For years I have been a writer, a tutor, an editor, and a writing coach. I seem to be editing more than I am writing or tutoring, I do have writing projects to finish. I don’t make resolutions, but I do make goals.
I plan to finish my 3 or 4 book demon sisters series and 2 stories in which my buddy, the Elvis tribute artist, comes into the story to save the day.
I plan to clean out 2 unwanted and unneeded pieces of furniture left over from my divorce 18 years ago and few clothes.
Catching up with my blogs and social media is a given.
ABOUT THE BOOKS ON SALE! Each of the books is reduced to $1.99 for the next week.
Each short story shows what Christmas means to its characters.
In “A Very Bella Thanksgiving”, a 4 year old child meets her extended family for the first time. A small town Christmas parade and a visit with Santa give her more than anyone would guess. I patterned Bella after my daughter, Danielle. She didn’t start talking with baby talk, so when she spoke in complete sentences adults were confused. She was a perky and friendly little person who charmed adults who met her. Bella shares those characteristics. One never knows what Bella will repeat that she has heard. One favorite expression is “I’m no hongry I could eat the south end of a north bound mule. she learned this from her grandpa.
Mary Marvella is a Georgia
girl through and through! She writes
romances that range from sweet to steamy and suspenseful, as well as women’s
fiction. She’s a writer, an editor, and a teacher/tutor/writing coach.
Once upon a time there was a
little girl named Marvella who loved to make up stories. We aren’t talking
about lies or fibs, but stories with characters who lived in her imagination.
This child lived in a time long ago when few families had a television set. The
screens were small and black and white, about the size of a tablet, actually.
Mary’s family didn’t have a TV set, so reading and radio were their
entertainment. Her family did enjoy an occasional movie at a drive-in movie or
picture show. Mary loved playing in the playhouse her daddy built using wooden
containers large enough to transport tanks during World War ll. Mary’s stories
became more complicated as she aged. Writing them wasn’t something she
considered, it was all about telling them. Her stories sometimes frightened
After Mary became a teacher
she used her imagination to entertain students and then her own daughter. As
each book she read to and then with her daughter ended she made “what happened
next” stories. Only after she stopped teaching in the classroom did she decide
to write stories to sell. Finally, the romance bug bit her. Characters wandered
at will in her imagination, waking her from sleep and telling their stories to
her as she washed dishes and as she ran errands.
Mary and typewriters never
became friends, so she had challenges writing even a short story that wasn’t
riddled with typos. Her ex got a computer for their photography studio. This miracle
invention, a Macintosh with 2 gigs of ram and a screen maybe 5 X 5, opened a
world where Mary’s stories could live and become real! Computer folks are probably laughing at this!
She used a dot matrix printer, a REALLY old one!
Now Mary has 10 novels on
Amazon and has been hooked on writing since she used that first Mac!
Mary fell into writing Romance
novels because she found Georgia Romance Writers and Southeastern Writers
Association and Nancy Knight a teacher.
Protective Instincts, Mary’s first novel, is part of the Protective
Series. She has two books published as M. M. Mayfield, Write Dirty to Me and Her
I have been a teacher since I was five. Well, not a real teacher, except when I helped my daddy pass the GED when I finished fifth grade. Later when I was in high school I helped Daddy teach a night class in math.
After teaching in the classroom for fifteen years I began my tutoring career and have loved that I can work with a student one-on-one. I ‘d like to share this most recent thank you and proof that I am a DAMNED GOOD teacher.
This girl and I have been working together for four years. She was home-schooled and her dad moved around for his positions in hospitals. I have followed her and her brother by using Skype. They have a home in Canada and return there between jobs and so Doctor Dad can work Emergency on weekends. Dad-the-doctor expects this girl to be a doctor. We…
Protecting Melissa is a Romantic Suspense set in Georgia.
Melissa isn’t looking for romance since the murder of her cheating, swindling husband. She wants to teach and mind her own business. However, someone her husband cheated is determined to make her repay money her husband stole before his murder in the bed of one of his paramours. Complications arise when Gabe, her former crush, walks into her classroom to check on his son, one of her students. The kid has a secret, she knows that secret, and his father wants to know that secret. When Gabe and Melissa leave a basketball game and find all four tires on her vintage Mustang flat, he determines she needs his protection, despite her insistence she doesn’t. Gabe and Melissa’s brother were best friends. He looked after her when she tagged along behind him and her brother. Since her brother is out of the country Gabe feels obligated to protect her, just until her brother returns. Someone has planted cameras in her house and made intimate looking photographs he shares on the Internet with her students. Who is sending her threatening emails and how far will her go to get what he wants?
“You’re out of your mind! There’s no way that man
could have been in my house. I’d know it. You’re trying to scare me. Why?”
“Just help me check things out. Look for anything he
might have moved.” God, he hoped her home hadn’t been invaded. If it had he’d
make her move in with him and Jay until her family returned.
Cabinets, shelves, and drawers looked undisturbed.
Even a neat housekeeper was likely to leave a small space with dust, but no
clear spaces or trails showed things had been moved. Nothing seemed out of
Hours later Melissa stared at her luminous clock
face. After tossing and turning forever she was nowhere near sleep. Though
she’d opened, then closed, then opened her bedroom door, shadows took on life.
Settling sounds, the icemaker, clocks, and other sounds she would have normally
ignored became ghost, monster, or boogie-man.
Two o’clock. Damn. Melissa threw the covers back and
reached for her robe. No point staying
here. Her den was dark except for the glow from the fireplace. Only quiet
breathing and an occasional pop from the fire broke the silence.
Gabe slumped on the extra-long sofa. At least he
could stretch out and rest. His face, bronzed by the firelight, made her breath
catch in her throat. God, he was beautiful! The room was warm, but she reached
for the afghan spread over the back of the lounge chair. He’d removed his
boots. No holes in his socks. That
made her smile. She reached out to spread the cover over his prone body.
“Wanna join me?” a deep scratchy voice asked. “There’s
room. You can stretch out beside me.”
Like hell! “No can do, friend. I just came to check on you, to
see if you need anything. Sorry I woke you. I’ll just get myself a glass of
milk. Want one?”
“I wasn’t sleeping, either, Lissie. I was thinking
about you, listening to your bed creak as you tossed and turned. And I was
wondering what you wore to bed.” He chuckled at the sound of her indignation. “Yeah,
I’d love a glass of milk.”
He didn’t follow her into the kitchen. She’d know his
jeans were tight with his arousal. He managed to sit up without cutting off the
circulation there by the time she returned with the glasses of milk.
His hard-on had calmed, but she was enough woman to
make any man want to the point of pain. Tousled auburn hair framed her slender
face then tumbled down her back. At least now he knew she hadn’t gone to bed
with curlers in her luxurious hair. Her face, bare of makeup, looked younger
than her twenty-eight years. He knew her age as well as his own, thirty-four.
He squirmed to make himself more comfortable. His
body still reacted like that of a seventeen-year old around her. He’d bet she
didn’t realize her cotton gown was sexy as hell. When her robe parted the
clinging fabric outlined her legs. Back-lit by the firelight, it became almost
“Sit,” he ordered, pulling her down on the sofa
beside him. “Drink your milk.”
He emptied his glass in several swallows as she
watched. She sipped hers. He removed her empty glass from her hands and placed
it on the floor.
“Just put your head on my shoulder and rest your eyes
while I talk.” His arm behind her on the sofa made it easy for her to use his
chest as her pillow.
“Remember the time” helped him remember he had stayed
to protect her, not to lust after her.
Lissie’s body was soft in all the right places. His
own was painfully hard in one particular place. She fought sleep, but she’d
succumbed to exhaustion. He’d never have guessed how much he’d enjoy just holding
her and reminiscing. Her laughter had been like music to his ears, low pitched,
deep and throaty.
She‘d fallen asleep and he’d dozed. The first time
he’d jerked himself awake her body was sprawled across his, her hand caressing
his arousal. Carefully he’d maneuvered himself so she rested beside him. Like a
trusting child she allowed him to move her without awaking. He moved her body
so that spoon fashion, his chest to her back, their bodies aligned to make the
couch long enough. At least he didn’t doze again.
There is a particular intrigue to the monarchies that have survived until today, be it the United Kingdom, Sweden, Norway, or Monaco. The Royals are historic and romantic. Like famous movie stars, they are always in the public eye. People are eager to learn what Harry’s and Megan’s everyday life is like.
It is no wonder that the royal gown is a hot topic of discussion and the most likely to be remembered. For a few moments, let’s enter the world of the nobility.
In 1840, Queen Victoria of the United Kingdom wore a white wedding gown in her marriage to Prince Albert of Saxe, Coburg and Gotha. The plain satin gown was made from fabric woven in Spitafields near London and trimmed with a deep flounce and handmade lace from Devon. William Dyce, head of the then Government School of Design (later the Royal College of Art) designed and…