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Celebrate National Language English Day

October 6, 2025 | Author Friend Promo

on October 13

By C.D. Hersh

While hunting for an October blog idea we came across the National English Language Day. This special day not only commemorates the day in 1362 when the British Parliament was opened the first time by a speech in English, rather than French. The day also celebrates the universality, uniqueness, and the evolvement of the English language over the centuries.

Now the most common language in the world, English was brought to Britain by Anglo-Saxon migrants in the 5th-7th centuries. From those humble beginnings the language has grown by leaps and bounds, incorporating words from other languages, words and concepts developed as new inventions, medicines and progress of industry, technology and medical discoveries developed. Consumer marketing also contributed to the growth of English adding words like: Cheerios, Sugar Pops, Grapenuts, Mars Bars and Snickers.

One of our favorite new-word categories includes imaginative writers like William Shakespeare, a brilliant actor, playwright, and poet, who lived in the late 1500s to early 1600s. Shakespeare is credited with coining, inventing and popularizing 1,700 words in the English language. Among those are: bedroom, downstairs, eyeball, gossip, hurry, jaded, kissing (one of our favorites for romance books and in general), rant, yelping, and zany. Green-eyed monster is one of Catherine’s favorite Shakespearian innovative phrases.

Shakespeare created these words by adapting existing words, adding prefixes or suffixes, combining words, or “borrowing” words from other languages. He sometimes changed nouns into verbs. For instance, the noun “elbow” became a verb. Today everyone knows what it means to “elbow” someone.

Our adaptation of English, which isn’t as common in other languages, is one of the things that has allowed English to grow so rapidly, often making it hard to keep up with the newest trendy words. This adaptability has made English unique and the most recognizable language on earth.

“How recognizable?”, you ask.

Ethologue, a research center for language intelligence, a primary official source for speaker data, estimates that around 1.53 billion people speak English, either as their mother tongue or as a second language. That’s enough people to make English the most common language in the world.

So, this October 13 celebrate English! Look up some of the unique words of the Bard. Thumb through the 250,000 words in and Oxford Dictionary. Read Shakespeare or Jane Eyre, then a bit of Fan Fiction or Sci-Fi to see how English has blossomed and grown, or just hang around an old beatnik or teen and see if you can figure out what new words the people of their eras invented.

Last, but not least, write a poem or story and incorporate some of the “borrowed” words from other languages, using the invented words on the list below, or be like the Bard and create your own words.

The world of the English language is all around you, explore it and the share this blog with a friend.

Thanks for stopping by, and Happy National English Day!

Partial list of “borrowed” words from other languages:
French: ballet, entrepreneur, cuisine, adventure
Spanish: hurricane, tomato, avocado, taco, potato
Hindi: guru, shampoo, bungalow, pundit
Japanese: tsunami, karaoke, tycoon, sushi
Arabic: alcohol, algebra, sultan, zenith, safari, lemon
German: wanderlust, kindergarten, rucksack, hamburger
Aztec: chocolate, chili, coyote
Indigenous American Indians: moccasin, chipmunk, hominy, toboggan
Dutch: skipper, cookie, dollar
Greek: metropolis, theatre, philosophy

C.D. Hersh–Two hearts creating everlasting love stories.
Putting words and stories on paper is second nature to co-authors C.D. Hersh. They’ve written separately since they were teenagers and discovered their unique, collaborative abilities in the mid-90s. As high school sweethearts, and husband and wife, Catherine and Donald believe in true love and happily ever after.

Their paranormal series is titled The Turning Stone Chronicles is currently out of print.

They are looking forward to many years of co-authoring and book sales, and a lifetime of happily-ever-after endings on the page and in real life.

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Do You have a Favorite?

September 29, 2025 | Author Friend Promo

from C.D. Hersh

Often, we are asked what our favorite book or author is. As writers there is another favorite that we have and that is certain sections of the books we have written. These favorite sections or excerpts become the lines shared to promote interest in the book. Today we thought we’d share some of our favorite lines from our paranormal romance series, The Turning Stone Chronicles

Each of these books is a standalone in that there is a HEA in each. However, you will understand the continuing characters and their relationships if you start with the first book in the series.

With that said we will start our excerpts with the first book, The Promised One.

Tucking his gift under her arm, she started to leave.

“Hey.” He pointed at the other gifts. “Aren’t you going to add yours?”

“Nope. I’ll give it to you later, when we’re alone.”

“Ooh. Something special. Mineral or animal?” His right eyebrow raised, his smile growing.

Alexi laughed. “Just embarrassing.”

“For you or for me?”

“I’m not telling.”

Sidling close to her, he backed her against the wall. “Come on. Just a hint,” he said, a purr in his tone as he placed his hand on the wall next to her shoulder and moved into her personal space with the ease of a lover. One of his famous melt-the-girl looks smoldered in his gaze. The golden flecks in his green eyes lit up like fireworks. Hot fireworks.

Enjoying his closeness and the raw sensuality emanating from him, she lingered for a minute, then slowly moved away. Standing this close she could get burned, and she wasn’t ready to play with fire . . . not yet. She shook her head. “Not a chance.”

He crossed his arms, obviously irked that she hadn’t succumbed.

“My irresistible charms work on everyone else. Why not you?”

Oh, if you only knew. She had to fight to resist him. She flashed him a smile. “Because I’m special. And I’m your partner. Keeping your back safe is more important than getting you on your back.”

He laughed, a deep, throaty, and utterly sexy sound.

She locked her knees to keep from melting into a puddle.

“I like the sound of that.”

Of course you would. She felt her face flame.

Now for the second book, Blood Brothers, excerpt.

Sylvia Jordan Riley winced as Falhman dug into her shoulder and extracted a bullet. He dropped the bullet into the trash and swabbed the wound. “You want to tell me how you got injured?” he asked as he reached for the needle to stitch the gaping hole.

“Chasing Promised Ones.” And the man who murdered my ex-husband.

“I hope it was worth this.”

“It was.” She’d torn Baron’s killer to shreds, but that wasn’t the best part of her news. “I’ve found someone who shifted with me by using the power from my ring.”

Falhman stopped stitching and stared intently at Sylvia, his eyes glittering with undisguised interest. “Is he a rogue shifter?”

“I don’t think he’s any kind of shifter. He seemed startled when the shift occurred.”

“A non-shifter who can use the ring without the incantation? What’s his name?”

“Temple. Rhys Temple. There’s only one problem.” Sylvia paused then continued, “He’s in love with Baron Jordan’s niece, Alexi.”

“I thought that whole family was dead.”

“She’s the last one left, and I think she’s on track as a Promised One.”

Falhman went back to stitching Sylvia’s skin with practiced ease. “Get rid of her and get him. If we can control someone with that kind of power, we can control the world.”

Sylvia looked at her superior. He made it sound simple. Kill Alexi Jordan and lure Rhys to the dark side. Piece of cake? Not if a Jordan was involved. From her recent dealings with Alexi, she knew there would be one heck of a fight if she tried to take her man.

The third book in the series, Son of the Moonless Night, has some new characters but continues the underlying story. Here’s the excerpt:

A head of lettuce and a grapefruit escaped from the paper grocery sack as Katrina leaned sideways on tippy toes to get the topmost lock. The vegetables rolled across the small concrete patio at the bottom of the stairway well and stopped against a leg of the wrought iron café table. Whispering an expletive, she pushed the door open and placed her purse and grocery sack on the entryway table just inside the door. Then she swiveled to get the runaway vegetables.

A very pleasant and interesting sight greeted her. A pair of dark trousers caressed a toned posterior of the man bending over to retrieve her vegetables. She fought to rein in the path her mind started down. Been too long, Katrina, she said to herself as the vision straightened and turned around.

“Oh!” he exclaimed. “I thought you had gone inside.”

The way he held the vegetables out in front of him made her wonder what his hands would feel like if he held her breasts in that manner.

“Hello? Are you awake?”

“Ah, ah,” Katrina sputtered as she focused on his face to get her mind out of the gutter.

“Okay. Awake, but not here yet.” The corner of his lips started to rise.

“You,” she breathed when she recognized him. “Where’s my grandmother’s afghan and my Cleveland Brown’s hoodie?”

“Nice to see you, too, and thank you, I’m feeling fine.”

She crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “If you hadn’t run off I’d have known you were okay.”

The smile inched up the side of his cheek, lighting his electric blue eyes. “You worried about me. How sweet.”

“Sweet, my patootie. I just . . . You could have bled . . . Oh, crap. Where’s my stuff?”

He took another step closer to her. The deep blue ring around his amazing eyes seemed to darken.

She leaned back from him.

Without taking his eyes off her, he nodded to a brightly colored gift bag on the ground beside the door. “I got blood on the afghan so I had it cleaned. It wasn’t badly stained. The blood came out. The hoodie’s a different story. I couldn’t salvage it, so I bought a replacement.” Balancing the vegetables in one hand he lifted the gift bag to her. “Forgiven? Please?”

Book four, The Mercenary and the Shifters, gets more characters involved in the struggle. Here’s the excerpt:

Mike Corritore wheeled up the circular drive of the impressive house on Lakeshore Road and cut the engine on his motorcycle. After a quick glance around, he shouldered the bags containing his clothes, ammo, pump shotgun, and talwar sword. Then he headed for the carved front door. The doorbell echoed inside indicating the mansion had a cavernous entry hall. He searched the entrance stoop for security cameras and found none.

What the heck had he gotten himself into? A rich bitch, with no security on her home, mixed up with a bad syndicate spelled major trouble. With this chintzy level of security, it would take more time than he originally anticipated to make her house and business secure.

After a couple of minutes, the door opened.

“Can I help you?” asked an attractive redhead.

“I’m Mike Corritore. Here to see Fiona Kayler. Will you tell her I’ve arrived?”

The redhead looked him over, then braced her legs shoulder width apart and crossed her arms over her curvy bust. “Do you have identification, Mr. Corritore?”

Mike returned her once-over. Her porcelain complexion blushed pink at his bold examination, and she tossed her mane of wavy, mahogany hair defiantly.
Damn, she was gorgeous.

If she thought her insolent pose enough to keep him, or intruders out, she’d better reconsider.

“Hugh sent me.” He stepped forward but she blocked him.

“A driver’s license for your very expensive motorcycle will suffice,” she said, wiggling her fingers at him. When he didn’t comply, she stepped back and reached to the side of the door.

The distinct cachung of a gun cocking sent him flying to the right of the doorway.

“Identification, Mr. Corritore. Please,” she said as she leveled a pistol at him.

Mike dug in his rear pants’ pocket. “Hugh lied,” he said as he held out his driver’s license. “You don’t need protection.”

After inspecting his identification, she lowered her weapon and waved him inside. “For my business, Mr. Corritore. I’m capable of protecting my home, but I can’t draw my gun just anywhere.”

“You should get a conceal and carry license,” Mike said as he entered.

She put the safety on the gun and stashed the weapon in the table beside the front door.

“I take it you’re not the help,” he said, glancing around the entry hall.

She held out her hand. “Fiona Kayler. Nice to meet you, Mr. Corritore.”

“Mike,” he said, taking her hand. Her palm, warm and soft, told him she lived a life of leisure. But her strong grip screamed, No patsy. He held her hand a bit longer than he should have. She wriggled free and waved him to the left.

“Ladies first.”

With a nod, she led him toward a sumptuously decorated room. He followed, his eyes taking in the soft curves of her rear as she sashayed across the marble-tiled floor. Mike’s body reacted to the seductive wiggle of her bottom. She walked as sexy as she looked.

Keep your mind on the job, Corritore. He shifted his gaze away from temptation, searching the ceiling and corners of the entry for security cameras. If she had them, they were well hidden.

The measured click of her high heels on the hard marble tile floor disappeared as they stepped on the thick, white carpet of the living room. This room appeared cozier than the entry. A huge gold, gilt-edged mirror hung over the fireplace reflecting the scene outside the oversized plate-glass window.

She motioned to a seat beside the fireplace. Mike chose a location less exposed to the exterior, where he could watch the entrance to the room. Fiona dragged a side chair across the room to where he sat, positioning it at a right angle to his seat. Two vertical furrows appeared in the carpeting, bisecting their shoe impressions and the vacuumed paths in the thick fibers. Apparently, she didn’t use this room much.

“So, Ms. Kayler—”

“Fiona,” she corrected.

“Fiona, exactly what do you need me to do?” As he said the words, he had a lurid vision of what he’d like to do to this lovely woman. He shook it off. She was Hugh’s friend and in trouble. He had no business screwing around with damsels in distress. They were needy. The last thing he wanted.

“A couple of years ago I had a problem with smugglers. They brought in some hazardous materials which got me in trouble with Homeland Security and the FBI. They cleared me, but my business took a pretty big hit. To keep things afloat, I’ve had to get in bed with some rough characters recently.”

At the phrase get in bed with Mike cocked his eyebrow at her.

“Not literally,” she amended quickly, as a dusky pink blush crept over her pale complexion. “I need my security beefed up, so I don’t have a replay of two years ago.”

“Any good security company could upgrade you.”

“I also need someone I can trust implicitly. Hugh vouched for you, and I trust Hugh.”

“We should start with your home security. I didn’t see surveillance cameras at the door.”

“My home is perfectly safe. It’s my business I’m concerned about.”

Fiona crossed her arms over her chest, her body language closing off to further suggestions. Mike followed her motions. As he did, he spotted a red dot on her chest. The dot wiggled.

“Get down!” Mike shouted as he dove for Fiona.

They hit the floor as the pottery on the raised fireplace hearth exploded, sending shards across the room. Mike shoved Fiona behind the nearest chair then scrambled across the rug to the blown-out window. Removing his gun from his back-of-the-waist holster, he peered over the windowsill. Seeing no one in the driveway, he swiveled around to check on Fiona. The red laser point danced around the room, searching for a target.

We hope you enjoyed this look into some of our favorite lines from our books and maybe got interested to follow along with the story.

Putting words and stories on paper is second nature to co-authors C.D. Hersh. They’ve written separately since they were teenagers and discovered their unique, collaborative abilities in the mid-90s. As high school sweethearts and husband and wife, Catherine and Donald believe in true love and happily ever after, and that’s why they write romance.

In addition to writing Catherine and Donald love antiquing, traveling, singing, and going to the theatre. Catherine is also an avid gardener and has drawn Donald into her garden as a day laborer. They figure the couple who plays together and works together, stays together—and that’s just what they aim to do.

Second Editions Coming Soon:

Ghosts and Gardenias

The Promised One The Turning Stone Chronicles Book 1
Blood Brothers The Turning Stone Chronicles Book 2
Son of the Moonless Night The Turning Stone Chronicles Book 3
The Mercenary and the Shifters The Turning Stone Chronicles Book 4

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What to Do About Doing Nothing to Do

September 22, 2025 | Author Friend Promo

from Anne Montgomery

So, I found myself in a rather precarious situation.

One day, recently, I had nothing to do. Not a thing. Even the house was relatively clean, and the laundry put away. There was nothing more I could do for the garden, which was on its way to the summer desert-char season, where all things green are reduced to sticks and straw. I could find no new reporters, bloggers, reviewers, or book clubs to pitch my novel to. There was nothing to edit or update. No e-mails to return or query letters to revise. And, gosh, with school out for the summer, there were no teenagers to supervise, unless you count my youngest son, who’s twenty and thinks he’s all grown up and doesn’t need my guidance anymore.

It was…quite frankly…frightening.

I know what you’re thinking. In the inimitable words of Mrs. Blue, when she first faces Forrest from her porch, “What are you crazy or just plain stupid?”

Now, as a teacher, I don’t use the word stupid. Five letters, yes, but, in the classroom, it’s lumped in with the dastardly four-letter variety. Still, when I tried to explain the cause of my anxiety to a friend, he looked at me like I’d lost my mind. Stupid, indeed.

I went online and, because I had nothing else to do, I took what was billed as the 7 Minute Anxiety Test. I agreed or disagreed with all sorts of statements on a link called the Calm Clinic: I have sweaty or cold, clammy hands. I am afraid of crowds, being left alone, the dark, strangers, or traffic. I am able to relax.

That last one gave me pause. Even when I go on vacation, it takes me a few days to stop searching for a purpose, to find that sweet spot where I can take a nap or crack a mindless novel in the middle of the afternoon without guilt. The test results showed that I’d scored a 25 out of 100 on the Anxiety Scale: Apparently, my case was nothing more than mild.

Still, why the trepidation when I’m not under pressure? I put on my Sherlock deerstalker cap and, since I had nothing else to do, I gave it a good think. I ruminated on the fact that I have spent perhaps an inordinate amount of time being insanely busy. Sometimes, I flash back to my newsroom days, where the frantic preparation for the next show could, at any moment, be wrenched in a new direction, necessitating the tossing of the previous plan moments before going live on the air. (I still have nightmares about not being prepared when the red camera light blinks on.)

When I first became a teacher, my panic at those relatively short TV segments seemed silly when faced with the proposition of five hours each day staring down children in the classroom, who glared back, waiting. I felt like an animal in the zoo. I used to be a server in a restaurant in Washington, D.C. where very busy people wanted their food “Right now!” As a sports official, decisions must be instantaneous. There’s no, “Let me think about this and get back to you,” allowed when it’s time to throw a flag or keep it neatly tucked in your belt.

And then, I paused. Everyone is busy. Our world dictates that we run from one responsibility to another with crushing regularity. Busy defines us. And, clearly, I’m not the only one who feels a bit queasy when things slow down. More than half of Americans – 55% – responding to an on-line survey admitted to leaving vacation time unused in 2015, which totaled 658 million days.

Perhaps we’re just out of practice in regard to relaxing. Like anything else, one must train to become adept at a skill. One can’t just jump in without extensive repetition and expect to excel. So, I’ll solve my free-time anxiety problem by devising a plan, creating coherent steps in order to discern the proper route to relaxation, and then…

You know, all this thinking is making me sleepy. Maybe, I’ll take a nap and ponder the problem later.

Here is a peek at Anne’s Historical Fiction novel based on a real soldier.

Bud Richardville is inducted into the Army as the United States prepares for the invasion of Europe in 1943. A chance comment has Bud assigned to the Graves Registration Service where his unit is tasked with locating, identifying, and burying the dead. Bud ships out, leaving behind his new wife, Lorraine, a mysterious woman who has stolen his heart but whose secretive nature and shadowy past leave many unanswered questions. When Bud and his men hit the beach at Normandy, they are immediately thrust into the horrors of what working in a graves unit entails. Bud is beaten down by the gruesome demands of his job and losses in his personal life, but then he meets Eva, an optimistic soul who despite the war can see a positive future. Will Eva’s love be enough to save him?

Praise for Your Forgotten Sons

“Although a deftly crafted work of original fiction, “Your Forgotten Sons” by Anne Montgomery is inspired by a true story. An original and inherently interesting read from start to finish, “Your Forgotten Sons” will prove to be an immediate and enduringly appreciated pick.” Midwest Book Review

“This was a quick, riveting read that really challenged me to think differently about our servicemen and women, especially those who take on the jobs that don’t get heroically depicted in the media or news…I really highly recommend this book to anyone that is looking for a different take on American history. I left it with a newfound appreciation for the unsung heroes.” Bekah C NetGalley

“This is the truth. It’s gritty and painful and bittersweet – and true. When you think you’ve read every perspective of WWII, along comes Bud to break your heart.” Bridgett Siter Former Military Reporter

“Anne Montgomery writes a strong story and I was hooked from the first page. It had a great concept and I enjoyed that this was inspired by a true story…It was written perfectly and I was invested in the story. Anne Montgomery has a great writing style and left me wanting to read more.” – Kathryn McLeer NetGalley

Available at Amazon, Apple Books, Barnes & Noble, Google Books, and Kobo

Anne Montgomery has worked as a television sportscaster, newspaper and magazine writer, teacher, amateur baseball umpire, and high school football referee. She worked at WRBL‐TV in Columbus, Georgia, WROC‐TV in Rochester, New York, KTSP‐TV in Phoenix, Arizona, ESPN in Bristol, Connecticut, where she anchored the Emmy and ACE award‐winning SportsCenter, and ASPN-TV as the studio host for the NBA’s Phoenix Suns.

Montgomery has been a freelance and staff writer for six publications, writing sports, features, movie reviews, and archeological pieces.

When she can, Anne indulges in her passions: rock collecting, scuba diving, football refereeing, and playing her guitar.

Learn more about Anne Montgomery on her website and Wikipedia. Stay connected on Facebook, Linkedin, and Twitter.

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LOOKING FOR A JOB

August 18, 2025 | Author Friend Promo

When I had one all along.

from Anne Montgomery

Anyone who has ever been unhappily unemployed – even for a short time – can testify to the damaging array of emotions that come with that particular package. So much of who we are is wrapped up in what we do.

After I aged out of TV reporting, I often found myself leery of running into acquaintances: the thought of addressing my lack of a fulltime job enough to make me queasy.

When the Great Recession hit in 2008, a financial meltdown that saw the nation’s unemployment rate rocket to 10%, there were so many unemployed people that support groups were formed. The unemployed could meet and chat and prop one another up amidst their hunt for a paycheck. Being on an extended job search became so common that, I’d like to think, the stigma of unemployment vanished to a certain extent.

When I was without work, there was no one with whom to share my pain. Still married at the time, my now ex was frustrated that I no longer brought home a big paycheck. I spent my days alone while the world went on without me. I was left wallowing in my own self-pity, which, as anyone who has ever lingered in that neighborhood can tell you, can become an awfully lonely outpost.

One afternoon, I returned home from yet another “thanks, but no thanks” interview, this time with a sports bar manager who had not too subtly appraised my buxomness quotient, multiplied it by my age, and deemed me unworthy, despite my skills with a shaker, my ability to pour a perfect shot every time, and in-depth knowledge of sports that would have kept even sober patrons entertained.

Shortly after that, I found a phone message from a temp agency. They’d gotten me a gig working on the assembly line at a Revlon plant in South Phoenix. I was to report early the next morning.

Now, I had always thought I was a tough girl. But I must be honest here. As I pictured myself Lucy-like – product slipping by on a conveyer belt too fast to handle – I cried. And, unlike that famous red head, I wouldn’t be able to eat my way out of the problem.

Full-time employment would evade me for several years, a time during which the only thing that sustained me was a skill that I had always considered just a means to an end. The fact that officiating amateur sports – an avocation I practiced in order to get my foot in the door in the sports-reporting business – would put food on my table was something I had never considered. And yet, it was the one place that felt normal, that I still had some semblance of control. The one place I felt like me.

The only place I felt comfortable those years I was without a fulltime job was on the field, especially with my longtime baseball umpiring partner Don Clarkson.

There was a rhythm to my world on the field that, no matter what was happening outside those lines, remained constant. Perhaps it was the need for punctuality, the ritual of donning the uniform, or the customary procedures in regard to game management. Maybe it was the camaraderie: players, coaches, fans, and fellow officials all involved in an endeavor that mattered to them. Or maybe it was that feeling after the game – whether the contest went smoothly or not – that I had done my best and learned from my mistakes.

Funny, it sounds like a job.

I wish I’d thought so at the time.

Here is a peek at Anne’s latest release.

Praise for Your Forgotten Sons

Available at Amazon, Apple Books, Barnes & Noble, Google Books, and Kobo

Montgomery has been a freelance and staff writer for six publications, writing sports, features, movie reviews, and archeological pieces.

When she can, Anne indulges in her passions: rock collecting, scuba diving, football refereeing, and playing her guitar.

Learn more about Anne Montgomery on her website and Wikipedia. Stay connected on Facebook, Linkedin, and Twitter.

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You might be addicted to books if…

August 4, 2025 | Author Friend Promo

from C.D. Hersh

We came across the following quote that made us pause and reflect. Let’s see if you have the same reaction.

An ordinary man can…surround himself with two thousand books… and thenceforward have at least one place in the world in which it is possible to be happy. Augustine Birrell

We don’t know about you, but the thought of surrounding ourselves with two thousand books makes us very happy. We love to read, we love books, and we love to surround ourselves with books of all kinds. If you could see into our offices, we definitely have two thousand books and that not including the library of paper backs in the basement that we’ve mentioned before. This obsessiveness is probably from even if we haven’t read a book, we can rarely bear to part with it. This was especially hard when we closed up Donald’s parents’ things and their various books. Dad’s were texts on music and electronics with mom’s being about music and cooking. The cookbooks were kept but the other’s that were texts got passed on to Goodwill.

What about you? Does your passion for books border on the obsessive?

You might be addicted to books if…

• You have every book your favorite authors have ever written and eagerly await their next release.

We have done all these things at one time or another and must admit …. we’re addicted to books. How about you?

Now kick back, relax and pick up a good book to read.

Second Editions Coming Soon:

Ghosts and Gardenias

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NEVER FORGET, HEAT CAN KILL YOU!

July 28, 2025 | Author Friend Promo

from Anne Montgomery

People are much more likely to die from heat than from any other natural phenomena.

Here in the Sonoran Desert, the heat is upon us. We desert dwellers are forced to understand the dangers lurking in those high thermometer readings. We know they can very quickly lead to death.

Unfortunately, many visitors to our valley don’t seem to understand. Just two weeks ago, a tourist died on one of our city trails, a young woman who tried scaling Camelback Mountain without water. In July! Earlier, when paramedics had to rescue dehydrated hikers from our parks, a dozen firefighters were themselves overcome by the heat. In response, some of our trails have been closed to the public. Others are only open early in the morning and in the evening.

It’s interesting, I think, that so many people fear hurricanes and tornados and floods and earthquakes when the natural event most likely to kill them is heat.

I know first-hand the horrors of heat sickness. The symptoms can arrive frighteningly fast. Dizziness, confusion, headache, nausea, signs that can quickly lead to unconsciousness and death. All but one of my bouts of heat illness were brought on by officiating and my own stupidity. I was an amateur sports official for 40 years, where I called football, baseball, ice hockey, soccer, and basketball games. I was almost always the only woman on the field, a fact that was rarely far from my mind.

My first attack of heat sickness occurred when I umpired a baseball game in extreme heat.

As you can imagine, I was sometimes made to feel I didn’t belong in the officiating ranks, and I was keenly aware that any show of weakness would lay me open to negative comments from my peers, coaches, and fans. So, the first time I got heat sickness, I struggled through it. It was a baseball game and I was clad in the necessary armor required for working behind the plate: chest protector, shin guards, wool cap, polyester shirt and slacks, steel-toed shoes. The sun was relentless. After the game, I went home and balanced myself under a cold shower for what seemed like hours. I drank Gatorade and copious amounts of water. I felt lousy for a day or two, then returned to the field.

One of the problems associated with heat illness is that once you get it your internal thermometer is messed up and you start succumbing to it more easily. I’m a slow learner sometimes, so it took me a while to finally take a stand. One day, in a sub-varsity football game, I called time and went to the trainer. He took one look at me and dragged me into the locker room where he filled me with fluids and applied wet, icy towels to my head and neck. I was rather surprised when my crew mates greeted me at halftime and promptly told me to go home and get well. No derision. No smirks. I realized then that most outdoor officials in the southwest have probably suffered similarly at one time or another.

Most of my bouts of heat sickness came while I officiated football games in Arizona’s scorching Sonoran Desert, where temperatures often exceed 110 degrees.

A few years later, the telltale signs of heat sickness attacked in the middle of a varsity football game, and you’d be proud of me. I signaled time out, struggled off the field, and said I was sick. Later, when I opened my eyes in the school’s nursing office, I found myself surround by four paramedics. They were so attentive and cute. I briefly considered that they might be male strippers with their prominent muscles and appealing uniforms, but that was just my heat-addled brain.

What finally made me understand the true dangers of heat illness was the time I got lost in the desert. I did all the wrong things. I went rock collecting alone. I walked away from my stranded vehicle. I had two dogs with me who drank all my water. When I saw that last half inch of liquid in my bottle and felt the sun beating down, I tied my dogs under a bush and hoped the coyotes would stay away. I built cairns as I tried to find my way back to civilization, so I might locate my sweet pups if I survived. While the whole ordeal only lasted half-a-day and I was safely reunited with my dogs, the episode is etched into my brain. As is the fact that today I might be nothing more than a pile of bleached bones in the vast Sonoran Desert.

While lost in the desert, I suffered from heat sickness, and today I consider myself lucky to be alive.

It’s understandable then that I never go anywhere without water. That bottle is always in my hand, which here in the desert is pretty much normal. In fact, those without a mobile water supply are easily identified as tourists.

The point is, heat can kill you quickly. And when you consider that our world is heating up rapidly, it’s something we should all take into account whenever we leave the bliss of air-conditioning.

Here is a peek at Anne’s latest release.

Praise for Your Forgotten Sons

Available at Amazon, Apple Books, Barnes & Noble, Google Books, and Kobo

Montgomery has been a freelance and staff writer for six publications, writing sports, features, movie reviews, and archeological pieces.

When she can, Anne indulges in her passions: rock collecting, scuba diving, football refereeing, and playing her guitar.

Learn more about Anne Montgomery on her website and Wikipedia. Stay connected on Facebook, Linkedin, and Twitter.

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Grab Your Spy Gear and Suit Up!

July 21, 2025 | Author Friend Promo

The Last Timekeepers are going undercover.

from Sharon Ledwith

Did you ever wonder what it was like to fight the Nazis on your home soil during World War Two? In the second installment of my YA time travel series, The Last Timekeepers and the Dark Secret, my characters must join forces with the Dutch Resistance in order to figure out their Timekeeper mission while in Amsterdam during 1942. It was sure a different world through their adolescent eyes, and trying to keep one step ahead of the Nazis proved to be quite a dangerous challenge.

Only a true hero can shine the light in humanity’s darkest time.

When fourteen-year-old Jordan joins his second mission with the Last Timekeepers, he and his companions are thrust into Nazi-occupied Amsterdam during World War 2.

Tasked with locating a powerful, ancient book before it falls into enemy hands, Jordan and his fellow Timekeepers are plunged into a fight far more dangerous than anything they’ve faced before. With help from the Dutch Resistance and a mysterious baron, they must stay one step ahead of a regime determined to silence the truth.

As danger closes in, Jordan discovers that true courage is forged through trust, sacrifice, and the strength of those beside you. But will that be enough to change the past – and protect the future?

A fast-paced adventure rich with historical detail, THE LAST TIMEKEEPERS AND THE DARK SECRET is the second book in Sharon Ledwith’s series of novels for middle grade and adult readers alike.

EXCERPT

“I wonder what else is down here.” Drake beamed his cell phone across the basement, hitting jars of jams, pickles, and relishes. His stomach growled.

Jordan pulled the cheese from his pocket and handed it to Drake. “Trade you for your phone.”

“Best. Trade. Ever.” Drake passed his phone to Jordan.

Jordan walked over and grabbed a jar of pickles off the dusty shelf. At least they wouldn’t arrive at the baron’s place hungry. He hoped his uncle had managed to stop Amanda’s bleeding. His hand tightened over the jar, the ridges of the lid cutting into his palm. A scrape from behind the shelves made Jordan jump.

“Hello?” he asked, pushing jars aside. He flashed the cell phone into the small, dark area.

“Who ya talking to, Jordan?” Drake asked with his mouth full of cheese.

“Shhh, Drake.” Jordan listened. Hearing nothing, he shrugged and turned back around.

“I thought I heard—” Jordan stopped and pointed the phone at Ravi. His jaw dropped. “A-Are you serious, Sharma?”

Drake spat out his cheese, snorting with laughter.

“Is there a problem?” Ravi asked, tying the bowtie of his tuxedo.

“You look like a penguin with attitude!” Drake slapped his knee.

“Say what you want, but I’m glad we didn’t hit the cleaners on the way to school now,” Ravi replied, pulling down his sleeves, “or else I wouldn’t have these dry clothes.”

Jordan chuckled. Suddenly, he heard a door creak open, followed by heavy footsteps squeaking down the stairs. Panicking, Jordan stuffed Drake’s phone in his track suit jacket’s pocket and waved Drake over by the shelves. Drake slipped behind Jordan just in time, before the small light bulb above the bottom of the stairs clicked on. Jordan swallowed hard. There, staring directly at Ravi was a portly man in a blood-stained apron. Tufts of blond hair sprouted from the sides of his balding head. His brown trousers were pulled up past his waist, making him resemble an evil garden gnome. In one of his hands, he held a huge butcher knife, its blade flecked with blood.

Wielding the knife, the man pointed at Ravi. “Who are you?”

Ravi licked his thick lips nervously. “The name’s Bond. James Bond.”

UNIVERSAL BOOK LINK

Here’s a glimpse of the premises of both my young adult series:

The Last Timekeepers Time Travel Adventures…

Chosen by an Atlantean Magus to be Timekeepers—legendary time travelers sworn to keep history safe from the evil Belial—five classmates are sent into the past to restore balance, and bring order back into the world, one mission at a time.

Children are the key to our future. And now, they are the only hope for our past.

Mysterious Tales from Fairy Falls Teen Psychic Mysteries…

In the small, quiet tourist town of Fairy Falls, a new-to-town teen, an unlikely hero who possesses an unusual psychic ability, is drawn into a mystery and is tasked with uncovering corrupt truths that threaten the town’s future.

Welcome to Fairy Falls. Expect the unexpected.

Buy Links:

The Last Timekeepers Time Travel Adventure Series:

The Last Timekeepers and the Noble Slave, Book 3

UNIVERSAL BUY LINK ׀ AMAZON ׀ BARNES & NOBLE ׀

The Last Timekeepers and the Dark Secret, Book 2 Buy Links:

UNIVERSAL BUY LINK ׀ AMAZON ׀ BARNES & NOBLE ׀

The Last Timekeepers and the Arch of Atlantis, Book 1 Buy Links:

UNIVERSAL BUY LINK ׀ AMAZON ׀ BARNES & NOBLE ׀

Legend of the Timekeepers, Prequel Buy Links:

UNIVERSAL BUY LINK ׀ AMAZON ׀ BARNES & NOBLE ׀

Mysterious Tales from Fairy Falls Teen Psychic Mystery Series:

Lost & Found, Book One Buy Links:

PANDAMONIUM PUBLISHING HOUSE ׀ AMAZON ׀ BARNES & NOBLE ׀

Blackflies & Blueberries, Book Two Buy Links:

PANDAMONIUM PUBLISHING HOUSE ׀ AMAZON ׀ BARNES & NOBLE ׀

Sharon Ledwith is the author of the middle-grade/young adult time travel adventure series, THE LAST TIMEKEEPERS, and the award-winning teen psychic mystery series, MYSTERIOUS TALES FROM FAIRY FALLS. When not writing, reading, researching, or revising, she enjoys anything arcane, ancient mysteries, and single malt scotch. Sharon lives a serene, yet busy life in a southern tourist region of Ontario, Canada, with her spoiled hubby, and two shiny red e-bikes.

Learn more about Sharon Ledwith on her WEBSITE and BLOG. Look up her AMAZON AUTHOR page for a list of current books. Stay connected on FACEBOOK, TWITTER, LINKEDIN, INSTAGRAM, and GOODREADS.

BONUSES:

Download the free PDF short story The Terrible, Mighty Crystal HERE

Download the free PDF writing resource Tips, Tools & Tricks for the Tenacious Writer HERE

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Dedicated to the One I Love

July 14, 2025 | Author Friend Promo

From Carol Browne

When you pick up a book, do you turn quickly to chapter one, or do you check out the dedication first? Perhaps, like me, you are intrigued to know who the book is dedicated to and why? If there is a name but no explanation for it, I always wonder what that person did to have their name immortalised in this way.

If you’re an author, your work might not necessarily be dedicated to the one you love. It could be to someone you respect, admire, or have reason to thank. Many dedications are humorous and playful and there are many examples of these online, but if you have put your passion and energy into a novel, which is a time-consuming and difficult undertaking, the dedication ought to be as weighty as the dedication you needed to write it.

In my first book, The Exile of Elindel, the dedication reads, ‘For Harry’, and readers might speculate that he is my husband, son, brother, or whatever. Actually, Harry was my dog for sixteen years and he saw me through one of the most challenging periods of my life. I don’t think The Exile of Elindel would exist had I not had Harry to give me a reason to get up every morning when everything was falling apart.

After Book 1, my ideas for a sequel solidified into a novel mainly because a close friend wanted to read it. So, Book 2, Gateway to Elvendom, was dedicated to that friend, Pat Longmuir. Even an audience of one is sufficient reason to write a book!

Books 1 and 2 called for a third book to tie up all the loose ends and bring everything to a satisfying conclusion. When it was written, I knew it should be dedicated to the memory of my niece, Bryony Cawley, who was tragically killed while only in her early 30s. She had left England while very young and lived a fearless, adventurous life in other lands, so we were apart, but I remembered a conversation we had two weeks before her death. It occurred to me at the time that she was wise beyond her years and when she died, I wondered if she had learned everything she needed to and gone on to something better. I didn’t know what to do to honour her life, but I wanted it to be recorded somewhere. Dedicating Wyrd’s End, the third book in my trilogy, to Bryony seemed to be a good way for me to pay tribute to the memory of this very special human being.

As writers we can always thank people in the acknowledgements at the end of the book, but to dedicate an entire book to someone is a unique tribute and a lasting memorial to a person who has had a significant impact on the author’s life. After all, when you have put something out into the world which will exist as long as literature does, it seems fitting to make your dedication a special gift to posterity.

Here is a brief intro to Book One of Carol’s exciting trilogy.

Banished from Elvendom and forced to seek refuge among the Saxons, young Elgiva faces a grim future – until she crosses paths with Godwin, a Briton enslaved by the people she must now call allies.

When a dark power rises to claim dominion over Elvendom, Elgiva and Godwin set off on a dangerous quest for the legendary Lorestone: the only thing that can stop the looming darkness. With a reluctant elf boy as their guide and a stubborn pony by their side, they must navigate the treacherous land and harness ancient magic before it’s too late.

As battle lines are drawn, Elgiva must embrace her true heritage, and Godwin must learn to wield the secret power he possesses. But can they find the Lorestone in time – or will Elvendom fall forever?

A historical fantasy adventure set in 6th century Britain, THE EXILE OF ELINDEL is the first book in Carol Browne’s The Elwardain Chronicles series.

UNIVERSAL BOOK LINK

Once upon a time a little girl wrote a poem about a flower. Impressed, her teacher pinned it to the wall and, in doing so, showed the child which path to follow.

Over the years poems and stories flowed from her pen like magic from a wizard’s wand.

She is much older now, a little wiser too, and she lives in rural Cambridgeshire, where there are many trees to hug.

But inside her still is that little girl who loved Nature and discovered the magic of words.

She hopes to live happily ever after.

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Copasetic

July 7, 2025 | Author Friend Promo

Cool language from Can’t Stop the Music

by C.D. Hersh

Slang has always played a part in the English language, no matter the era, and when you’re creating a period piece, the story wouldn’t be complete without the use of the slang of the time.

A lot of the hippie slang in our book, Can’t Stop the Music, had its origins in earlier eras.

Take the slang for money—in the 20s someone who was hip (a 20s and 60s word) might call money Cabbage. In the 30s the slang term morphed to Buck. In the 50s you would have said, Bread. By the time the slang reached the 60s the terms Bread and Dough were used interchangeable, and the term Buck was still around as well.

Various slang terms for policeman have also survived the decades and are still being used today. Police officers have been called Flatfoot, Cop, Fuzz (1920); Copper (1930); Heat (1950); Fuzz, Cop, The Man (1960). The Man was probably the most popular term for police among the hippie generation.

Slang terms for women, especially attractive women, have abounded through the past decades. In the 20s women were often called Dames or Dish. In the 30s a pretty girl would be a Hot Tomato. Fifties terms for women included Chicks, Barn Burners, Dolls. In the 60s, the most commonly used slang was Chicks or Birds.

We’ve heard, and even used some of the above slang, although we don’t use it as freely as we might have in the 60s. Still, it was fun going back and searching out the slang of our youth. We were amazed how much of the groovy language from bygone eras has survived into present day.

We don’t want to seem like Abercrombies (20’s/know-it-alls) but we kinda blew our wigs (20s/became very excited) when our peepers (20s/eyes) landed on this >b>groovy (60s/great) subject. We thought it would be a blast (60s/ a lot of fun) if we clued you in (60s/informed you) on the story. And now, we’re going to make tracks (60s/leave) so you can read the outtasight (60s/fantastic) excerpt from our story, Can’t Stop the Music, set in Woodstock, where the music was hip (60s/very cool, far out (60s/wonderful) and righteous (something really great).

Can’t Stop the Music

By C.D. Hersh

For college senior and hippie wannabe Rosemary—Rose for short—a teaching job is within her grasp, but she wants more. She wants love, the kind of love that has bound her parents for so many years. When she’s dumped by her current boyfriend because her morals can’t bring her to give in to free love, she finds herself at Woodstock in the middle of the biggest free-love, music festival of the Sixties. Alone, again. Until a magical tree grants her wish and she finds the man of her dreams—and loses him before she really knows who he is.

Dakota meets the girl of his dreams at Woodstock, but a jealous wannabe girlfriend drives them apart before he can discover Rose’s last name and where she comes from. After he sees a disappearing tree that promises him true love, a frantic search to find Rose comes up empty-handed.

Magic and music brings them together at Woodstock in 1969. Misunderstandings tear them apart. Will two flower children find one another again, or live with missed opportunities?

Bethel, New York

August 1969

Rosemary Sterling pulled her striped, gauzy maxiskirt to her knees, stuck her sandaled feet out the rear passenger door opening of her friend Willow’s ’51 Woodie, and wiggled her toes. Sweat rolled down the center of her back. Not even a tiny breeze tickled the air on the crowded, one-lane road to the Woodstock Music Festival.

The heat radiating from the string of cars stretching in front and in back of her only added to the hot, summer air. Most of the vehicles’ occupants lounged on the hoods, the dirt road, or sat cross-legged on the ground, smoking pot or playing their guitars, their psychedelic clothing bright spots of neon color against the deep-green grass.

“How much longer before we find out what the holdup is?” she called as she exited the steamy vehicle.

Shielding her eyes, Willow straightened from her slouched position against the side of the car and peered between the row of stopped cars. “I see Bodi coming now. Maybe he’s found out what’s causing the traffic jam.”

“Aren’t you burning up?” Rose flapped the bottom of her cotton peasant blouse to stave off the hot, humid air. When the motion didn’t cool the sweat running between her breasts, she jammed the fabric under her boobs, swiping at the damp flesh. Then she clambered onto the sun-scorched hood, careful to tuck her skirt under her bare legs.

“I shouldn’t have let you talk me into burning my bra last night.” She glanced at Willow, envying her pert A-cups. You couldn’t tell Willow’s girls were unchained. “Even that thin layer would have kept the sweat off. Bra burning might be the rage right now, and that’s fine for someone built like you. For C-cups or bigger, loose boobs are a drag. Pun intended.”

Willow laughed. “You’ll get used to it. Once you do, you’ll see the advantage.”

So far the only thing her hippie friend introduced her to that she’d embraced was the shortened flower name Willow had given her.

“Rosemary’s the name of your grandmother, not a flower child. I’m renaming you Rose,” Willow had said.

Jake and Starr, the other two in their group, came around the side of the Woodie. Jake’s tangled curls looked as if he’d just rolled out of bed. Grass stuck out of Starr’s hair in a green corona. She doubted they’d been doing anything that merited halos.

Frowning, she slid off the hood, motioned Starr over, and began picking grass from her braids. “I hope you two weren’t cavorting in poison ivy. I don’t think we packed any anti-itch lotion.”

“You should cavort sometime, Rose.” Starr gave her a friendly shove. “You need to loosen up, girl. Partake of free love.”

She couldn’t get used to free love either. “No thanks.”

Can’t Stop The Music

Unfortunately, not currently available

Second Editions Coming Soon:

Ghosts and Gardenias

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International Kissing Day

June 23, 2025 | Author Friend Promo

by C.D. Hersh

The magical feeling of a kiss from a loved one.

If you haven’t kissed your significant other, your children, your parents, or other family members today, get offline and do so. After you read our blog, of course, because July 6th, is International Kissing Day.

Kissing Day was first celebrated in the UK and now is an international celebration in all the countries where kissing is part of the culture. Kissing was not a custom of many indigenous peoples and is believed to have been introduced to indigenous peoples through European settlement. Hooray for Europe!

According to recent research, kissing is also good for you too. It burns calories (about 2-3 calories a minute), it’s good for your heart (it creates an adrenalin that causes your heart to pump more blood), it helps prevent tooth decay, is a stress reliever, and it boosts your immunity. And if boosting your health isn’t enough reason to have a few smooches, consider this … it just feels good.

There are many ways to kiss. Here are a few:

• Passionate kisses
the goodnight kiss that lasts forever when you’re young and head over heels in love
the French kiss
the hickey kiss
the upside-down Spiderman kiss
the bittersweet kiss, often shared between star crossed lovers as they leave each other

• Affectionate kisses
kissing the boo boos away
the top of the head kiss
the forehead kiss, a motherly sort of kiss
the awkward first kiss

• Greeting kisses
the European double cheek kiss of greeting
the kiss on the cheek, often the hello and goodbye kisses we give friends and family

• Insincere kisses
the betrayal kiss of Judas
the air kiss often practiced as a sham action
the kiss of death

• Kisses that don’t involve touching lips
the Eskimo kiss, rubbing noses instead of touching lips
the butterfly kiss, done by fluttering the eyelashes against the cheek
hand kissing, a lost art except in historical romances which can be romantic or a greeting to a lady
the kiss you smack into your hand and throw to someone
body kisses (‘Nuff said’)

Writers of romance often concern themselves with the more passionate kisses, but there’s something to be said for using sweeter kisses in our stories too. Not every kiss shared by a couple is going to set off fireworks. Sometimes you need the love without the rollercoaster ride to add some levels to the romance. Consider incorporating some sweeter, more affectionate kisses in your love scenes. You might be surprised at what happens between your characters when they hold back a little on the ardor.

Have you kissed someone today?

Second Editions Coming Soon:

Ghosts and Gardenias

Social Media Info:

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What to Do About Doing Nothing to Do

Available at Amazon, Apple Books, Barnes & Noble, Google Books, and Kobo

LOOKING FOR A JOB

Available at Amazon, Apple Books, Barnes & Noble, Google Books, and Kobo

You might be addicted to books if…

An ordinary man can…surround himself with two thousand books… and thenceforward have at least one place in the world in which it is possible to be happy. Augustine Birrell

NEVER FORGET, HEAT CAN KILL YOU!

Available at Amazon, Apple Books, Barnes & Noble, Google Books, and Kobo

Grab Your Spy Gear and Suit Up!

Dedicated to the One I Love

Copasetic

Can’t Stop the Music

Can’t Stop The Music

Unfortunately, not currently available

International Kissing Day

The magical feeling of a kiss from a loved one.

Now Available

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Available at Amazon, Apple Books, Barnes & Noble, Google Books, and Kobo

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Available at Amazon, Apple Books, Barnes & Noble, Google Books, and Kobo

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An ordinary man can…surround himself with two thousand books… and thenceforward have at least one place in the world in which it is possible to be happy. Augustine Birrell

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Available at Amazon, Apple Books, Barnes & Noble, Google Books, and Kobo

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Can’t Stop the Music

Can’t Stop The Music

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The magical feeling of a kiss from a loved one.

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