Mary made up stories as a child, she made up stories for her daughter, and now she's sharing the stories of her heart. Join her for a taste of love, lust, sweet tea, and Southern Comfort.
Mary lives in Georgia, north of Atlanta, and is Southern to the core.
Mary takes a look at some of her learning curves.
My life has included some steep learning curves for the past few years. I learned to reformat manuscripts so I could Indie publish them. That curve was so steep I often slid back down and landed on my ample ass! (I whined and said bad words, but I managed to upload several of them for ebooks.) When an editor wanted one of my books if I would make changes that didn't sit well with my old fashioned mind, I made them, since they were cosmetic changes only. I had already learned to reformat.
My daughter was the reason I learned to text. That curve involved getting a keyboard drawer phone and learning more than I thought I wanted to know.
Facebook offered another huge curve, but I set up accounts and started Facebook pages and even created a secret persona. (Tremendous growing pains occurred there). My current new learning curves involve learning to throw a Facebook event/party (https://www.facebook.com/ARomanceCaper) and learning to use a smart phone. The phone is smarter than I am! YERK! Someone greased those curves and I keep sliding back down, but I will climb both of them!
Check another of my curves by hitting www.MaryMarvella.com. I have a blog and am on a group blog, www.PinkFuzzySlipperWriters.blogspot.com.
My latest novel is Protective Instincts, a book of my heart and my first.
Protective Instincts is the story of Brit, a woman who has finally gotten back into life after her husband's death. She thought his death was an accident, but it wasn't, and now someone wants her dead. Yes, it's a romance, so someone wants to protect her.
The hero, Sam, has premonitions that tell him someone is in danger, but not what kind of danger and, of course, his instincts are pointing at Brit, his son's teacher. He needs to protect, but she feels she needs to learn to take care of herself.
We need a bad guy, so Douglas enters the picture. He's a professional killer of a different kind. No, I won't tell you what kind, but readers say he's creepy and they are right.
The last parent had been a My-kid-is-a-good-student-and-I-can't-believe-he's-failing parent. A look at her grade book and his most recent test score had made a small dent in the mother's superior attitude. The parent had left with a copy of the same list of assignments Brit had given each parent, with a deadline for completing the work for even partial credit. She closed her laptop and put into its carrying case.
At a sound in the hall Brit glanced up as Mr. James, the custodian, stuck his head in the doorway to warn her to wait for him to escort her from the building. She pulled the old window shades down to the lowest window, shutting out much of the parking lot light. Standing behind her desk, Brit lifted her purse from a cabinet drawer. After checking her desk drawers she glanced up as the lights went out, leaving her room almost dark. Who would've cut off the light when she was visible from the door? She glanced up to see the large silhouette of a man standing in the lit doorway.
"Mr. James? I'm in here and I still need the light, so could you please cut it back on for a minute?" Brit asked. The silhouette was silent, looming. "Wait – you're not Mr. James. Who are you?"
The dark figure moved silently toward Brit. She could read menace in his stance, the predatory way he moved. Her throat seemed to close for seconds as danger stared her in the eye. No one else should have been in the building this late.
"Who are you?" Brit repeated, her gut churning. She could see part of his harsh, handsome face but didn't recognize him. She glanced around the room. Not a weapon in sight. She tried to keep her voice calm and authoritative. "Look, you'll have to come back tomorrow if you need a conference. It's after hours."
"Don't you even know who I am?" a petulant, low-pitched voice murmured. "I'm disappointed, Sugar." He arched a bushy blond eyebrow.
His voice filled Brit with revulsion. Certain he was toying with her; she moved from behind her desk, grabbed her purse and tote bag. Please, God, let Mr. James be back soon. Would anyone hear her if she screamed or would it just make her tormentor angry? Show no fear. Show no fear. Her brothers had taught her to defend herself against stronger opponents. She could stall this man until she could get past him.
"After the gifts I sent you last night I expected a warmer welcome from you. I went through a lot of trouble to please you," he drawled. "You weren't very friendly." He crossed muscular arms across a broad chest.
NO, I will NOT tell you what happens!
This title is available @ Amazon