Thursday, November 27, 2014

Happy Thanksgiving with Lynn Marie Hulsman

For a Thanksgiving special treat 
Cowboy Marvin invited a special friend over to share some thoughts and a couple of recipes so grab your chef hat and say howdy to the lovely and super talented 

Lynn Marie Hulsman 


Six days ago, when I glanced at the enormous calendar in my kitchen announcing the schedule of each of the four members of our family, I nearly experienced cardiac arrest.
Thanksgiving is soon, the board warned me.

Less than a week away. 

A hand-drawn cornucopia in the square for 
November 27th proved it. 

I’ll be honest: I’ve been pulling an ostrich about Turkey Day. When I invited guests two months ago, it all seemed so… possible. 

Some people were born to host. They’re the ones whose houses are neat as a pin when you drop by unannounced. They never panic about not having eight matching wineglasses or enough folding chairs because they know their inventory. Ushering friends or strangers through their doors and handing them drinks invigorates these hosts and hostesses. 

My grandmother was one. 

So was my mom.

I don’t know how the gene skipped me, but here I am in midlife, wishing either of them was at the end of the phone line to advise me on how many potatoes and bottles of wine to factor per guest. 

My friend, Rabbi Joy Levitt, once said that all one needs to make an occasion special is a white tablecloth. It marks that a day is different, she pointed out. Beyond that, it’s all about celebrating. 

This year, I latched on to this idea and gave myself permission to do no more than pull out a white tablecloth, if that was all I could handle. I dug out my grandmother’s white cotton and lace tablecloth, and set up the ironing board. I also ironed my mother’s white linen one for the buffet table and eight cloth napkins, enjoying the crisp formality of my table dressings. 

Inspired, I searched for her gold-plated flatware that I haven’t seen since we moved apartments 4 years ago. I found that, along with the silver that matched my mom’s china. As I write this, I am looking at my dining table with the extra leaves added. I alternated place settings belonging to two women who raised me. I’m using their china, their crystal, their gold, their silver. 

For good measure, I stuck a pine cone in a mason jar, a tiny gourd in a vase, and some brown and orange flowers in a vase. I’m neither crafty nor artistic, but it shows I made an effort. It shows I know that this day is special. 

My grandmother and mother are gone. On holidays, we’re all reminded of those who are no longer with us. Life is short, and our days are limited. I find this uplifting, not depressing. Today, I choose not to worry that my food might not be Michelin star-worthy or that my loveseat’s slipcover has a hole in it. 

On Thanksgiving, I plan to enjoy myself. Worry steals joy.

My son saw me polishing my treasures and said, “Mom, you look really happy.” I realized that I am. I don’t feel anxious about hosting this year, 
I feel expectant. 
Ready to welcome. 

In my heart I know that my guests won’t look around for my undusted corners or judge me for having a pile of unfiled bills on the corner of the piano. They will be happy to spend the day with me, with my kind husband, and my hilarious children. They will be grateful that I opened the wine and set a turkey in front of them. Their hearts will lift when they see the beautiful table that was dressed for their to honor and please them. 

This Thanksgiving, I’m grateful for the understanding that each moment is a choice. I can choose to dwell on what’s not perfect or I can choose to marvel at daily miracles. I have money to shop with, hands to cook with, and yes, even a strong back that allows me to bend over and scrub my toilets before the big day. 

I had women who raised me to adulthood. I have friends of my choosing who have become family, and I have healthy children. I have eyes with which to see my lovely table.

I am lucky. Like I tell my children, we have everything we need and some of the things we want. 


Yes, turkey is the centerpiece of every Thanksgiving feast. The roast provides the ooh/aah moment that sets this day apart. But if you ask me, the sides are what people are really after. And the more the merrier, in my opinion. Half the fun is trying to figure out how to take a spoon of this and a pile of that, and fit it all onto one dinner plate.

Southern wisdom tells us, “Ain’t no one ever said, ‘Hell no, I don’t want me no buffet of side dishes!’”

Everyone has one or two special dishes without which it wouldn’t be Thanksgiving. Celebrate abundance, and please the crowd, I say. This year, I’m having cornbread and chestnut stuffing right alongside the celery and onion stuffing. If a guest wants to request, or even better bring a dish, my answer is yes. Mofongo, yams with marshmallows, jello with grated carrots inside, noodle kugel… all are welcome. 

I’m including two recipes here, one for my Minted Mashed Carrots and one for my friend Kate’s family’s Broccoli and Cauliflower Salad. Both of these dishes make me very happy. 

Wishing you and yours that which makes you happy this holiday season!

The Fullerton Family’s Broccoli Cauliflower Salad

This recipe was graciously given to me by my friend Kate, and was passed down from her grandmother. I love it for its crunch, and freshness. This salad is a great way to sneak a healthful side dish into a meal because the pleasing sweetness and tang of the dressing tones down the strong flavors of the cruciferous vegetables. 

It’s a wonderful complement to a savory roast such as barbequed brisket or garlic-infused eye of the round, and it’s equally at home next to a pile of fried chicken. Pretty on the plate, it’s simple, homey, and comforting.

*Makes 8 Servings

For the salad:

Tiny florets of one head of cauliflower

Tiny florets of equivalent bunches of broccoli

1 med/small red onion, diced

1 4-ounce jar sweet, diced pimientos, drained well

For the dressing:

1 cup mayonnaise (recipe originally called for 1 cup Miracle Whip)

1/2 cup vegetable oil

1/3 cup white distilled vinegar

1/2 cup granulated sugar

1 teaspoon dry mustard (ground)

Salt and pepper to taste

Place salad ingredients in a large mixing bowl. 

In another large mixing bowl, blend dressing ingredients with whisk. Pour the dressing over the vegetables, toss lightly, and refrigerate overnight if possible. Serve chilled. 

Store in the refrigerator in a tightly lidded container for up to 
3 days.

Minted Mashed Carrots

Winter is the time for comforting foods, the sturdy ones that stick to your ribs. I love root vegetables — carrots in particular — for checking that box. This cheerily bright side dish is homey, while popping as not-your-every-day fare. The tangy citrus harmonizes with the herbal mint, making this mash perfect for serving alongside savory meats with rich gravies. 

This recipe was inspired by one developed in the Fine Cooking “Fakesgiving” trial run cooking marathon in which cooks make as many Thanksgiving sides as they possibly can. It certainly holds its own on a table with a turkey dinner, or why not serve it to balance the bold flavors of gamey venison steaks or rich Moroccan-spiced lamb meatballs.

*Makes 4 Generous Servings

2 pounds / 900 grams carrots, peeled and cut into small chunks 
(about 1 inch / 2 1/2 centimeters) 

2 teaspoons coarse sea salt, divided

1 tablespoon olive oil

2 tablespoons whipping cream or double cream

3 tablespoons unsalted butter

1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh mint

1/2 teaspoon finely grated lemon zest

1 tablespoon orange juice

1/2 teaspoon finely ground black pepper

In a medium saucepan, set over high heat, combine the carrots with enough cold water to cover by about 1 inch / 2 1/2 centimeters. Add 1 teaspoon of sea salt and bring the water to a boil. Reduce the heat to low, and simmer until the carrots are fork tender, about 30 minutes.

Transfer the carrots to a colander and drain, allowing them to rest.

In the same saucepan, set over low heat, combine the remaining salt, oil, cream, butter, mint, lemon zest, orange juice, and pepper, and heat gently, stirring occasionally, until the butter melts and the ingredients combine. 

Return the carrots to the pan with the oil and butter mixture and mash with a potato masher. Serve immediately.

Store in the refrigerator in a tightly lidded container for up to 
3 days.

Lynn Marie is a fellow Harper Impulse author,
Fire Writer for Written Fireside
She also frequently visits Cowboy Marvin.

Her debut novel 
Christmas at Thornton Hall

is available on Amazon

as is her latest release
Summer at Castle Stone
*Shortlisted Best E-Book - Festival of Romantic Fiction 

About Lynn Marie: 

Lynn Marie Hulsman believes that the best things in life are food, comedy, and romance. Lynn Marie's most recent novel, Summer at Castle Stone, has been shortlisted for "Best E-Book" from The Festival of Romantic Fiction in England. Her debut novel, Christmas at Thornton Hall is acclaimed by critics and audiences alike. Last summer, she was invited to sit on a panel on global publishing at The Romance Writers of America festival in San Antonio, Texas. She is also the co-writer of the cookbooks Make Your Own Soda, published by Clarkson-Potter and The Irish Pantry, published by Running Press. She is the sole author of The Bourbon Dessert Cookbook, which has enjoyed excellent reviews in Garden & Gun Magazine and The Wall Street Journal. As a comic, she has performed at Austin’s Big Stinkin’ Comedy Festival and appeared at New York City’s Caroline’s Comedy Club, Stand-Up New York, and Don't Tell Mama. She co-owns and is the artistic director of the improv group ComedySportz New York. Her very favorite thing to do on the planet is to read books, with writing them coming in at a close second. Her mission is to bring back Chick Lit. She lives with her family in New York City, where she writes for a living. 

Lynn Marie is represented by Stephany Evans of FinePrint Literary.

Follow Lynn Marie Hulsman online

Thanks for sharing Lynn Marie!

Friday, November 21, 2014

First Fight Friday: Man vs. Socialite by Charlotte Phillips

Goats solve their differences head-on. They don’t give the silent treatment or yell, they butt heads, and then it’s over.

Cowboy Marvin has learned humans resolve issues differently especially those romantically involved. His curiosity sparked, he has invited authors to stop by on Fridays and share the first fight out of their latest book.

An author for Harlequin 
and HarperImpulse

Charlotte Phillips 

           is here for ...

First Fight Friday 

with a scene from her latest Harlequin release

Man vs. Socialite

One man. Jack Trent. 
Star of Survival Camp Extreme. 

One socialite. Evie Staverton-Lynch.
Star of Miss Knightsbridge. 

One joint show.

Let the battle begin!

‘Doesn’t really matter who’s wrong or right.’ The executive producer took over at the head of the table. ‘I don’t care and the viewing public don’t give a toss either. The only thing that’s important is that putting the two of you together right now is TV gold.’

‘Survival Camp is a serious premise,’ Jack said. ‘Not some reality-show fluff. It has a serious message behind it. Look at her.’ He waved an incredulous hand in Evie’s direction. ‘She wouldn’t last five minutes. Absolutely no way.’

The instant dismissal fired up a surge of defiance in her belly.

‘I’m as fit as you are,’ she snapped at him.

He laughed out loud and indignant anger burned in her cheeks, undoubtedly clashing horribly with her pink designer suit.

‘You really think a few yoga classes can give you the stamina to cross a river unaided, sweetheart?’ he shot back.

‘I’ll do it, Evie said. 

What choice did she have? Without this show her public image was worth nothing. There would be no more magazine articles, no more talking-heads fashion slots on daytime TV. Her fledgling jewellery business would fail before it even began. She’d be back to the quiet life, cruising along with no aim or direction, and this time the quiet life would probably come with hate mail. 

‘I’ll do the foraging and the sleeping outside and the rubbing sticks together to make fire,’ she said. As an afterthought she added, ‘I’d prefer not to do water though.’

Jack laughed mirthlessly.

‘You think you can get through an outward-bound weekend without getting wet, sweetheart? You obviously haven’t watched the show. Think again.’

Copyright © Charlotte Phillips

Man vs. Socialite by Charlotte Phillips
One man. One socialite. Let the battle begin!

Jack Trent. Star of Survival Camp Extreme.
Ex-soldier, national treasure and all-round delectable bad-boy.

Evie Staverton-Lynch. Star of Miss Knightsbridge. It-girl, fashionista, and with a smile
that can charm anyone.

When an ill-advised comment from Evie about Jack’s reality TV show goes viral the producers are fuming!

And when they propose a joint show to harness the publicity it’s hard to tell who’s more horrified – Jack or Evie! But they can’t say no… and one unexpectedly sizzling night under the stars later it’s clear that the biggest battle will be keeping their hands off each other!

Man vs. Socialite 
is available on 

Charlotte is also a Fire Writer for 
Check out her fun Fire Writer Friday interview with Cowboy Marvin

Her other books which include the
Do Not Disturb Series

1 cheating ex, 3 bottles of white wine, an emergency pep talk from the girls… and this seemed like a good idea at the time:

Has American Tennis Pro Matt Stanton finally found his match in uptight hotel employee Layla Jones?

Christmas in London – a time for late night shopping on Regent’s Street or ice skating at Somerset House under a blanket of twinkling fairy lights, the warming, welcoming aroma of mulled wine in the air…

Or, alternatively, a time for bumping into the ghosts of one night stands past in Ella Scott’s case!

After losing her elderly parents, portrait photographer Anna will do anything to avoid losing the family home. When a friend who works at The Lavington, provides a hot tip – an A list film star is staying there with her rumored toyboy lover - Anna comes up with a plan.

A photo of them together could be the answer
to all her money problems.

Amy Woods is a brilliantly efficient wedding organizer, thanks to her ability to see past all the emotion and magic of ‘the big day’. She’s landed her dream job as Wedding and Events Manager at The Lavington. She needs to pull off her first wedding weekend without a hitch…

Unfortunately the groom turns out to be her marriage-phobic ex-boyfriend. Then she breaks her own rules and sleeps with the 
best man. Keeping on task isn’t easy as she gets to know 
Owen outside the bedroom. 

Charlotte's bio: 
Even as a child I loved stories. When I wasn't reading them, I was making up my own, usually with myself as the heroine. My writing is fueled by tons of coffee and years of daydreaming during my string of office jobs. All my books are the kind I love to read - funny, engaging it-could-happen-to-you stories and if they brighten someone's day, that's good enough for me :0)
I live in Wiltshire, England, where I squash my writing in between looking after my family, who have been taught not to notice that I'm rubbish at housework. I also have a bit of an addiction to American TV shows and timesuck social media games and it's really a miracle I get anything done at all.

Follow Charlotte Phillips online

Thanks for sharing Charlotte!

Friday, November 14, 2014

First Fight Friday: Cold Feet at Christmas by Debbie Johnson

Goats solve their differences head-on. They don’t give the silent treatment or yell, they butt heads, and then it’s over.

Cowboy Marvin has learned humans resolve issues differently especially those romantically involved. His curiosity sparked, he has invited authors to stop by on Fridays and share the first fight out of their latest book.

Fellow Harper Impulse author

Debbie Johnson 

           is here for ...

First Fight Friday 

with a scene from 

Cold Feet at Christmas

Fleeing in a blizzard, Leah ends up stranded at a cottage, where she collapses into the arms of a man so handsome she thinks she must have died and gone to heaven!

And when Rob Cavelli suddenly finds himself with an armful of soaking wet, freezing cold, and absolutely gorgeous bride, Leah Harvey, he’s more than happy to welcome her into his snowbound cottage this Christmas…


 He glanced at his watch, then looked up and pointed out over the city, like he was about to start conducting music. Exactly as he did it, the sky exploded into a riot of colour: purples, greens, golds, reds, all squealing and shimmering in a spectacular fireworks display. It was coming from pontoons set up on the water; from the shores of Lake Michigan; from the parks; from the tops of the tower blocks around them...from everywhere. Further away out in the suburbs, smaller displays erupted, showers of metallic glory falling over the city like shining confetti. 

Leah’s eyes widened in delight as the whole horizon was suddenly ablaze, swamped with glitter. Noise erupted from everywhere at once: claxons, hooters, car horns, bells, and singing. Shouting and yelling and cheering, from inside, from the streets below, even from the water, as boat parties celebrated the chiming of the hour. It was unbelievable. Leah had never seen anything quite like it, and felt a surge of emotion rush to the surface.

“Happy New Year, Leah,” Rob said, leaning close to brush a chaste kiss against her cheek. A cheek that was suddenly wet with tears.

“Are you crying?” he asked, running his fingers over her cheekbones to confirm it. Damn, he thought. Marco was right. He was behaving cruelly, and he had no excuse. This was exactly what he’d been worried about. His blood ran with poison, and now he’d spread it to Leah.

“It’s okay,” she said, brushing his hand away. She wanted to grab it, to kiss it, to hold it so tight his fingers lost all circulation. But she didn’t. Because this was a New Year, and a New Her, and she would not allow herself to feel this way. “It’s not your fault, Rob. Ignore me, I’m just being a girl. It’s all so...beautiful. And, well, I always get a bit weepy on big occasions. Happy New Year to you as well. What are you doing out here anyway?”

Rob gazed at her warily. He knew she was still upset, and every male instinct he had told him to grab this woman close to him, to shield her and protect her and stop those god-damned tears spilling out of her amber eyes. Eyes so large and so moist that he could see every dazzling firework explosion reflected in them. But he held back – he couldn’t play with her emotions like that; couldn’t blow hot and cold as and when he felt like it.

“My spider senses started tingling,” he said, keeping his distance. “I knew that somewhere out here in the big city, Leah Harvey was starting to freeze and turn blue...and it seems to be my mission in life to save you from this crazed hypothermia related death wish of yours.”

In reality, he admitted to himself, it wasn’t so much spider senses as plain old eyesight. He’d been watching her all night, radar beeping whenever she was close. He’d seen the look on her face as she snuck outside: a mix of sadness and loneliness he knew he was at least partially responsible for. He’d invited her here, into his world, his life, and now he couldn’t cope with it. It wasn’t her fault he got a hard-on whenever he saw her, that he was too screwed up to feel a wave of pleasure without being drowned in guilt. She just didn’t understand.

Leah pulled the coat tight around her shoulders. It smelled of his aftershave, and she was trying hard not to bury her face in the collar and sniff like a bloodhound. Instead, she smiled up at him and said: “I know. I must have been a penguin in a previous life. Anyway, thanks for the coat. I haven’t been able to feel my nose for the last five minutes and I’d look really weird if it dropped off. Better get back inside...”

She started to walk by him, back towards the doors. He reached out, grabbed her arm to stop her. He might not be able to give her a relationship, but he could at least give her an explanation.

“Leah, wait a minute...I wanted to apologise. For earlier. I was rude, and I know I hurt your feelings.”

“No! Don’t be silly. It’s all fine. Anyway – that’s last year’s news!”

She tried to shake her arm free; he kept hold. If he let her, she’d bolt for the door like a rabbit, he knew. Leah looked down at his hand wrapped around her elbow, but stopped struggling, staring up at him with eyebrows raised.

“It’s not fine,” he said, feeling a whisper of exasperation at her constant attempts to appear lighthearted when she was obviously in pain. Whether it has his fault, or her ex-fiance’s, or the death of her parents, he didn’t know. But she was hurting, and pretending very hard not to be.

She shook her head, fine tendrils of blonde hair haloing around her face. “It is fine, and apologies are really not necessary. I was way too busy ogling you with your top off to get my feelings hurt, anyway. I barely heard a word you said.”

She smiled up at him – a big, gorgeous, completely phony smile – and tried to pull away from him once more, making for the door. For escape.

“Leah, stop that!” he said, louder than he intended. He tugged her even closer towards him, snapping his arms around her waist so she was pressed tight into his body, face thudding lightly into his chest. He saw a flicker of fear in her shining eyes, and cursed himself for liking it. Way to go, Rob – congratulations, you’re stronger than a five foot tall woman.

Leah shoved her hands hard against his chest, buying back a few inches of space. She was angry now, and he really couldn’t blame her. He’d been slapped for less than this before, and anticipated the stinging tingle of fingers making contact with his cheek.

It didn’t happen. She just went very still, and stared up at him, eyes popping with fury.

“What?” she snapped back. “Stop what? What exactly is it I do to upset you so much, Rob? Exist? Shall I take a dive off the balcony just to make your life more peaceful? Go back to England? Join a convent? What is it you want me to stop doing?”

He drew a deep breath, felt the icy air rasp painfully into his lungs. Heard the continued chorus of Auld Lang Syne floating discordantly from inside the building. Looked down at Leah’s face, so close to his. Eyes blazing, hair golden, body warm and soft against him. All he had to do was lean down and lay his lips over hers, and maybe he could change everything. Like a charming prince in a fairy tale. Except this was the real world, his world. And happy ever after was a big fat lie.

“Stop trying to... defuse me,” he said finally, clenching his fists into tight balls so he wouldn’t reach out and stroke her face “Stop trying to keep the mood light. Stop trying to excuse my appalling behaviour. Stop trying to cheer me up. Stop ignoring your own feelings when I can see them there, in your eyes. You made me happy at Christmas, Leah, for the first time in years. You distracted me, and laughed with me, and made love with me. And damn, it felt good. But I don’t deserve to feel good, Leah. Not then, not now, not ever.”

There was a pause. He saw her drinking in his words, felt them quell her own anger like running water on flame. Prepared himself for the question he knew would come next.

“Why?” she asked quietly, her voice a bare whisper above the sounds of the city’s celebration. He saw, rather than felt, the gentle play of her cold fingertips along his jaw; the sweet warm cloud of her breath hanging in the chill air between their faces. He couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t bear to have her touch him. To have anyone touch him, really touch him, ever again.

“Why don’t you deserve to feel good, Rob? Tell me why.”

He pulled her hand roughly away from his face, forcing it back down to her side and holding it there. She needed to stay away from him. He was toxic, and always would be.

“Because Christmas is when I killed them, Leah. When I killed my wife, and our baby.”

Copyright © Debbie Johnson


Cold Feet at Christmas by Debbie Johnson
Running out on your wedding shouldn’t be 
this much fun! 

A remote Scottish castle on a snowy Christmas Eve. A handsome husband-to-be. A dress to die for. It should have been the happiest day of Leah Harvey’s life – but the fairytale wedding turns sour when she finds her fiancĂ© halfway up the bridesmaid’s skirt just hours before the ceremony! 

Fleeing the scene in a blizzard, Leah ends up stranded at the nearest cottage, where she collapses into the arms of its inhabitant 

– a man so handsome she thinks she must have died and gone to heaven! 

And when Rob Cavelli suddenly finds himself with an armful of soaking wet, freezing cold, and absolutely gorgeous bride on the run, he’s more than happy to welcome her into his snowbound cottage this Christmas…

‘Fun, sexy and fabulously festive, Debbie Johnson's escapist romance travels from snow-capped mountains in Scotland to the glamour of 21st century Chicago. 
I enjoyed every minute of it.’
 – Best-selling author, Jane Costello

5 out of 5 stars, ‘I fell in love with this book...the chemistry practically jumped off the pages and into my living room. This is the first book that I've read from this author but I know that I'll be keeping a close eye out for her in the future.’ 
- For the Love of Books blog

‘The characters brought so much life to the story that 
I read it all in one sitting.’ 
- She Read blog

 ‘A comedy delight...hilarious character, good plot and great world building! 
This is a definite read for the holiday season.’
- Mandy Bookworm

‘Incredibly intense, raw and full of emotion… a fantastic read about two characters who are learning to live life to the full again. I can highly recommend this title.’ 

Cold Feet at Christmas 
is available on 
Amazon ~ iBooks Kobo ~ Nook ~ Google Play Sainsbury's    

Debbie's bio:

Debbie Johnson lives and works in Liverpool, England, where she divides her time between writing, caring for a small tribe of children and animals, and not doing the housework.She writes romance, fantasy and crime - which is as confusing as it sounds!

Follow Debbie Johnson online


Thanks for sharing Debbie!

Friday, November 7, 2014

Fire Writer Friday: Elise Forier Edie

Cowboy Marvin loves listening to the Written Fireside stories and is having great fun learning a little more about the Fire Writers.

Graciously, those author who participate in the round robin stories have agreed to stop by, on certain Fridays, and visit with my curious goat.

Stopping by this Friday is

Elise Forier Edie

Author & Fire Writer for 

Hello Ms. Edie,I'm happy to see you.  

Tell me, are you a night owl or early bird? 

Early Bird. 

I was an unapologetic night owl until I became a mom. Then I was up at five and six in the morning every dang day until I learned to love it.

I totally agree.

Kids change your life. 

So, who would you be, Batman or Robin?

Robin. I’m not a brooder. 

Plus, a super pretty costume.

The cape is a wonderful touch.

I love mine.

Isn't red a delicious color?

Moving on, would you take a taxi or a limo if they were the same price?

I’d rather walk, but I’ll take the limo, and revel in it. Martini, anyone?

I mentioned riding in a limo to my human. 

The experience wasn't quite how I imagined it would be. 


Tell me, what was the last song you listened to?   

Carly Simon’s version of “The Love Is Growing.” I heard it in a bookstore when I was a little kid, looking at Oz books, and was utterly transfixed. I had no idea who sang it for more than forty years. And then this week, I found the song on iTunes. It was Carly the whole time. Amazing.

Carly?  Hmmm, have you heard of Karel Simon?
Staring at a Goat

I can't resist songs about goats

What about your taste in movies, do you like scary, comedy, romance or adventure?

Scary and adventure. The two together are great, especially if they’re well done.

Scary... scares me. But I love adventures.

The blackberry leaves are so tasty on the other side of the fence.

What season do you like best, Spring, Summer, Winter or Fall? 

SUMMER! Beach! Sun! Barbecue! 
School’s out!

Summer is great as long as you have a hat. 

The sun can be brutal.    

Would you tell me a place you've never been to, but would love to visit?

Oh, the list is so long. Today I would like to go to the Galapagos Islands and Ecuador. 

Tomorrow? Ireland!

Yum, I want to go to Ireland too.

It's so green. 

There must be nom noms everywhere.

Tell me, would you swim in the ocean or a pool?


To me, it’s meditation, spiritual uplift, artistic inspiration and the best toy ever all rolled into one.

I don't know. The ocean looks pretty but I've heard that there are big creatures with huge, sharp teeth that live in salty water. 

How would you go camping - sleeping bag under the stars, tent, trailer, fancy RV, or a hotel with room service?

They all sound WONDERFUL! But … I’ll take a tent with an option to sleep under the stars, if the weather’s warm. (I have just plain frozen to death too many times after blithely unrolling my sleeping bag to leave that darned tent at home. At this stage of my life it’s an essential fallback option.)

I said it before, and I'll say it again... tents are a lot of fun.


One last question.  A goat walks through your door right now wearing a cowboy hat.  What does he say and why is he there?

The Goat says, “She ought to know her way to the ticket office, even if she doesn’t know her alphabet,” because he jumped straight from Through the Looking Glass to my living room and … why not?

Elise was a Fire Writer for 

Elise Forier Edie is an author of paranormal romance and horror novels, as well as several stories and popular plays with magical and speculative elements. Her most recent publications include "The Wicked Child," in an anthology of Krampus stories edited by Kate Wolford, her full-length play “The Pink Unicorn” by Indie Theatre Now, and three short plays for young actors in the anthology "Original Middle School Scenes and Monologues" edited by Kent R. Brown. 

Her latest release is a paranormal romance
The Devil in Midwinter 
 World Weaver Press

A handsome stranger, a terrifying monster, a boy who burns and burns... 

Mattawa, Washington, is usually a sleepy orchard town come December, until a murder, sightings of a fantastic beast, and the arrival of a handsome new vintner in town kindle twenty-year-old reporter Esme Ulloa’s curiosity
and maybe her passion as well. 

But the more she untangles the mystery, the more the world Esme knows unspools, until she finds herself navigating a place she thought existed only in storybooks, where dreams come alive, monsters walk the earth and magic is real. 

When tragedy strikes close to home, Esme finds she must strike back, matching wits with an ancient demon in a deadly game, where everything she values stands to be lost, including the love of her life.

The Devil in Midwinter
is available on Amazon


Follow Elise Forier Edie online
Thanks for stopping by Elise!

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...