March Madness -- Free Reads and an AH-Mazing Giveaway
Actually, the March Madness I’m talking about has nary a March Hare or Mad Tea Party in sight! What it DOES have is FUN and FREE. Check out these two amazing opportunities to get free books.
Celebrate Spring with Free Reads
Check out this awesome collection of FREE women's fiction reads. From short stories to samples to full length novels – over a dozen selections, all from bestselling authors.
Some of these authors you already know and love. Some may be new to you, which makes this a fantastic chance to explore their work. Who knows? You might just find your next favorite author! Ends March 28.
There's no way to lose on this one! You get free reads just for entering.
What are your favorite reader tropes? Small town or big city? Laugh out loud or cry your eyes out? Family drama or romantic comedy? Writers want to know! And I've joined with a group of twenty-five bestselling, award winning all stars to bring you this fun opportunity to let us know what you love.
We've created a Super Fun March Madness bracket – just like there are for sporters, but for readers!
Vote on your favorite literary tropes and be entered to win a NEW KindlePaperwhite, a year of Kindle Unlimited, a $100 Amazon gift card, and 20+ books from best-selling authors across genres. Plus free reads just for entering! And the participating authors?? Out of the ballpark!
ENDS MARCH 31st, so get your vote in now!
Kerry Anne King talks Improbably Yours on the Desideratum Podcast
Desideratum is one of my favorite podcasts for several reasons! First off, host Theresa Bakken is such a thoughtful and insightful reader and interviewer — during our conversation she made me understand things about Improbably Yours that hadn’t been clear to me before even though I’m the one who wrote the book!
For example, I realized how so many things in the book aren’t what they seem — the characters, the quest, Improbable House, and even Vinland Island! It’s not just that they are all keeping secrets, it’s that appearances are deceiving and we are, all of us, often mistaken about what we believe to be reality.
Another reason I love Desideratum is because Theresa also includes a clip from the audio book in her podcast episodes. I’m super excited about the audio book for Improbably Yours, because it has dual narrators! Teri Clark Linden, who has voiced most of my books, is back to read the part of Blythe, and Flynn’s POV chapters are read by Aaron Shedlock.
Listen on Desideratum (and follow it!) or listen right here!
Here’s a quick little Behind the Scenes clip!
Talking Improbably Yours with Maddie Dawson - treasure hunts, Vikings, ravens, grandmothers & more
It’s no secret that I adore Maddie Dawson’s books — and if you haven’t read them, I suggest you rectify that immediately. We met through each other’s books, actually — we’d read each other’s work, and we knew before we ever met that we were going to be friends. Then we finally met once in person and the deal was sealed. Even though we live on opposite sides of the country, we talk regularly and read early drafts for each other.
So it’s not at all surprising that we had a ton of fun with this interview. We talked about the possibility that Flynn, the Viking in the story might possibly have been inspired by my very own Viking. We discussed ravens, grandmothers, and the idea that spawned Improbably Yours (an old, falling apart, grieving house rather than a character!)
Both audio and video are posted here so you can choose your favourite format! I hope you enjoy!
Fun chatting up Improbably Yours on The Storytellers with Grace Sammon
I had the pleasure of sitting down for an interview with Grace Sammon, host of the Storytellers Vodcast on the Authors on the Air Radio Network. We talked about my upcoming release, Improbably Yours and other things, and I enjoyed myself immensely! If you’d like to listen in, I’ve included links to both audio and video formats.
Here’s the video:
And here’s the audio:
Aging Well: happiness is the magic elixir
I had the fabulous opportunity to sit down with Patricia Greenberg for a chat about aging —not only gracefully, but joyously. We also talked about mindset, ways to calm anxiety, and focus on being your best and happiest self.
Watching this interview after the fact, I was struck by my own journey from an insecure and anxious young person who walked around believing she was horribly flawed and socially awkward, to a confident “older” woman who just really doesn’t have time for people who don’t like or approve of her.
Life is too short and too full of wonderful things to stress about the small stuff or worry about what other people think. You can catch our conversation here:
You can check out the Tapping Solution that we discussed here, if you’d like to check out EFT. I highly recommend this!
What is your happy place? Where do you find satisfaction and joy? I’d love to hear about it in the comments.
Fit the crappy stuff in the cracks and make room for joy
I recently received an email with the subject: “make room for joys” and it included this line:
“Instead of fitting fun in the cracks (which often means it doesn't happen), let joy get top billing. Fit the crappy stuff in the cracks.” ~ Jeannette Maw
What a concept!!!
A couple of times a week an email pops into my inbox from Jeannette Maw, a joyously inspired woman also known as The Good Vibe Coach. I love these emails, and the way they are waiting for me at the butt crack of dawn when I first focus my bleary eyes on my phone to satisfy my morning FOMO.
A recent email subject was, “make room for joys” and it included this advice:
“Instead of fitting fun in the cracks (which often means it doesn’t happen), let joy get top billing. Fit the crappy stuff in the cracks.”
What a concept!!!
Instead of entering our days braced for powering through dreaded tasks, diving into difficult (but surely important) conversations, and dwelling on the dismal – we could do what makes us happy and fit all that crappy stuff in the cracks! Eat dessert first! Play before work. Snatch some time to read that book we’ve been dying to read now, instead of waiting until the very end of the day when we’re too exhausted to enjoy it.
And only do the hard stuff if we have time for it.
Sounds awesome, doesn’t it? Waking up in the morning and getting out of bed is so much more exciting when you have things to look forward to instead of a bunch of crappy stuff waiting for you.
“But!” I hear you say. “But, Kerry, I have a JOB. If I don’t go to work I’ll get fired and then the there will be no joy anywhere.”
“Um, Kerry? Bills have to be paid.”
“I keep a house running – like, you know, cleaning things and feeding people and watching the kids. I can’t just NOT do these things or everybody suffers.”
“Also, guess what? It’s important to know what’s going on in the world. I’m not planning on being an ostrich.”
Okay, okay. I know the drill. I lived the grind for years, and still fall into occasionally – but my life shifted dramatically toward the more joyful and delightful when I learned to start prioritizing and focusing on good things and reveling in the joy wherever I can find it.
The Giant Manure Pile of Life
Whatever we focus on grows – so when the crappy stuff is getting all of the attention, it can feel like we’re standing on a giant manure pile that spreads as far as the eye can see.
The silver lining to this situation is that manure makes for good fertilizer and helps things grow. Imagine the wonderland that could pop up out of all that s*!#!
Baby Steps Toward Joy
But let’s start small. Prioritizing the joy might mean anything, but here are five suggestions to get you started:
1) Skip the grueling workout and take a pleasure walk, preferably in a park or somewhere where there are grass and trees, or water and sky.
2) Take a mini vacation – 15 minutes, an hour – to sip a favorite beverage and read a book.
3) Dance party! Put on some upbeat music and cheat on your tasks with a solo dance party – or dance while you do them!
4) Make a date with a friend – lunch, a walk, a movie – find the time.
5) Look for things you DO enjoy, or that at least feel satisfying, in your daily routine. What small thing is fun or rewarding about the task that really needs to be completed now?
Suggestions of Crap to Shove in the Cracks
1) The news. Give yourself a break. Limit the time you spend letting all of that harsh reality into your world. (Personally, I think skipping it altogether isn’t a bad idea – you can be sure some well-meaning friend or family member is gonna fill you in on truly important stuff)
2) Social Media – give the doom scrolling a rest. It’s amazing how much time we spend either feeling sad about the tragedies and difficulties of relative strangers – or feeling jealous of other people’s apparently perfect lives (hint: nobody’s life is perfect). Follow cat and bunny accounts and people who hashtag #joy
3) Worry
4) Self-criticism – any self-defeating thoughts that tell you that you are not enough, that you’re flawed or broken, that you never get it right – or replaying internal evidence that others don’t like you, or respect you, or think you are enough. In fact, forget stuffing that crap in the cracks – bury it. (Or even hit up somebody like me for a little positivity coaching)
What joy will you make room for today? What crap will you shove in the cracks?
Improbably Yours and friends -- a (very partial) list of atmospheric novels set on fictional Islands
Confession: Vinland Island isn’t real.
Yep. The island where most of Improbably Yours takes place only exists in my imagination — and in the pages of the book, of course! Mind you, the Viking and I took a very serious research trip to explore the San Juan Islands, (where I just sort of plunked Vinland down into an available space) so we could get the atmospheric details right.
And by “very serious research trip” I mean we rented a VRBO on Lummi Island, took ferry rides, ate amazing seafood, walked by the water, and drank wine while watching a small island ferry come and go. It was a grueling and exhausting experience, as I’m sure you can tell, but one of the sacrifices I am willing to make to write a book!
You can read about some other atmospheric novels set on fictional islands here. And you totally should, because I suspect that you, too, might want to read some of them.
I also recommend that you check out The Invisible Husband of Frick Island by Colleen Oakley, a wonderful book about a community all pretending to interact with a man who has died, for the sake of the grieving widow who carries on as if he is still with her.
Colleen Oakley also very kindly read Improbably Yours and had this to say:
“This book has it all—a quirky island, a hot Viking, even ghosts!—but most of all, it has soul. I was charmed and moved by this lovely story that reminds us sometimes we have to dig up the past to remember who we are in the present. A real gem. ”
Friday Reads: Catastrophe -- the hilarious second installment of The Cat Lady Chronicles by Susan Donovan and Valerie Mayhew
Friday Reads
This week’s Friday Reads finds me just finished with Catastrophe - the 2nd installment of The Cat Lacy Chronicles, a mid-life paranormal women’s fiction series about a crazy cat lady who finds herself inadvertently anointed as “The Acolyte” — a woman bound to the service of the goddess Bastet with the inescapable and dangerous mission of killing the supernatural evil known as Apep — or dying in the attempt. I should say temporarily killing, because Apep always regenerates, requiring new acolytes to be anointed every sixty-some years.
Usually the acolyte is young, supple and gets years of training. Middle-aged, overweight, out of shape, crazy cat lady Felicity Cheshire has only days — and pursues her mission through outrageously untraditional methods, aided and abetted by her “goddess posse.”
These books are literally laugh out loud funny. Plus, there’s steamy romance, strong women, cats (a LOT of cats), and an immortal cat-shifting warrior whose job it is to whip Felicity into shape and help her overcome the evil nemesis.
DISCOVERING THE BOOK
The Cat Lady Chronicles found me by way of Pam Stack, head honcho and mistress mind behind The Authors on the Air empire. Pam loves the mid-life paranormal genre, has a wicked sense of humor, and is a bit of a crazy cat lady herself, so it’s no great surprise that she recommended these books!
ABOUT The Cat Lady Chronicles
Let’s start with the back cover copy for the first book in the series, Catalyst, because you really will want to start at the beginning:
What happens when a middle-aged cat lady learns she's humanity's only hope? Chaos. Catnip. Curse words.
One tough cookie...
Felicity Cheshire has survived cancer, medical bankruptcy, and the world’s slimiest ex-husband. Now she’s about to be evicted from the ramshackle Airstream on the Oregon coast that's home for her and her twelve rescue cats.
One last kitty...
When her car breaks down during a freakish rainstorm, Felicity spies an injured tomcat on the roadside and thinks, “how much trouble can one more be?” A lot, as it turns out. Soon there’s a naked mystery man in her bed and her small-town, middle-aged existence careens to WTF? territory.
Two weeks to save the world.
With her posse of badass BFFs at her side, Felicity takes a terrifying journey from has-been to hero, where she must face her darkest fears in order to save those she loves. She might even have to attempt sit-ups.
WHAT I LOVE ABOUT Catalyst and catastrophe
These books are totally lightweight, funny, and snarky — but somehow or other the authors manage to keep the suspense building because of all that. There are romantic threads in play, with no promise of any happy ever after, so I definitely needed to find out if things were going to go right for these characters I love. And I do love them. All of the women, that is, and Tom. But there are also some characters that are so much fun to hate, and the Apep Ass Kicking moments are simultaneously hilarious AND satisfying AND suspenseful.
This is also a story of resilient, strong women discovering their own inner power even after life has given them a serious beating — and also discovering how to trust and rely on each other. And yes — opening themselves up to love again after previous romantic disasters.
When I finished Catastrophe, I promptly went to check on the status of book three, and was delighted to discover that Cataclysm will be out in the world on June 4th. Yes, I’ve pre-ordered.
You can find out more about the authors here — Susan Donovan — and here - Valerie Mayhew.
Do you have a mid-life paranormal that you love? Tell me in the comments!
Friday Reads: The Golem and the Jinni -- a gorgeously immersive fantasy novel by Helene Wecker
What’s up with Friday Reads?
Have you ever stopped to wonder what’s up with the whole Friday Reads thing? I mean, come on — hands up if you only read on Friday? But since Friday Reads IS a thing, I’ve hatched a plan to start posting here about whatever I happen to be reading when Friday rolls around. If it happens to be the cereal box? So be it. (Bets on how long I keep it up? I’m kinda notorious for bright ideas and then not following through.)
In this case, I did actually happen to be happily reading The Golem and the Jinni on Friday, and I have to tell you — not much in the world makes me happier than being absorbed in an immersive fantasy. And if I happen to be reading it while drinking a freshly made-from-scratch strawberry margarita (which I was) while sitting in my hot tub (which, alas, I wasn’t) all the better!
Discovering the Book
I’m always curious about the ways books and readers find their way to each other (if you’ve got a great story about how you found your favorite book, I want to hear it!) and in this case, The Golem and the Jinni was suggested to me by my writer pal Heather Webb.
We were a couple of days into a two-person writer retreat in Narraganset. I’d had a couple of drinks — okay, maybe three, which is a LOT for this lightweight — and declared my intent to write something just for fun. You know - step away from the constrictions of traditional publishing and the contract book I was working on, and write something for the heck of it. A romance maybe. Even an erotica experiment, just to see if I could pull it off.
At that exact moment, I got a text message from Pam Stack, the brilliant woman who runs the Authors on the Air Radio Network — and, by the way, reads like 400 books a year or some crazy number — and I told her I was considering experimenting with a “Love me Goat Herder series,” since goats are a long standing joke between us (don’t ask. Friendships are weird) and then SHE suggested maybe I try my hand at midlife paranormal instead.
Now, fantasy is my first love. If you’ve read my Kerry Anne King novels you’ll notice I always manage to infuse a tiny little bit of some sort of magic in there, even when I’m writing real world stories, and my Kerry Schafer books are all built around either fantasy or paranormal. So this idea made me sit up and start actually brainstorming.
By the way, if you don’t know about the mid-life paranormal genre, just do a search on Amazon or Goodreads. These are books about women whose mid-life crises get downright magical. They are full of snark and adventure and humor, and learning how to wield unexpected magical gifts, and also romance. Great fun to read.
But what magical gift would my character have? And then I thought - what if she’s a genie? That would be fun. Which was when Heather recommended The Golem and the Genie, and here we are caught up to now. Because obviously I ordered the book and fell in love with it. (And yes, if you’re wondering, I AM playing around with writing a mid-life paranormal romance featuring a reluctant genie.)
About The Golem and the Jinni
Let’s start with the back cover copy:
“An intoxicating fusion of fantasy and historical fiction. . . . Wecker’s storytelling skills dazzle.” —Entertainment Weekly
A marvelous and absorbing debut novel about a chance meeting between two supernatural creatures in turn-of-the-century immigrant New York.
Chava is a golem, a creature made of clay by a disgraced rabbi knowledgeable in the ways of dark Kabbalistic magic. She serves as the wife to a Polish merchant who dies at sea on the voyage to America. As the ship arrives in New York in 1899, Chava is unmoored and adrift until a rabbi on the Lower East Side recognizes her for the creature she is and takes her in.
Ahmad is a jinni, a being of fire born in the ancient Syrian desert and trapped centuries ago in an old copper flask by a Bedouin wizard. Released by a Syrian tinsmith in a Manhattan shop, Ahmad appears in human form but is still not free. An iron band around his wrist binds him to the wizard and to the physical world.
Chava and Ahmad meet accidentally and become friends and soul mates despite their opposing natures. But when the golem’s violent nature overtakes her one evening, their bond is challenged. An even more powerful threat will emerge, however, and bring Chava and Ahmad together again, challenging their very existence and forcing them to make a fateful choice.
Compulsively readable, The Golem and the Jinni weaves strands of Yiddish and Middle Eastern literature, historical fiction and magical fable, in a wondrously inventive tale that is mesmerizing and unforgettable.”
What I Loved About The Golem and the Jinni
Despite the way I came to this book, I need to make it clear that this is not a lightweight, fun, snarky sort of story at all. It is a work of art, from that gorgeous cover through to the very last word, and it deals with deep questions about what it means to be human, and whether or not we are bound by the natures we are born with.
Chava, the golem in the story, reminds me of the android, Data, in the StarTrek Next Generation series, in the way that she is always trying to fit in and find her place in the world. I often read her scenes with my heart in my throat — will she find free will or will she be enslaved? What horrible things might she be made to do and is she capable of resisting the control of an evil man? And the Jinni - a once free spirit of fire now trapped in the body of a man - also has a wonderful character growth arc. Is it possible for him to feel empathy and compassion? Maybe even love? Will he ever be free?
All of these questions are set against the backdrop of turn of the century immigrant New York, in a way that made me feel like I was THERE - seeing the sights, smelling the smells, falling in love with the people. The characters are wonderful — those I was cheering for, and the one I wanted to destroy — and created with such a wonderfully human array of loves and kindnesses and jealousies and weaknesses and strengths.
Anyway. I was sad when I turned the last page, and delighted to discover that there is a sequel, which I will definitely be reading soon.
Check out author Helene Wecker’s website here, for more and to find all the buy links.
Have you read The Golem and the Jinni? Do you have a great story about how a book found you? Tell me in the comments!
Moms Read Genres Giveaway for Mother's Day
Enter this multi-author Mother’s Day giveaway for a chance to win FOURTEEN books! Hey, if you win and there’s a genre included you don’t love — gift it to a friend who does!
The Cover for Improbably Yours is Here!!!
Catch the brand new cover for Improbably Yours, releasing October 18.
Cover Reveal
〰️
Cover Reveal 〰️
I am super excited about this cover — and my launch plans for Improbably Yours! We are going to have so much fun (think treasure hunt!) plus, I really hope you’ll love the book!
“Get ready for your treasure hunting vacation on whimsical Vinland, brimming with quirky characters, mysterious letters, and a treasure map. Kerry Anne King’s charming novel will warm your heart as you follow the clues to where X marks the spot. I flew through Improbably Yours faster than a talking raven!”
Blythe Harmon is on the fast track to a life she never wanted. On her thirtieth birthday, just as she’s about to lock herself into a high-powered job and accept a marriage proposal to match, an unusual bequest from her beloved late grandmother, Nomi, offers an escape and an invitation to adventure.
Equipped with a funereal urn and a treasure map, Blythe sets off for a small island in the San Juans where she rents the mysterious and unsettling Improbable House. Clue by cryptic clue, secret by secret, she pursues a quest which is complicated by her powerful attraction to an enigmatic islander and his recently orphaned niece, both of whom are inexorably tied to the old house.
Just when Blythe thinks she’s on the verge of unraveling the mystery her quest takes an unexpected turn and she discovers that the treasure she’s really seeking is something that could never be buried in the ground.
“This book has it all—a quirky island, a hot Viking, even ghosts!—but most of all, it’s got soul. I was charmed and moved by this lovely story that reminds us sometimes we have to dig up the past to remember who we are in the present. A real gem. ”
Stay tuned for all the launch fun (and maybe make sure you’re signed up for my newsletter to make sure you don’t miss anything!)
Essential Things
I recently had the opportunity to have a conversation with Theresa Bakken for her podcast, Desideratum, which turned out to be one of my favorite interviews ever! Theresa asked questions that made me think about my new release, Other People’s Things, in ways that I had not previously considered.
If you’d love to listen to the official podcast version— which includes a scene from the official audio book, as well — go here, or listen below.
I’ve also included a video of our conversation below.
I’d love to hear your thoughts.
Love audio books? Check out Other People's Things, narrated by Teri Clark Linden
One of the blessings that has come to me from my writing life is an ongoing collaboration with actress and narrator Teri Clark Linden. She has narrated all but one of my Kerry Anne King books (we skipped one to give more of a voice to a male protagonist) and has also voiced the Shadow Valley Manor series I write as Kerry Schafer.
I absolutely love her work, and am delighted to offer you this free sample of the first chapter of Other People’s Things. Enjoy!
Other People's Things Super Swag Giveaway
I’m excited about this giveaway that I’ve put together for my awesome readers! Check it out!
I’m giving away a quilted, zippered Kindle bag, an Other People’s Things book charm, a signed bookplate, and — a Kindle to go in the bag! US only, please, but keep reading for a different giveaway if you’re located elsewhere.
Live outside the US? I have not forgotten you.
Enter for a chance to win one of these paperback books (your choice). If you win, your book will ship directly to you from Book Depository and I’ll send you an autographed name plate to go in it! To enter, click here to email me. Tell me where you live and which book you prefer. That’s it!
Good luck!! I hope you win.
Sneak Peak at Other People's Things
Oh my God! It’s less than three weeks until Other People’s Things is out in the world on shelves and Kindles and being read and hopefully loved!
Remember being a kid at your birthday or Christmas and having to wait to open the presents? That’s how I feel right now! All excited and jittery and like I want to sneak frosting off the cake when nobody is looking, only there isn’t any cake. I could probably fix that. Or, hell, I could just cut right to the chase and make myself some frosting and eat it out of the bowl. My mother is watching from the great beyond, but I think maybe she’ll understand.
Anyway. I thought maybe while I’m waiting, I’d share a little taste of the book with you! Two tastes, actually: a super fun book trailer (with thanks to Terry Shepherd, who made it) and the first couple of pages of the book.
Here you go! Enjoy!
Chapter One
NICOLE
Better than jail.
This is my new mantra, and I’ve repeated it a gazillion times already this morning. When Roberta shook me awake at the god-awful and ridiculous hour of five a.m.—this is better than jail. When I realized that the coffee in the pot was decaf and there was no cream in Mom’s house—this is better than jail. Now, shivering in the car with a travel mug half full of bitter, zero-zing coffee that has already cooled too much to even warm my hands, the mantra is wearing thin.
Snow is falling in the early-morning darkness, a mesmerizing mosaic in the beam of the headlights. Visibility is nearly zero, and Roberta inches along in silence, white-knuckling the steering wheel, straining toward the windshield as if those few extra inches will offer an advantage. Normally I’d point out that by cruising at the speed of an elderly glacier, she is creating a traffic hazard the polar opposite of traveling too fast.
But for once in my life, I keep my mouth shut. My sister has given me—me, Nicole Angelica Marie Wood Brandenburg, jailbird, nutcase, and spectacular failure to launch—a job. This is an act of such beneficence that I’m indebted to her through at least the next three reincarnations, so I need to keep my mouth shut and try to be civil. Since I’m utterly incapable of really keeping snark to myself, I text my best—and only—friend, Ash, instead.
Nicole: OMG! Send help.
Ash: LOL. Housecleaning is that bad?
Nicole: We have entered a cautious driver time warp and will never reach the house. If we don’t make it out, you get my wedding ring.
Ash: <shocked face emoji> Don’t you inflict that on me. Bad Karma.
Nicole: Sell it.
Ash: If it’s real.
Nicole: Ha. Very funny.
“Here we go,” Roberta says, finally easing her well-worn Subaru hatchback into a white expanse of driveway marked by a single set of tire tracks. The neighbors on either side are engaged in snow management, one with a shovel, the other with a snowblower. An exercise in futility, in my opinion, given how fast the flakes are falling.
I hate winter. Five years ago, after Kent and I got married, I started a let’s-leave-Spokane-and-move-someplace-warm campaign. I sent him videos of Mexico. Planted flyers about communities in Arizona and California on his desk. Now that I’ve utterly destroyed my marriage along with my chances of ever having enough money to move out of my mother’s house, all exotic locations are out of the question. Winter will be with me forever.
With a sigh, I accept my fate and open my door, shivering as the cold insinuates itself through my thin coat and my thin flesh and right into my bones. My warm winter clothes and my boots are still at Kent’s condo, and I am neither going back for them nor asking him to send them to me.
“Nickle.” Roberta’s voice holds a warning. “Leave your backpack in the car.”
“But—”
“You get toilet duty. Scrub the bathrooms and the kitchen floor. And I will check your pockets before we leave. Are we clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I salute her, slamming the door harder than necessary. Gratitude for this chance to earn a living has not quite quashed my inner rebel, or my annoyance that she still talks to me as if I’m a child. Better than jail, I remind myself. Also, I owe Roberta both of my kidneys and my immortal soul. As the owner of Sunny Side Up Cleaning Services, she has taken a huge risk in hiring me, since she has every reason to believe that I’m an incorrigible kleptomaniac. But she’s also not stupid, and she’s not about to set me loose dusting curios. I’m unlikely to try to stuff a toilet brush or a mop into my back pocket.
Slipping and sliding in the snow, I wrestle the vacuum cleaner and a bucket full of rags and cleaning solutions out of the hatch, leaving Rob to manage her clipboard, a mop, and a duster. Snow cakes between the tops of my sneakers and my socks as I half wade, half skate to the porch like some ludicrous cross between a clown and an ice dancer. Roberta, her feet snug and warm in boots with serious grips on the soles, has the door unlocked by the time I join her on the porch.
Our eyes meet, and my irritation evaporates. Roberta carries a lot of responsibilities on her shoulders, and it’s beginning to show. Her hair, short for convenience rather than style, is more gray than brown. There’s a permanent furrow in her forehead and lines around her eyes. Her face is kind enough but clearly shows that her life has been mostly hard work and worry, with little time for fun. By the time she was twelve, she was babysitting three younger siblings and helping Mom with meals and housework. Now she runs a busy cleaning business while also managing two teenagers and a husband.
If I were any other new employee, she’d probably have pawned me and my orientation off on somebody else and would be sitting in a warm office right now drinking coffee and taking care of the books. But I am not to be trusted, and she and I both know it.
I swear to myself in that moment that I will not remove any object from this house, or the house of any other client, no matter what I see, or feel, or how strong the temptation. But the instant I cross the threshold, I realize with crystal clarity what a bad idea it is for me to work for a cleaning service. This house is a land mine. Every flat surface is covered with stuff. Figurines. Magazines. Odds and ends of this and that.
Roberta’s voice, giving me instructions, drifts farther and farther away. My heart thuds against my ribs; my mouth goes dry. I discipline myself to take three slow, deep breaths, an act of faith that the long line of counselors who have advocated this technique might actually know what they’re talking about. Other than a sneeze induced by a floral air freshener, the results are inconclusive, but at least I haven’t gone into a full-on panic attack.
Roberta, who knows about my weird compulsion even though she doesn’t begin to understand it, sighs. “Please just get to work. We don’t have time for your nonsense.”
From the relative safety of the doormat, I scope out what I can see of the house. Everything looks reassuringly normal. No twisting or bending or shimmering of the light. No random objects demanding to be picked up and moved. But I know from experience that books are one of the worst offenders, and they are everywhere.
“Come look at this, first.” Rob leads me through a house that is cluttered but surprisingly clean. Visible bits of carpet are vacuumed. There’s not a speck of dust. The kitchen sink is empty and spotless, a dishcloth folded perfectly in half and hung over the gleaming faucet to dry. A notebook sits on the counter, and Roberta flips it open and points to a precisely written list.
“Most customers have a book like this where they leave special instructions. Mrs. Lane always writes something, so you need to remember to look. No special requests today, so we’ll just dust, scrub, and vacuum wherever there’s a space to do so. Get a move on. Your toilets are waiting.”
I stick my tongue out, very mature and professional, take a breath, and venture into the main bathroom. Here, there is no clutter. Spotless floor. Shining toilet bowl. Not so much as a stray hair in the sink. Perfect guest towels in sunshine yellow hang precisely on the rack. Unused decorative hand soaps sit in a dish on the counter. I doubt this bathroom has ever been used, and I find myself wondering if Mrs. Lane is lonely.
Reminding myself that the emotional well-being of a woman I have never met is not my problem, I queue up music on my phone, turn up the volume, and start scrubbing nonexistent soap scum from the bathtub to the accompaniment of the Three Tenors. I’ve finished the tub and sink and am pumicing the already pristine toilet when Roberta bounces in to check on me.
“What is that caterwauling?” she shouts, to make herself heard above “O Sole Mio.” She grabs my phone and shuts off the music. “I don’t get why you insist on listening to this. Or why you can’t wear earbuds.”
I shrug, trying to unstick hair from my cheek with my shoulder. “Helps me focus. Forgot to bring the earbuds.”
Rob likes the Beatles and the Bee Gees. Old-school stuff that is easy to listen to and doesn’t make you think. My tastes are weird and eclectic, and I’ll listen to anything from acid rock to opera, but when I’m feeling anxious, classical is where it’s at.
“Try something zippier,” Roberta says. “We’re not meditating, we’re working. Get a move on. We haven’t got all day.”
“I’m not Mary Poppins,” I protest. “Not magic. It takes time to scrub every—”
“You don’t have to scrub every surface,” she says.
I look up at her, Roberta in her mom jeans and oversize T-shirt, with that face that broadcasts honest and dependable as clearly as a bat signal. With a shock like the cold of a toilet swirlie, a torment with which I have way too much personal experience, I see in her eyes what she will never say out loud:
“Just wipe everything down with a damp cloth. Spray some air freshener around. No need to waste time doing what has already been done. Mrs. Lane will never know and we can be out of here and on to the next house.”
“And I’m the criminal in the family,” I say, never able to keep my mouth shut.
“Just hurry, will you?” Roberta turns and stalks away, but I don’t miss the fact that she didn’t ask, “What are you even talking about?” Which means she knows damn well, and I’m right about what she wants me to do.
And I absolutely and utterly cannot do it. If my job is to scrub this bathroom, I am compelled to scrub this bathroom. Every square inch of it. I won’t sleep tonight if I get paid for something I didn’t do. Which just highlights how screwed up I am. When I take something that doesn’t belong to me, it feels 110 percent right and I sleep like a baby, but I’m incapable of the small dishonesties the rest of the world takes for granted.
Today, I’m not taking anything, I remind myself, no matter what I see or feel, or how many damn books there are in this house. I change up my mantra and run it through my head, over and over and over again.
Don’t hurt Rob. Do my job. Stay out of jail.
Everything is fine until I move on to the master bedroom. The bed is neatly made, but the room is crammed with stacks of books and magazines, games and puzzles, plastic craft bins, and other random stuff. A narrow pathway winds through the clutter to the bathroom, which, unlike the guest bathroom, shows signs of frequent and recent use.
Shampoo and conditioner, bodywash, a can of shaving cream, and three razors compete for space in a shower caddy. A hand towel, slightly damp, hangs askew on a hook by the sink. And a shelf stuffed with paperbacks lurks next to the door, waiting to ambush me.
This strikes me as manifestly unfair. There are rules. I mean, sure, keeping a reading book in the bathroom makes total sense, but a shelf crammed full of them? During my almost thirty years, I’ve relocated a wide variety of objects from one place to another, but books, above all things, are my kryptonite. Why, I don’t know, but I do have a theory.
Books absorb energy from readers. Energy doesn’t like to stagnate, it wants to move. Ergo, books want to move. And now, on this day where I must not, no matter what, move anything other than dirt and dust, here I am up close and personal with what I most need to avoid.
I deliberately turn my back on the rainbow of colors and textures created by all of those lovely spines. I will not look. I will not touch. Today I am cleaning toilets and scrubbing showers and floors and washing mirrors. I turn the music back on, then don a pair of gloves and get them wet and foamy with cleaning spray to augment my always fragile willpower. As I scrub the shower, I sing along to “Ave Maria,” hoping in my heart that maybe the Holy Mother really does exist and will extend some sort of mercy from heaven down to me.
No such luck.
The sensation of wrongness starts at the base of my spine, as it always does, creeping and crawling like a spider, tiny legs whispering upward from one vertebra to the next. I slap at it, soapy glove and all, even though I know nothing is there, and mutter under my breath, “Do my job. Don’t hurt Rob. Stay out of jail.”
I laser focus on my task. Rinse the shower clean. Squeegee the glass. By the time I move on to the sink, the spider sensation has given way to an army of ants running up and down, occasionally stopping to bite. I breathe in, the smell of bleach and chemicals crisping the hair in my nose, burning my sinuses, but that does nothing to intercept the ant parade.
The sink doesn’t need scrubbing, and I’m done with it all too fast. When I start on the mirror, I find myself staring at a reflection of the books. I can’t read the titles, but I don’t need to in order to see which book is causing the problem. There’s a blur and shimmer around it, as if I’m looking at it through a heat haze.
Do my job. Don’t hurt Rob. Stay out of jail. But I need to dust the bookshelf, which puts me directly in the way of temptation. Holding my breath, I whisk my duster over the danger zone, resolved to finish and get my hands safely immersed in a bucket of soapy water as rapidly as possible.
The book that wants to be moved is an old paperback copy of Dante’s Inferno, the binding creased and broken. Well, that’s appropriate, since I’m obviously inhabiting one of the circles of hell. I allow myself to touch the spine once, ever so lightly, and when I draw back my hand, it wants to cling to my fingers like cobwebs. I rub my hand on my jeans, trying to wipe off the lingering sensation, and with an effort of willpower, I manage to pull on my gloves and start scrubbing the floor.
Don’t hurt Rob. Do your job. Stay out of jail.
A party of enthusiastic grasshoppers takes up residence in my belly. From long experience, I know that very soon they will begin to gnaw on my stomach lining and I’ll feel like I’m being eaten from the inside out. All over a battered old book.
If I took it with me, would Mrs. Lane even notice? And if she did notice, would she know I was the one who walked off with it? Even if she figured it out, nobody is going to send me to jail over an old book with a bent cover and dog-eared pages.
“You not done yet?”
I startle and slop a puddle of water onto the floor as Roberta pokes her head in and huffs an annoyed sigh. “You’re gonna have to pick up the pace, Nickle,” she shouts, to be heard over my music. “I already did the kitchen floor for you and started packing stuff out. Wipe up that mess and come on. This is done enough.”
She vanishes and I hear her footsteps on the stairs.
Which means I am now alone with the enemy. As I peel off my gloves slowly, one finger at a time, I tell myself I will not touch the book. I will certainly not take the book. But even as I repeat the words over and over in my head, somehow, the book is in my hands. A moment later, it’s tucked into the waistband of my jeans at the small of my back, my sweatshirt tugged down to cover it.
When I get downstairs, Roberta is already out the door. I put on my coat, which provides extra concealment for my contraband. Then I lug out the bucket and dump it in the snow, well away from the house. Tuck my tools into the open hatch of the car. The motor is running, the stink of exhaust sharp in the back of my throat.
“Thought you were going to search me?” I say, sliding awkwardly into the front seat beside my sister, the book stiff as a brace on my lower back.
She gives me the side-eye as she backs out of the driveway.
“Did you steal something?”
“Nope.”
It doesn’t feel like a lie. It never does.
Want to read more? Pre-order here in the US, and here if you live in the beautiful elsewhere.
A Chat with Barbara Davis, Author of The Keeper of Happy Endings
One of my favorite things about being a writer is that I get to hang out with other writers. Sometimes I even get to read their books early! Barbara Davis is a lovely, funny human being with an inspiring and positive outlook on life—and she’s a brilliant writer as well. I’m lucky to count her as a friend and to have early access to her books! I can tell you first hand that The Keeper of Happy Endings is a beautiful, page turning, emotionally immersive read with a touch of magic. I loved it so much I got to blurb it, in fact!
“The Keeper of Happy Endings is a perfect blending of romance and mystery with a sprinkling of magic—heartwarming and satisfying. Don’t miss it!” ~Kerry Anne King, bestselling author of Whisper Me This and Everything You Are
I’m so delighted that this lovely book is a well-deserved First Reads pick for September, which means you can get your hands on it a whole month before it’s official release date—for free if you’re an Amazon Prime Reads member, or for $1.99 if you’re not!
Watch our conversation to learn more about the book here, or listen to it on your favorite audio podcast outlet.
Write My Name Across the Sky: an Interview with Barbara O'Neal
Chatting with Barbara O’Neal is always, for me, a lovely reminder of how to live life fully, gracefully, and well. You might be tempted to believe that a bestselling author who has multiple books hanging out simultaneously in the top 100 in the Kindle store and who is currently writing another (which will undoubtedly join its book siblings in climbing the ranks), might be glued to her desk. Instead, Barbara is a beautiful example of a life fully lived.
In this interview, we talk about how she is simultaneously enjoying Nana Camp with her granddaughters, creating her own paintings, moving from one house into another, planning a wedding (her own!) and more. Unfortunately the internet gods decided to blur the ending of the little reading she did for us, but you’ll just have to read the book, if you haven’t already, to see what you’ve missed.
Enjoy!
A Chat with Barbara Josselsohn, Author of The Lily Garden
I had such a delightful conversation with Barbara Josselsohn live on Tell Me Your Secrets. Of course, we talked about her new summer romance, The Lily Garden, and she read a selection for us. But we also discussed gardening, and I discovered maybe she’s not quite as much of a master gardener as I had assumed. (Lesson: never assume!) Barbara also revealed her secret former career as a mattress expert. If you want to know what that’s all about, you’re just going to have to watch! Here’s the video for your pleasure.
The Magic of Found Objects with Authors Kerry Anne King and Maddie Dawson
Last week, I got to sit down for a good chat with bestselling author Maddie Dawson about her fantastic, feel good new novel, THE MAGIC OF FOUND OBJECTS. I adore this book, as I do everything Maddie, and it's available EARLY for you to read on First Reads if you're a Prime Reads subscriber. We also talked about Law of Attraction, gnomes, real life magic, and how Maddie came to marry a much younger man.