According to my WordElf Calculator for authors, I'm 86% through with my newest book, The Grist Mill. I've given myself nine more days to finish, but this could change at any moment as I add more than I intended or end it before I originally thought. So don't hold me to it. But I just thought you might like to know that I'm getting close. I'll close the gap even more this morning. Hang in there. It's coming.
Why have I been so quiet on this page? you might wonder. The answer is simple. It's because I'm working every morning on book 9 of Branches in Time and after a few hours I begin to go a little brain dead. My mind is so entrenched in 1908 or 1848 that I can barely pull myself back to the new 2026. Making another post in this modern techy world is the last thing on my mind. I'm still digging for gold or riding in a new-fangled automobile going a whopping 25 miles and hour. It's hard for a girl to adjust. Anyway I decided to give you a tiny taste of what I have written so far. So here's a sneak peek of The Grist Mill.
She still had
Lar’s tracking device which followed Rem’s dot -- she had kept it after he died
in the fire, even though it was useless to her for time traveling -- but she
could tell that Rem was visiting his mother and her husband in Shelby. She supposed it was comforting for him to be
with his mother who was probably doting on him and feeding him his favorite
foods. But no matter, thought Skye, it
was done. She was no longer Mrs.
Hart. She had legally taken her maiden
name back, so she was once again Skye Kestler.
At first she had gone by Mrs. Hart simply because she was used to the
sound of it, and it gave her some respectability, but when no husband had
appeared and questions were asked about him, it was easier to use her old name
and avoid the discussion completely.
Christmas is over already. and that means one thing for me. I am writing again.
Now go on and order these books, before it's too late to get them for Christmas. You know you want to.
Simply Click the links below.
Here's a little about it:
The Black Moon by Jane O'Brien
Branches of Time
returns with book eight and another time-traveling, gold mining adventure. Remington, Skye, Colt, and Lana, along with
their cook, Tater, continue their search for gold in 1848 along the Sable River
in Michigan. Moored at Lake Michigan is
The Black Moon, a ship that had previously been used for piracy. A Black Moon is the second new moon in a
calendar month or the third of four in a season. It is thought to be an omen of change and
brings hidden truths to the surface. The
small group of gold miners have much to hide, each one with their own secrets
and as a group.
When Rem’s trip to
town brings on trouble that he might not be able to come back from, it turns
his life upside down and inside out.
Skye’s trip to town destroys her life when she encounters the lovely
Rosalee. Colt and Lana have a lot to
learn about each other yet, but their love is strong. Can it over come rough seas under the stars
on one of the treacherous Great Lakes?
As they each
travel in time to three different decades – 1848, 1908, and 1945, all on the
breath of the wind, will they be able to attain the life they have dreamed
of? And the biggest question of all is:
where will they end up?
Find out in The
Black Moon, Book 8 of Branches of Time and continue the journey through time
and back again.
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I'm one of those people who wake up early, and in a few minutes I'm wide awake and ready to go. The house is dark and quiet because everyone else is asleep. But I have story lines in my head that need to get out. I have bills to pay and drawers to organize and laundry to do and dishes to put away from last night's dishwasher run. I have a quilt to finish and texts that need to be sent out before that's day's meeting. I have an unbelievably long list of things to do in my mind that seems to need immediate attention.
Sometimes I love my early morning habits, because I get so much more accomplished than the average person, but other times I wish I could simply slow down and enjoy the coffee or tea. How I would love to take a sip, sigh with pleasure, and enjoy. But alas, it's not happening. I am decaffeinated , have always been, and I run like a person who has had six cups of supercharge. Of course, then I crash around eleven a.m. Oh well, it's who I am and who I have always been. Such is life.
