Sadie Jay

I think January 2021 must have been about 60 days long— or at least, that's the way it's felt. I wonder how long February will be? I've spent the week on edits. I'm itching to do some writing, but I can't decide what project I want to concentrate on. I guess that's a writer's problem, if there ever was one! Florida dreaming. I want beaches and sunshine.  This week's snippet is a continuation from last week and is taken from the prologue from  Smoke and Sparks , told from Daryl's POV. (part 3 of ?--  read part one here and part two here )   As it was, I froze when a surprised Ben stepped out of his camper, followed by an auburn-haired man. A very nervous, flushed, auburn-haired man. But who wouldn’t be nervous, when confronted by a dozen strangers gathered at the door, staring, all agog? “Ben's gay?” was my first thought. “We shouldn’t be here,” was my second. And, “Oh My God! They were totally having sex in there!” was my third thought as I n

Two years ago this week, I was on my first (and only) cruise. I was nervous, but that didn't last. I spent an hour or two every afternoon, reading on the deck.  It was so relaxing. And warm. It's something I definitely want to do again once we're able to travel safely. This week's snippet is a continuation from last week and is the first paragraphs of the prologue from Smoke and Sparks , told from Daryl's POV. (part 2 of ?-- read part one here. )           What did I know? I was barely 21-years-old. If my older cousin and his friends invited me to tag along, I tagged along. I wasn’t about to question it. We’d traveled from our southern Indiana hometown to an Illinois campground to meet Cherry Honey, our other cousin’s mystery lady from St. Louis. I had no clue why the guys at the garage called her that, because I was sure it wasn’t her real name. I was simply looking forward to a weekend without all the hustle and bustle of home-life with my five younger sisters an

Over the last two weeks, I've been working on a rewrite, filling the plot-holes that my beta readers pointed out. We all hate criticism, but the nice thing was, they all seemed to hit on the same snags. And yes, I consider that a win, because it means the rest of the story worked. First and foremost, it was suggested that I'd started in the wrong place, and after some debate, I decided to write a prologue instead of a full chapter. Hopefully, it reads better now. Why does January always feel like I'm living life on still-pause? I think Peppercorn feels it, too. The prologue from Smoke and Sparks , book two of the Campfire Stories series. This snippet is told from Daryl's POV (part one of ?): July 2016 “Don’t worry, Daryl, it’ll be fine,” my cousin Mike said to me. “Ben won’t care.”             What was fine , according to Mike, was crashing Ben’s weekend camping-rendezvous with a woman he’d been dating for a few weeks.             “We’ll do some fishing, drink a few

It's been such a rough week, and I didn't quite hit my goal to finish the rewrite/edit on Smoke and Sparks , but I've managed at least a couple of pages every day. It doesn't help that I have a plot-bunny bouncing around in my head, distracting me! I need to take notes and hope I don't lose the thread of the story. Too many ideas, so little time! Silver has been my support-kitty this week! This week's snippet is again from Smoke and Sparks , and is written from Daryl's POV. It's Thanksgiving day and Vaughn and Daryl are staying (and dog-sitting) at his cousin's house for the night: “ What do you want, Sweetheart?” Vaughn asked. “ This. You.” Desire was a liquid rush pumping through my veins. I couldn’t think and I clutched at him. “ We have all night,” Vaughn said as he tugged at my shirt, pulling it out of my jeans. He ran his hand over my belly, rounded with the big meal I’d just eaten, and my muscles jerked at the touch of his fingers. A wic

Well, I think I survived. I know everything will not magically  become better, but I have hope, and I wasn't completely sure of that a few months ago. New Year's Eve at the House of Jones was like any other night — popcorn and a little T.V. time ( we're  rewatching Firefly). Now, the countdown to Spring begins.  My snippet this weekend is from When Silverfish Dance . Morgan and Barry are staying at a high-rise hotel on the Loop in Chicago, New Year's Eve '73, and this scene is Barry looking out the window. I wrote this right after I'd spent a weekend in Chicago with my husband, and the hotel was much taller than I'd expected! Told from Barry's POV:      Barry looked out over the city from their thirtieth-floor window as the sun said its last farewell and lights blinked and glowed around them. In the distance, car headlights traveled around the Loop in molten yellow-gold ribbons and he had a clear view of the lake, its earlier blue almost black now, becom