space allows the stories to flow, allows me to get into my stories. It helps that lately I've been taking naps in the afternoon, and writing at ungodly hours of the AM, and late at night. I actually prefer it when I can have total and utter silence, except for the music or things I select to alter my environment.

My computer was acting wonky. That is a technical term. And yes, it did blow up and had to have a data transfer. I'm always part of it, but this time, I think "it" was feeling "unwell." I was forced to be off most social media for 3 days. I almost went through withdrawals, but my muse was dancing a jig.

So off I went to the Apple Store, and they hooked me up. Got another iMAC with a Thunderbolt accessory screen, so I could have a larger desktop. And like I said in my title, I'm worshiping at the altar of my new stand-up adjustable desk and the beautiful MAC computer and display. I'm in Heaven. Even my sunflower outside the second story window is happy.

I read a little bit in a mental warfare book that's part of my daily devotional at sunrise, and the message for today was about being focused. How perfect.

Environment makes a big difference to me in writing stories, especially stories that have to have emotion to make them believable, and "hooky" to readers. My son has recently gotten a part time job at my favorite country inn here in Sonoma County. It was rated the best country Inn in the whole US some years ago. In my books, I call it the "Waterwheel Inn", but its real name is the Kenwood Inn. I go there sometimes to hole up and write, away from my normal life, the barking dogs, the work being done on the house, where I can order room service, sleep in a big bed like my heroes and heroines do, write by the fireplace all night or all day long.

Some of my best sexy scenes have been written here. I've spent some verra verra nice Valentine's Days here, too. Some of the upper rooms have views of the Kunde Winery across the highway (it's only 2-lane, Highway 12 that winds from Santa Rosa through Sonoma and on to Napa). The lobby is decorated with old map drawings like in my yet to be finished time travel, Be With Me. Maybe my muse is taking me on another wild ride, but I have 2 SEAL novellas to finish this month, and I'm trying to focus on those while the luscious story of this WIP calls to me, like a hunky lover in a dream. And what's so funny, is the hero in this story comes to her from a hundred and fifty years in the past the same way.

So, I'm enjoying my Sunday, reading in a new world I'll be writing in for Cat Johnson, her Hot SEALs world, finishing up that and one other committed novella before I head off to Florida for the Indie Bash in Orlando, and then a week with the grands at Disney World.

But my muse is sitting with a pitcher of Sangria, listening to the music "Lips Taste Like Sangria". And I'm really sitting on a beach near Nelson's Dockyard on Antigua and writing another story, in another place in time.

To celebrate the release of our 15th audio book, J.D. Hart and I are offering a free audio book from Sharon's backlist, including the brand new SEAL Brotherhood Box Set No. 2.  If you want to enter, leave me a PM on my Sharon Hamilton author page on Facebook. 

SUNDAYS WITH SHARON: Writing Books is Like Quilting

SUNDAYS WITH SHARON:  STRINGING TOGETHER STORIES IS LIKE QUILTING.

My daughter just finished our giveaway for this month's Newsletter. We incorporate some of my SEAL book covers in it, and use the same Alexander Henry Pursuit of Happiness background, showing off George Washington, Abe Lincoln and other's abs like you've never seen before.

Writing stories, especially stories for different venues, is very much like piecing together a fine quilt.

Quilting and gardening are two things that bring me solace. Yes, I do enjoy reading while exercising and I've been doing a lot of that lately (trying to get caught up on some new projects I'll be involved in this year). Just like reading, quilting puts me in a "zone" similar to meditation or listening to wonderful music. We spend so much of our day "doing" things, showing up for events, communicating with readers and other authors, and running our businesses, sometimes it's just good to have "screw around time" planned into the schedule. When I used to coach Realtors, I always made my clients schedule "just daydreaming" time. I had a couple Realtors who were shopaholics and we had to plan their vices into their schedule, because it would creep in anyway - better to have planned it.

So when I'm quilting, I think up stories. In high school I made all my own clothes. I used to think about romances while I was sewing as a girl of 14-17, with hunky men who would sweep me off my feet. Little did I know how important "daydreaming" would be, nor how important those themes in the stories were.

Last night I was plotting a new story. I was supposed to be working on another one, but this new one just came in and took over. I know better than to try to push my muse to the side. It dresses up like a bright drag queen and sings drunken pirate songs of love until I have to pay attention to it. Still not sure whether my muse is male or female. One thing is for sure, it likes to sing and dress up in bright colors, including wigs. LOL. More than you ever wanted to know about me, right?

I started with a color: Navy Blue. And the symbols: The Trident. And some heroic traits, and voila, I was off and running. I've got 3 in the works already and I'm excited to say I'll be starting to write the first one this afternoon.

After launching a book I dearly loved writing and nearly wrote itself, I can't wait to get good and steeped in this one. The hero is already whispering in my ear. The heroine is a real randy spitfire, so I guess I'm getting to relive my 20's again...lol...He wants to come out and play hard and love harder. {{{sigh}}} Duty Calls.

Have you seen my new book trailer on YouTube?
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SUNDAYS WITH SHARON: If It's Sunday, It Must Be Cincinnati

Me with Lori Foster at #RAGT15 in Cincinnati

I had a wonderful time here in Cincinnati at the Lori Foster reader and author get together. This completes my 7th conference so far this year, with 4 (possibly 5) more to go. I'm finally getting the hang of it. The more I do it, the more I enjoy it. Even managed to watch history being made while having a nice dinner with friends. American Pharoah won the triple crown, something which hasn't happened in 37 years and I was there watching the big screens, cheering him on.

There were a lot of personal victories for me this trip. It continually amazes me how as a romance writer, I can touch so many people's lives. I started out this writing journey creating stories for myself that I couldn't find anywhere else. And now I write for everyone else. The more I get to know some of the authors I love to hang with, the more I understand that we all absolutely love what we do. I could never say this about anything else I did, even things I was highly successful at.

I've been working on finishing my SEAL's Code story. Like every story I do, I fall in love with the hero, love to feel the chemistry of the couple and their complete surrender to each other. Hanging around people in my stories who have a happily ever after gives me great satisfaction and pleasure. I sincerely think it makes me a better person, too. Love always triumphs over hate, good wins out over evil eventually and the most unlikely and improbable odds turn out to be what saves the day.

Like my heroes and heroines, I try and fail. Do things I'm proud of and things I'm not so proud of. When I'm done with the story, I do feel like it's the end of a relationship for me, and I do have a hard time letting go. But that only lasts until I get engrossed in the next story, and so on and so on.

Someone at dinner tonight talked about being afraid to show her work, to even read her own work. I completely understand that. My friend Karin Tabke gave me some great advice on that, which I gave to this newbie author: "Finish your story, send it out, put your blood spatter apron on and get ready."

I told her that the only way we get better is to fail. And if we fail big, we win big eventually. When I think of all the lessons I've learned this year and last year, my biggest failures have also been my biggest wins.

And yes, love conquers all, heals all, enlightens us all and brings us to the most blissful and perfect self we can be. It's the place where the magic happens, where men wear Mickey Mouse ears and dance along little paths through castles, merry-go-rounds and pirate villages. It's the place where people trust and enjoy spending time with each other loosely, unselfishly.

Flying into Cincinnati

Like Walt Disney said, "Where all the animals go up and down and there is never any chipped paint." We get the prize when we jump in, connect, strap in for the ride of our lives, not knowing the outcome. Where we take a chance on each other.

I decided I'd give you guys an excerpt (very short one) from SEAL's Code. This is not the hero or heroine, but two FBI guys working on a case, minor characters in my story that give color and texture to the fabric of the word weaving. One guy, Cortland Drews, is a huge FBI agent in charge, and is forced to work with his sidekick, Daryl, a skinny agent right out of school. Like my SEALs, I liked their smack talk and banter. I like to watch them squirm and fail a bit, and then pull things out of the fire at the last minute, just like my hero and heroine. Enjoy. Can't wait to let you guys read it. Remember, this is an unedited excerpt, so tread on me lightly. But enjoy nonetheless.

Excerpt, SEAL's Code:

He’d been assigned a kid straight out of school named Daryl.

            “Cortland,” Daryl said in his whiny nasal tone, oblivious of how it made him want to grab the guy by his neck and wring it. “You like anybody we’ve interviewed for this?”

            He didn’t want to tip his hand just in case there was a secret mission necessary. “Not sure yet. I’ve cleared all the women so far and most the tribal men.”

            “Which leaves me,” Daryl said pointing to his own pigeon breast of a chest, “And the group from Gallup and Phoenix.”

            “Very good,” Drews said.

            “What’s your theory?” Daryl didn’t seem to mind that he was on Drews’ short list.

            “I smell money.”

            For being so clueless, Daryl knew when to stop pushing for answers. That made him a perfect assistant. “Whew. Well, that rules me out, since I don’t have any.” His half-hearted attempts to crack a joke fell flat at first. Then Drews bellowed as if it had taken him a long time to catch the subtlety of the joke. He never left an opportunity unused to demonstrate how slow he was. It gave him an advantage over everyone if they thought so of him.

            To their own peril.

            “You hungry, Daryl?”

            “Does a chicken have lips? Does a snake chew gum?” Daryl scrunched up the side of his face, obsessed with his own cleverness.

            “That fuckin’ doesn’t even make any sense, Daryl. The answer to those questions would be no, so I guess you’re not hungry. You want to wait in the car then? It’s only one hundred six today.”

            “Well, I’ll take some pie for lunch. The lady who bakes here is supposed to be the best on the whole reservation. Her name’s Emma.”

            Drews started to relax. Maybe some day he could just have an ordinary twenty-four hours, so he could walk into a diner, sit down to the counter and order a piece of pie without seeing body parts splayed over everything and the dark thoughts of every male in the place. He thought women were the only things that made men human. He used to tell his friends he thought God figured it out right away he’d fucked up when he made Adam, or the First Man like the Navajo’s believed. So he made woman to balance him off, distract him into behaving nicely just like leaving a little trail of pills for a junkie to find. If he was unlucky to find a bad woman, once the man was trapped, the woman would tie him up and eat him little bites at a time. Like a frog in water that was brought to a slow boil, men would think they liked it, until it killed them and their manhood. Even good women did this to men all the time, he thought. He didn’t want to change, had no intention of changing anything for anybody except himself.

            So, Drews was going to stay free forever. He’d live alone and die alone. He’d make sure not one piece of his DNA was left behind afterwards. He wanted to be remembered for the impact he had on the cycle of life and death, how he played the game, not the life-long friendships and satisfying work everyone else was seeking. If it was Halloween, he’d dress up as the grim reaper.

            Every day.

RED FRIDAY READ

Since it's Red Friday, I thought I'd take an excerpt from one of my SEAL Brotherhood Series books. This one is from the upcoming book SEAL My Home, which releases 3/31/15 but is on preorder now. Just like in SEAL'S Promise, a terrorist cell figures prominently in the story. Here's an excerpt that won't reveal a spoiler. 

Here's the blurb:

Bad boy Rory Kennedy was raised in foster care, bouncing in and out of trouble along the way. He finds his true family and real brothers as a Navy SEAL, one of the Navy’s elite warriors. When his BUD/S instructor barked the SEAL’s Motto: Only Easy Day Was Yesterday, he knew he had found home.

Megan Palmer works in a bookstore and finds her passion in life through reading steamy romance novels. Her brief affair with a man she later found out was married has left her damaged, until she meets the handsome SEAL, who stands ready to open her world and give her things she’s only dreamed.

On a skiing trip, Rory suffers a possible career-ending injury and also comes face to face with a past he never knew of, and a family who had abandoned him. His relationship with Megan is tested to the breaking point as Rory wades through the dark waters of recovery and whether or not he can live without the life he loves. A home-grown terrorist cell forces his hand and he discovers his true purpose.

EXCERPT:

“Detectives, I’ve spent less than ten minutes total talking to him. I barely know him. He told me he was a hedge fund trader. I got that he was successful, I mean, he arranged his private transportation to the hospital in Los Angeles from Big Bear. He had this guy Derek helping him, and he was on the phone and computer. That’s pretty much it. That’s all I know about him, other than the fact that he’d tried to find me when I was little, and failed.”

“And you’ve had no contact since L.A. No phone calls or internet with his office, with this Derek guy?”

“Absolutely no. I haven’t checked my emails in a few days, but last time I did, nothing.”

“Would you check it right now, please?” one of the detectives asked.

Rory got up slowly, positioning his cane for steadiness. Kyle stopped him.

“Let me. Where is it?”

“Next to the bed.”

           Rory walked slowly with his cane as a guide, leaned slighty into a stool, setting the computer on his eating bar, the two detectives looking over his shoulder. Scrolling through his gmail account inbox he did find something he’d never seen before.

            It was a single line item with a subject line: Raymond Corrigan, from Raymond Corrigan’s computer. Underneath there was a single picture which flashed slowly on the screen line by line. It was a picture of his father, bound and gagged, barefoot, sitting on a chair on a concrete floor of some dark warehouse. He was wearing an orange jumpsuit. On his lap was a copy of the New York Times dated today. His eyes were swollen shut with dark bruises. Underneath the picture were the chilling words:

            Proof of Life.

Do I have your attention? I hope so. Hope you join me in this journey for SEAL My Home next month, and then SEAL's Code in June.

 

 

Sharon Hamilton

Life is one fool thing after another.

Love is two fool things after each other.

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