Snippet Sunday, and I finally got out of the house!



Today was a fantastic day, even if it didn’t feel that way for a while. Went on a ride with the Lost Girls MC for their annual “Tutus for Tatas” breast cancer ride and had a blast, even though it was pissing down rain the entire time. Silly me didn’t believe the weather reports so suited up in my non-rain gear and got thoroughly soaked and chilled to the bone! Still, it was fun hanging out with other lady bikers, and I was SO CLOSE to winning the poker hand for the run: a full house, but someone beat me with higher cards. DANGIT!!! πŸ˜›

Well, despite the lateness it’s still technically Sunday here on the west coast, so technically I can say that I made my weekly deadline!! (Yeah, technically that doesn’t help those of you east of Pacific coast time, sorry!) Today’s snippet is particularly brand new, the start of Saint’s part two and some of this week’s (unedited) rough draft. For those curious about how and when this will be published *heaves a big sigh* I’m still not sure. I want to finish it ALL this time before I set a release date, as many people didn’t quite like the publish-as-I-write-it timeframe. I’m also calling it parts one/two/three because I’m not sure whether they’ll be three separate novels or one big one, and being able to mentally say “The End” is very rewarding for an author looking to write a 120k+ work. πŸ˜‰

ANYWAY, on to what you want to see: snippets!! No Damian or sexitimes this week, fingers crossed that’ll change for next weekend! πŸ˜€


The first check arrived the day we got our eviction notice.

At first I didn’t even notice the nondescript white envelope as it was too lost amongst others a bit more colorful. Red “Past Due” notices galore filled the mailbox, and all others were set aside for later consideration.

The notice of eviction however, stapled to our front door, was much more prominent.

I could only thank the heavens my little sister was back in school and couldn’t see what was happening. Ripping it down off the door, I strode into the house and shut the door very carefully, lest I slam it and break something. Then I slid down the wall, set the mail on the tile floor by the entrance, and squeezed my eyes shut against the tears.

The empty driveway had already told me my mother was out, likely at the sewing store looking for more fabrics we couldn’t afford. Whether or not she’d seen the notice was immaterial at this point. The hobby of making corsets that she’d quit her teaching job for no longer paid the bills; nothing it seemed paid the bills.

In the evenings, we were a happy, normal family, having dinner and laughing about our days. My sister had gone back to school, restarting the year she’d lost with the cancer, and seemed to be doing well. During the day, however, I had to deal with a rapidly deteriorating financial situation that my mother, diminished by the strain and stress, seemed more and more content to ignore. To say the stress was eating at me would be an understatement. Some days I just wanted to scream, to run away and let the problems that weren’t mine do their consequences.

But they were mine, in that this was my family, my home.

So I picked myself up off the floor, dried my eyes, and trudged over to the couch like I was wading through a swamp. I separated the mail, stacked by priority, and figured out what we could pay. Summer had gone and thankfully our electrical bill was low. I’d managed to get my mother’s consent to be added to her bank account, so now dealt with all the family finances. It has created more than a little animosity between us, my having to deal with her messes, both of which we continued to hide from my little sister.

The struggle to decide which to do – pay the bills or eat – was something I dealt with daily. Alone. While the REAL adult in the house buried her head deeper and deeper in the sand.


I wrote out the checks, forged my mother’s name, and sealed them in their respective envelopes before moving on to the other mail. So when I got to that plain white envelope, I didn’t even bother to see who it was from, just opening it and pulling out the contents. Confused, I frowned at the check, checking to make sure my name on it was right, then looked at the amount again.

And stared.