Here you'll find snippets of my novels. I call them postcards. Breadcrumbs that will hopefully lead you back to the book



The last fold of the drop cloth fell away and the wine glass wobbled in Savannah's hand as she stared at the nude woman on the canvas. A figure gazed back over her shoulder, her grey-eyed smoldering expression half concealed by tousled waves of blonde hair. Rippling gold and white and ash down her bare back. 



Her thoughts were like fingers on a piano that only knew how to play the dark notes. 



Savannah studied his face, his lips caressing each finger., his eyes not moving from hers. She didn't recognize herself, this casually flirtatious person falling into a pair of brown eyes with a dark fringe of lashes. Losing herself a little more each week. Adam was the drug she now craved. Like an addict she went searching for a fix every Friday, believing she had everything under control and she could stop anytime she chose. She was invincible on Friday. By Monday the high was wearing off and by Thursday she was writhing with frustration and came crawling back for more.



One would be wrong to assume that words were inanimate things that simply disappeared on the breath with which they were expelled. For it is that very breath that carries a word into existence, where it then takes on a life of it's own. 

"Dead to me," were the words that chased Frances as she ran down the stone staircase, and try as she might she couldn't outrun them. 



Everything was his fault. How he wanted to go back in time and change that one decision. Not a day went by that he didn't mutter to himself, "Why didn't I .." But he would have to live with the ripples that emanated from that one pebble in the pond, watching helplessly as they radiated out and out. 



Frances, like the rest of this world, wrestled with the new century. They came of age together. The same sense of urgency coursing through their veins. Never satisfied with standing still, she was forever looking around the corner. Yet much like the city streets where horses were seen as slowing down progress, she too felt the constraints. Something was always pulling her back. Rules, propriety, traditions or expectations. However, if one was paying close attention, one would have to say there was something of the inevitable about her as well.