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The first six lines from my recently published novella The Coach House.

Unless there was some Tall Dark and Handsome silently breaking into women’s homes, making thoughtful and passionate love to them, then quickly disappearing, Carys had been having an erotic dream. And from a purely analytic perspective, Carys knew that some unidentified and sexually sophisticated man could not possibly have seduced her twice that night in her sleep as she lay next to her snoring but otherwise comatose fiancé. Nonetheless she rose from the bed to take a shower in the wee hours, scanning her nude body carefully in the full-length mirror behind the bathroom door but finding no love bites or any other incriminating evidence. Obviously she had been dreaming. She slipped carefully back into bed with heavily snoring Steve, whom she had not seen naked (not that either complained) in five years.

It certainly hadn’t been Steve.

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So many wonderful writers participate in Six Sentence Sunday. Please find more of them here!

 
 
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There is something delicious about seeing your work in print. And even more delicious about seeing MINE in print.

Oh yes indeedy, the print copies are done. Sure sure, it's nice to have an eReader, but isn't a paperback just so wonderful to hold? Isn't it lovely, in this digital world, to have something tangible appear?

I wanted print copies for a few reasons. Not the least of which is the now-it's-here-now-it's-gone ephemera known as "cloudware" and just digital in general. On the one hand our texts and IMs will come back to haunt us, on the other, my books will disappear, possibly never to be reformatted for whichever new reader comes along in 2018.

And isn't it nice to leave a legacy for one's progeny? Or as I put it "nice to embarrass the kids with something."

Makes Grandma seem a little more hip.

So go. Now. Run out and buy a book. Or a novella. Or two, preferably mine. Live a little.