 I've just turned eighty-three. That's right, 83. And let me tell you, these old bones have seen many moons and written many a tale. In the illustrious world of romance novels, I've been around the block more times than the neighborhood stray cat! In the past three decades, the face of romance writing has changed more than my prescription glasses! You see, when I started, my biggest worry was keeping the typewriter ribbon fresh. Now, I've got a nifty device called a computer, which apparently has nothing to do with making coffee. Go figure! Writing romance in the '90s? It was all about long flowing hair, heaving bosoms, and tall, dark, mysterious strangers. These days, it’s about kick-butt heroines who run their own companies, save the world, and whip up a mean gluten-free vegan meal all before the second chapter. The internet came along, and our characters stopped sending letters, and started texting each other instead. I had to learn a whole new language for that. OMG, it’s BRB, LOL, and TTYL now. It took me three months to realize that "LOL" doesn't stand for "Lots of Love." The times, they are a-changin'! The once delicate dance of courtship in my early novels has given way to swipe rights and dating apps. My heroes used to climb balconies; now they just slide into DMs. How less poetic, but oh, so much easier on the knees! There's a whole universe of sub-genres I never saw coming. Who would have thought we'd be swooning over werewolves, vampires, and time-traveling highlanders? And don't get me started on those billionaire bad boys and their charming antics! But hey, don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining about these changes, not one bit. Because beneath the LOLs, the swiping, and the supernatural, the heart of romance hasn't changed. It's still all about that sweet tug at your heartstrings, the flutter in your stomach, and the yearning for a happily ever after. So, here I am, eighty-three years young, still writing, still learning, and most importantly, still believing in the magic of love. And I have to admit, navigating the modern quirks of romance has been a hoot! Here's to another year of embracing change and creating stories that make hearts throb, no matter how old they might be. After all, romance, much like a fine wine, only gets better with age. Till then, my lovelies, LOL (and I do mean Lots of Love)! Jackie Weger Now that you know what I write... May I suggest a way to read three of my favorite books for one low price? And hundreds of thousands of more books, too! For a limited time, the Almost Perfect Series is available to read free with a Kindle Unlimited subscription! Don't have Kindle Unlimited? Learn more and/or sign up for a Free Trial Here! Three men, seductive as sin and living single, meet three strong women passionate about life, loving, and family, who will change their lives forever…  
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It's just a perfect Texas afternoon... It's seventy-something, and the sun is peeking in and out behind wispy clouds here in my corner of Texas. The weather is just right, no humidity, just cool enough to keep mosquitoes huggin’ the undersides of leaves and not makin’ pests of themselves.  Tiny titmouse chicks hatched yesterday in the nest mama titmouse built atop the anchor bolt in the satellite dish. They’re not feathered up yet and their necks are wobbly. Neighbors on two sides of me have their outdoor grills fired up and the good cooking smells are wafting in the air. I can tell by the aroma of spices comin’ across my back yard that one is grilling fajitas, the other is barbecuing chicken.
No salt while the beans are boiling to soft because salt toughens every dang thing it touches, except laundry water. I use plain old table salt to soften the hot water for whites. Works as fine as Calgon, if you add the salt to the washer before you add soap and bleach. Oops, got off topic. I was talking about butterbeans. If you have a hamhock or bacon drippin’s handy, add it to the bean water. If not, add one packet of Goya Ham flavored concentrate. Works just as fine. I put a lid on the bean pot for the first twenty minutes. By that time the beans have got up a good rolling boil. Then I take the lid off, and turn the fire down because I want that water to simmer on a soft burble until the butter beans are tender as all get out. Once done, move that pot off the fire, sprinkle salt over the top--not, too much--then put the lid on and let them rest while you bake the cornbread.
Foods up! You’re ready to eat. Now, in the South, we season our beans in the bowl with Tabasco sauce. My Uncle Frank, bless is departed soul, loved his butterbeans topped with ketchup and Tabasco. I forgot to mention sweet iced tea. I have fallen in favor of peach flavored iced tea. I make a pitcher of that separate. Everybody else in the family likes plain old Lipton. You can use any fake sweetening for tea that you like. I use pure cane sugar. When I tell you a pinch of real sugar, I mean it. Because sugar breaks down fibers. Fake sweetening won’t do the job. Bet you didn’t know that. FACT, you can take the toughest cut of beef, score it, dampen it with water, and rub granulated sugar on it, put it in a paper bag in the fridge overnight. Before you cook it, bring it to room temperature, next, rinse the sugar off, season to taste, cook it any old way you prefer…it will be fork tender. Movin’ on to dessert... It is not shameful to use store-bought mixin’s, especially if it cooks up better than you can do it from scratch. We’re having hot peach cobbler and Blue Bell vanilla ice cream. The very best cobbler mix is Louisiana brand Cobbler mix and any brand of canned pie fruit, with the syrup. Soon as you take the cornbread out of the oven, pop in the cobbler. Long about the time you’ve cleared the table and got coffee perking, cobbler’s ready. Enjoy. Now that you know what's for dinner... May I suggest a way to read three of my favorite books for one low price? And hundreds of thousands of more books, too! For a limited time, the Almost Perfect Series is available to read free with a Kindle Unlimited subscription! Don't have Kindle Unlimited? Learn more and/or sign up for a Free Trial Here! Three men, seductive as sin and living single, meet three strong women passionate about life, loving, and family, who will change their lives forever… Follow Jackie to stay up-to-date on New Releases, Specials, and just plain ol' chattin'!
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I am superstitious. I can’t help it. I don’t know where it comes from. I don’t sit on a bed after it is made to perfection, and I have heart failure if any visitor to my home does. Pull the covers down first if you need to nap. That’s fine. Okay. So now I’m a writer. I need good luck along with craft and a few good author pals. I have cats for the first time in my life. Cats are no respecters of superstition. I don’t make the bed up any more. There is good luck, bad luck, and no luck. Not making up my bed guarantees NO LUCK. I’m good with it. The cats are good with it–or maybe not; I didn’t ask their opinion.
I don’t walk under ladders. I NEVER pass up a penny on the ground. No, I don’t. Here’s why: There is an old Southern adage if you save all of your pennies in your kitchen from one Leap Year to the next, you will have great good fortune. No fail! Leap Year is the year in which a woman can ask a man to marry her. Your good fortune will include some other woman snagging the fool you were gonna pop the question to because you were enamored of a certain muscle, but by the time Leap Year rolls around again–there he is with his pickup on blocks and not a single useful muscle between his ears (or anywhere else) and a bad back.
Plus, you are bound to have at least a hundred dollars in change. Nice Valentine’s gift to yourself. My first year in Houston, I found seventy-three dollars in change on the ground. In the scheme of things that doesn’t sound like much, but when I lived on off-islands and tiny jungle villages seventy-three dollars was enough to feed a family six for three months. I hoard my luck like Bookbub subscribers hoard books. I was in Panama City, Florida, not long ago and went to Walmart. Of course I walk with my eyes on the ground (don’t come at me with traveling body parts–you know what I mean). There was a hundred dollar bill floating across the macadam. Honey, I stomped it. Next, I saw a twenty-dollar bill. Snagged ’em both.
Here is a way to have bad luck follow you for the rest of your natural life: Toss out old blouses and shirts without first cutting off the buttons. I have a button jar. Back in the day, we used to make all of our own clothes. We needed those buttons. Buttons are lucky, even if they are just sitting in a button jar. My best friends from up north looked at me like I was crazy when I tried to stop them from tossing old clothes with buttons. All are D-E-A-D now. Every single one. If that ain’t bad luck or no luck, I don’t know what you’d call it.
The Chinese have Kitchen gods. I have a Kitchen witch. She’s a cute little thing on a tiny broom, with a pink felt skirt. I bought her from an old woman at a Fiddle Festival in the hills of West Virginia, Appalachia. I haven’t burned a pot of beans since she came to live with me twenty-five or so years ago. No Lie. I used to have to keep a gallon of vinegar on hand for burned pots. In case you don’t know, here’s what you do: Pour a cup or two of vinegar in the pot and bring it to a boil. Keep that full boil going until that black crud just works loose, and the pan comes out shiny as new.
I feel like I’m on a lucky streak right now–in my resurrected writing career and life in general–and Bingo. I won three $500 jackpots this month. Two back-to back on the same night! Did I stand up and dance a jig and make a fool of myself? Dang right. In reality, including superstitions, we make our own luck–good, bad or indifferent.
And today IS your lucky day. Well, if you like to read a romantic suspense book with; according to this Vine Voice Reader: "Characters you will want to slap, shake, possibly kill, along with those you will love! You will want to hold them, give them support and just cheer them on to a better life. This is a book you will not want to put down."
Why is it your lucky day, you ask? Because my publisher is offering No Perfect Secret and the rest of the Almost Perfect Collection in Kindle Unlimited for a Limited Time! Oh, and if you've already read the series, I've added a few other deals from my publisher! And...there's a Giveaway for a Kindle Fire! See... Good luck is possible!
Also on Sale!
It’s funny that for most of my life I had no idea that I was poor or lived in poverty. True, I was raised poor, married poor, had a slew a kids and so stayed poor. I budgeted every nickel. Now here’s the thing. My parents came from good families. Working stock. My grandfathers owned their own businesses. All had been through the Depression. Money was tight. Next along came World War II and my uncles and dad went into the military. We had coupons for every shortage–shoes, fabric, sugar, butter, gas. I had my first stick of gum after the War. Juicy Fruit. One pair of buckled sandals got us through summers, otherwise we went barefoot. A six-ounce Coca Cola was 6 cents and a treat.
When I was raising my kids there was no such thing as Food Stamps or Aid to Dependent Children or Disability. Never heard of it. My first job paid fifty cents an hour. My husband earned a dollar an hour. There was no such thing as credit cards. Or ATMs. We didn’t have checking accounts. We got our salary in cash in little brown envelopes. We fed, sheltered, and clothed our families on what we earned. We ate our meals at home, rode buses to church. We sometimes went to a matinee movie. 10 cents. For family entertainment we went on picnics, crabbing, and fishing.
Every single woman in my family, including me, darned socks, turned collars, replaced missing buttons on shirts and blouses, and often hand-stitched our own clothes. We put Christmas for our children on layaway at department stores. We went out into the country to pick black berries and wild plums to cook up jellies. During the War we couldn’t get out to the country. Farmers hooked up mules to wagons filled with garden produce and made the rounds in our communities well into the late Fifties. Until bylaws and restrictions were passed against it, we kept chickens and hung our wash on clotheslines.
A day trip to the movies with my granddaughter ended at an upmarket bakery. I bought 6 cupcakes…almost fainted at the price: $37. Won’t be doing that again–ever.
How things have changed in the fifty-some years since I raised my kids.
Rachel Cameron from The Sheriff's Woman knows a thing or two about being poor and raising children. She also prefers to lick her wounds and protect her children from gossip and shame in isolation on a small homestead in the Ozark Mountains. But life-long bachelor and ex-Marine Sheriff Garrett Stark has other ideas.
A little taste of living off the land and making do...
Download The Sheriff's Woman from your favorite retailer! 
I'm still kicking! In fact, I'm chasing a litter of ferocious pooping kittens around my house. I also got to spend time with my daughter and great-grandson yesterday. He's as cute as a button with with creamy peach skin and silky brown hair! Happy child, too! Always a plus.
This happened... A bunch of stuff fell off my car (all plastic anymore), so I taped it up with pink duct tape. Now it's easy to find in a parking lot anyway. Yeah, I'm still drivin'! Enjoying life, and still writing, too! Sharing an updated new release with you today! Keep Reading, folks! It keeps us young...or at least knowing what the younger generation is thinking. Another plus! XoXo Jackie
"Sweet Second Chances, Romantic, and Witty!"
Falling for the wrong man landed Stormy Maxwell in jail for eleven months for a bank robbery she says she didn’t commit. Now, while she's trying to restart her life with her seven-year-old daughter, another man wants something from her. Something she doesn't have to give! READ MORE
 Authors are often asked how we choose our characters... How we compose our stories. Sometimes a character will unexpectedly pop into our lives for a brief moment, or perhaps an hour or two, and you just know you’ve got to make a place in the story for that character. Both aspiring authors and the well-published are often reminded by editors to Write What You Know. Those two elements are often combined to create a story. Awful things can happen when you don’t write what you know... For those of you who WANT to read more about Writing What You Know and Choosing Characters, the post continues below. But first, a short commercial break for Book Deals! Three of them are mine, beautifully boxed up in one complete set for your reading pleasure! The next two are authors you've probably heard of. They've been friends of mine for about ten years or so, and while they don't write exactly what I write--thank Goodness, 'cause who needs to read the same thing all the time—I think you will enjoy their books as much as I do! Grab these books right now, and then meet up with me in a few minutes if you want to hear what I have to say about Write What You Know! Or not. Up to you. I already wrote it, so read it if you want to! Women's Fiction, Romantic Suspense  Dive into a world of secrets, laughter, and passion! Three gorgeous men and three fiery women find their destinies together in this unforgettable romance collection. READ MORE Women's Fiction, Coming-of-Age Romance  College and career are hard enough without bringing love into the mix, but when Jesse and Kayla meet over spring break, their individual dreams merge into one. Until tragedy strikes. Now thrust into a world of tragedy and grief, others insist they are too young. But when you find the love of your life, all you can do is hold on and Love Like Crazy. READ MORE Kindle US ● EXCERPT ● SERIES ● AUDIBLE Kindle UK ● Kindle CA ● Kindle AU ● Kindle IN Also available in a Boxed Set! Women's Fiction, New Adult Romance  She was supposed to be a summer romance, but Raleigh fell fast for the only person who made him feel worthy of love. He was supposed to be a fling with a bad boy, but he made Mia feel alive … until a tragic accident tore them apart. Seven years later, fate throws them together and, with the same breath, threatens to separate them forever. READ MORE Kindle US ● EXCERPT ● SERIES Kindle UK ● Kindle CA ● Kindle AU ● Kindle IN Also available in a Boxed Set! And now back to the Writing Post... One of my most embarrassing moments as a writer happened when I was standing before two hundred or so writers, editors and publishers, critiquing manuscripts as a subtext during a talk on Writing What You Know. There I was standing on the podium, ego rattling away on the topic when a little old lady in the second row hollered, “You didn’t!” She stood up and told the entire audience that I had a character in a book set in Louisiana perking coffee. Not in Houma, Louisiana, honey. Those folks drip their chicory-laden coffee. Not only that—they don’t use Half ’n Half. Coffee is lightened with evaporated Carnation or Pet milk—right out of the can. It’s sweetened to the consistency of pudding with good old pure white cane sugar—not brown, not Splenda, not Sweet ’n Low. No ma’am. The awful thing was that I did know folks in Louisiana dripped their coffee. I’d been there, done the site research; I had dinner with a couple of local families. I lived part of the winter in the swamp with trappers. But when writing the scene, I typed in “perk.” What was I thinking? Quick—somebody get a shovel and bury me alive–right here, right now. What happened when that darling old lady reader got to the word “perk” in my book? She stopped reading the novel. I lost my credibility with that reader. She was so annoyed there was no way she was going to enter into the fantasy of romantic fiction that I thought I had created. It was just one awful four-letter word and it ruined the book for that reader—and probably every other Louisiana native. My fault. Well, I was trying to write what I knew. Listen, I was dumb as a rock. I didn’t know anything. Hey, I was raised poor, married poor, had five kids and stayed poor. The only sure-fire thing I did know was that I oft times did not have the sense God gave a flea. Okay. For the most part I wrote about poor women with kids looking for a little love, and security for the kids. I began my writing career back in the dark ages. We didn’t have the internet, Google Earth, maps, search engines, Walmart, or reality shows. I was writing romance novels. My mother, my aunts, my cousins, among others said, “Why don’t you write a real book?” No e-mail in those days. No respect, either. I had to shoot off letters with a ten-cent Alpo Dog food coupon, sign my name with a little smiley face, and tell ’em to have lunch on me. Seven-cent stamp. Had to lick it, too. Lots of DNA in case I committed a crime. Write what you know. Back in the day, if you didn’t know, you had to get out in the world and find it. When I was writing No Perfect Secret, I needed to place two scenes in a restaurant. I spent a week in Washington, D.C. Had my little check list—Library of Congress. Tick. State Department. Tick. Decent neighborhood. Tick. Nice condo for the hero. Tick. I had dinner in a fabulous French restaurant, but no way was hero Frank Caburn–man to the bone and reared in the Midwest–going to eat escargot or those tiny portions the upmarket French are famous for. Fast forward. I got the kids raised. Husband left. The little twerp. My writing career waned. I got my first pedicure. Took care of the old folks. They died. I wandered thither and yon on the cheap with a dog and a tent and in between treks went to university. So now I know how to use a synonym finder, bank online, and find cheap flights. When I heard about eBooks… Whoa Nelly, I thought. Perhaps I can revive my writing career. Some of my books were not all that great, but a few of them had really good bones, and then a publisher offered me the opportunity to flesh out those bones. Write what you know. Oh joy. We can use expressive four-letter words now. We can open the door to the bedroom and let the reader peek. I may be in a snip of trouble here. The little twerp was never into racy sex. I’m gonna fake it. Had a lot of practice doing that anyway. Write what you know. Well, poor old Frank Caburn, hero, is still waiting to dine. I flashed on the internet, found a site that reviewed Washington’s restaurants, chose one, pulled up its web page, scoped out the menu, wine list, serving hours, and location, checking to see if there was on-street parking. I also found pictures of the décor. So that restaurant worked for two scenes in the book. Here’s an aside. Ordinary French cafés/bistros and natives serve generous portions. It is only in classic French restaurants in which one gets a plate presentation with more plate than food. As in the Four Seasons in NYC. The reason places like the Four Seasons get five-star reviews is because the food critics eat free. I took an editor to dine there once and it cost me $400. I wish I had that money back. I’d go to Bingo or get my cat spayed. We are fortunate in today’s electronic world that we can have our characters do just about anything, anywhere in the world—background information is as close as our fingertips on a laptop. However, if you have an exquisite Korean heroine eating pizza—you’ve just made a horrible cultural error. Koreans don’t like cheese. I know that for a fact because I made that cultural error. Write what you know. Years ago I attended a by-invitation-only writer’s school in Derbyshire, in the British Midlands. A Brit asked if I would write a book with an English heroine. I said absolutely not; I didn’t know enough about British culture. I didn’t think I could create a sense of place, which is important in any book. Years later, I spent a summer semester at Queen’s College, and in my free time, I went all over the U.K. I interviewed men laying cable, docents in St. Paul’s Cathedral, old men sitting on park benches, Council members of a small community outside London, clerks who rang up my purchases in grocery stores and gift shops, and mimes in Covent Garden. I read every newspaper I could get my hands on—especially the help wanted ads. I went to all the theatres. Now, I would be comfortable writing a story placed in the U.K. or having an American character living there. However, he or she would not use an American Express card because few merchants accept Amex. Nor is the English pound interchangeable with euros, but an American ATM card will spew out pounds in the U.K. or euros in most European nations. (Provided you first let your bank know you are traveling outside the U.S.—otherwise it will not honor requests). I also took the Chunnel to Paris and spent a week in France. Watch out for the pickpockets! One that approached me was so damned good I gave her a couple of euros in exchange for the entertainment. Write what you know. My first eBook was a Harlequin Intrigue. First page, the author has a character stealing the Mona Lisa from the Louvre. No way. I have been in that museum, stood in front of the Mona Lisa. It is a very small portrait behind specialty glass and rife with sensors. There are barriers to keep a viewer five feet away and guards to move the viewers along. The author did not give the reader any plausible scenario about how the thief could steal that particular piece of art. As a reader, I am very forgiving of the improbable. However, it is up to the author to make me a believer. Okay—so if your character needs to steal something, why not the Forster Codices (five of da Vinci’s notebooks) at the V&A Museum in London? The Codices are not as well-known as the Mona Lisa, and a writer could take some license. The key—the writer better know about museums and security systems, about old masters, how they are stored, and how they are displayed. And especially how to market stolen artwork, the value of it, and the people who would buy it. Stolen art never stays with the thief. Old masters are not something auctioned on e-Bay. Write what you know. I’m not the only author who made an error that ruined a book for a reader. I have a favorite thriller writer. I downloaded his new book the minute it hit Amazon Kindle. After chasing the bad guy through a number of countries, the hero catches and disposes of the villain in Panama, killing him and dumping the body over the balustrade of a fancy hotel onto the deck of a ship exiting the Panama Canal. Oops. There isn’t a hotel in Panama that overlooks any one of the three locks. Every lock is fenced, and there’s about a half-acre of ground between the mechanical mules that guide the ships and that fence. Actually there are no buildings whatsoever overlooking the locks, not in Gatun, Mira Flores, or Pedro Miguel. I was really happy that this error occurred in the denouement of the book because it didn’t ruin the book for me. But I do wonder how he made such an egregious error and that it got by his editor, copy editor, and the proofreader. Notice, I am not saying this author can’t write. He can. He’s fabulous. I’ll buy his next book, too. Perhaps, I’m the only reader who even noticed that error. Yet, what he wrote could not happen in real life or fiction. And therein lies the rub—it only takes one person to know what you don’t know, didn’t learn, or let slide to undo all the pride and creativity we authors put in our books. Write what you know. Last week I picked up a medical thriller. It had a gem of a plot and the blurb was extravagant. Three throwaway lines pulled me right out of the book. The author wrote that we in the U.S. could not buy Tylenol over the counter. He overlaid foreign pharmacies on the American model. In many foreign countries, especially undeveloped nations, one does not buy an entire bottle of aspirin or any other type of pill. It is too costly for the natives. Pills are sold individually—one or two at a time. Next, the author had a three-star American army general wearing those stars above his left shirt pocket. Holy moly. That’s how dictators wear all of their gaudy medals. American military officers wear rank insignia on their collars. Third, the author wrote that a tour guide in the Amazonian basin ran a hundred miles to get help for an injured tourist. Nobody runs a hundred miles in the Amazon or in any jungle for that matter. I lived in a jungle village for two years with my dog. He didn’t run, either. Scientific expeditions are often way off the beaten path, and the ordinary tourist—no way. You slog through mud, quicksand, ford creeks, swim rivers, hack paths with a machete, raft, paddle a canoe, or hire some sort of river craft. Oh, did I mention the wildlife? Boa constrictors, anacondas, bushmasters, pit vipers, tarantulas as big as dinner plates, palm wasps that dive straight for your eyes, blood thirsty bats, fire ants, army ants, marching ants—all of which will devour flesh—even the leaf cutters. Cute little frogs the size of a thumbnail—touch one and you’re dead. Any of these critters can leave an injured tourist who can’t defend himself in a jungle overnight, and something is gonna eat him. By now, you’ve figured out what I figured out. The book was probably translated into English and/or—the writer didn’t know a great deal about America. Hey! He figured he was writing fiction so made up how we shop for meds, how our generals wear their stars, and he just threw in the bit about the tour guide because the line made the tour guide seem like a caring fellow. I slogged through the book anyway and offered kudos because the author had the moxie to give it a shot. The premise of the tale was outstanding. He just didn’t pull it off—not for me anyway. On the other hand, I am told this author is an international best seller; that he is right this minute on a quest to climb the world’s thirteen tallest mountains, AND he is learning to pilot a deep-sea submersible. Sounds as if he quit his day job, don’t it? So who am I to say what he should write or shouldn’t write? I’m not. I’m just telling you—since you’re still reading this long piece—to do your homework BEFORE a reader tells you: “YOU didn’t” in front of hundreds of souls. For the most part, what we do as writers is take ordinary people and places and raise them to the level of art. The only way we do that is with words. Art is what you know. Art is how you weave words to make a character, place, or an action believable. If you’re drafting a story that moves across borders or eras, begin with what you know, your own experiences, and then expand that with the knowledge of others. It helps to know some trivia such as salads in the U.K. and France and other European nations don’t come with salad dressing and only sometimes with oil and vinegar–except in Paris where it might arrive drizzled with a warmed watery honey. Central American natives gag on dill pickles but will serve guests a choice bit of chicken out of the pot—the head boiled complete with eyes, beak, and brain. Yeah, I ate it. Tasted just like chicken brains. Eww. But of course the world you live in is what you know best. Where you grew up, where you work, where you go on vacation, where you do your grocery shopping: You know the nearest beach, lake, golf course, movie theatre, the best and worst restaurants. You know your neighbors, your family, and the mood of your community. You know rumors and secrets. If you know anything about sex, you’re ahead of my game. I still cringe when I recall that little gray-haired lady calling me out on how I had a character in my book brew a pot coffee. Recall has kept me humble and not quite so careless. Now, as I draft a new book or ready a book from my back list for re-publication, it is always in the back of my mind that if I write something that bumps a reader out of my story, or annoys that reader because I got it wrong—it could be all over the internet within hours—with an audience of thousands—not a mere two hundred. I believe when I’m promoting my book that I’m making a covenant with my readers. I’m promising that if they buy my books, I’ll entertain them for hours on end. If I make a good effort to write what I know and research what I don’t, I’m giving good value. Lastly, you may pen a novel in which you are certain you used what you know to create a terrific read. The plot worked, the characters grew, the dialogue raced along, the dénouement was a happily ever after, yet the book gets mixed reviews or none at all. What the heck? This happened: I was autographing. A middle-aged fan gushed about a scene in the book where the heroine was snapping green beans. It reminded her of good times on her grandmother’s farm. She used to help her grandmother snap beans by the bushel. Y’know, it wasn’t much, but it made me feel good. So later I asked another reader if she enjoyed the scene with the heroine sitting in a swing and snapping green beans, and she said, “Not really. They weren’t organic.” My friends, the reading public is fickle. Write what you know. Oh, I forgot to tell you. There are concrete barriers all around the White House now. But the sidewalks are wide, and I was doing the tourist thing. There was some jeering behind me. I turned around. Prancing toward me in a pair of size eleven red Jimmy Choo knockoffs while fielding a bunch a catcalls is this he/she/it. HANG ON! Don't get offended!!! Keep reading, please. You've come this far, so listen to WHY I'm telling you about my initial reaction! It was wearing a short black spandex skirt, leopard print blouse (Royal Silk), four sets of Tammy Faye eyelashes (Trivia: eyelids are the weakest muscle in the human body), a Sheena the Jungle girl wig—or maybe it was left over from Halloween. Inch-long nails painted fire engine red. And an over-the-shoulder Coach purse. I am ashamed to tell you, I gaped. I am, after all, an international traveler—on the cheap, I admit. But I have met the Queen of England and Prince Phillip, I have been to Buckingham Palace. I have seen a man walking down a foreign street in a diaper. I did sit on a cardboard box next to Paul Newman at Ria Shoes while we waited for our respective masseurs. I did once ride in an elevator with Roy Rogers and Dale Evans, and I have been robbed—twice. My mouth was so wide if somebody had pounded me on the back right then, my teeth would’ve taken a hike right through the fence and landed on the White House lawn. Grinning, the creature came abreast of me. "What you starin’ at, sugar?" “You," I offered. "You’re amazing.” The object of my interest struck a pose, one hand on hip. "Ain’t I just, tho?" The long and the short of it is we had coffee, and I interviewed the heck out of him. It was a him. He had a package. “Substantial,” he said. No, I didn’t see it. He had a laptop in the Coach purse and showed me his webpage. Write what you know. I went right home and wrote him into No Perfect Secret. Oh, he was a D.C. local, and he pointed out an underground restaurant that was useful to my story. Best pizza I ever ate. No Perfect Secret is the first book in the boxed set I mentioned above, so grab it, and remember, while I might not always write what the establishment wants at this given moment, I ALWAYS Write What I know. Till next time! Jackie XoXo Oh, and...just sayin'!
 Award Winning and USA Today bestselling author Jackie Weger has been writing romance novels off and on for thirty years.
When she's writing, she's anchored in a tiny room with a desk, a chair, and an annoying cat. When not writing, blogging, chatting with fans, or just being flat-out lazy, she's hanging out on a fishing pier soaking up sunshine and reading a good book. For many a year she traveled our good earth by foot, boat, bus, train, plane, or pickup, and sometimes a mule--but today she only gets as far as Walmart. Falling for the wrong man landed Stormy Maxwell in jail for eleven months for a bank robbery she says she didn’t commit.  Now Stormy’s out and trying to restart her life with her seven-year-old daughter, but another man wants something from her. Tyler Mangus is an asset-recovery agent tasked with recovering the stolen money. Stormy insists she’s innocent and doesn’t know where the money is. Tyler knows she’s guilty and intends to do his job. Neither will give an inch. Their test of endurance will end with a confession, but will it be about money…or love? Save to your BookBub Wishlist! Find it now at your favorite book retailer!
 I always say “Keep a little Romance in your life.” Well, I got a kiss by a camel. That’s Romance! Laffin'! If you prefer human kisses, check out one of my beloved Christmas romances that are fun to read any time of the year! XoXo
 Telling you up front I’m older than God and younger than Death. Since I’m cruising my eighties, my daughter gave me a book: Sub-titled: Live Strong, Fit, and Sexy Until You’re 80 and Beyond. I don’t want to be sexy at eighty-one. What kind of fool notion is that? I just hope for ordinary functions…like waking up every day. I want a good hot cup of coffee first thing in the morning until my eyes are open to see if the sun is shining or if it’s raining. That’s a good start for me and you, too, whatever your age. I used to toot around the earth by train, plane, and pickup. I’ve walked up mountains and fallen off the dang things–horses, too. I’ve lived in jungle villages and been lost in the Pacific Ocean. Y’all know I’m a writer. Sometimes I don’t write for years on end, but when I feel the pull, I write, which brings me to today. I've had an idea for sometime. After reading Jerri Hines's books, I knew she was the one who could breathe life into a story, which was doing nothing but collecting dust bunnies. So, there you are. The book my daughter handed me was right! I can live strong beyond eighty! And I'm not finished. I've been rooting through my desk, reading old notes to myself. I plan to produce books as long as God let's me hang around on Earth. Make sure you grab this new release today, and then step back in time with Jerri and me, as we take you back to the forties, Appalachian Style.
The Waking Bell is available at all major book retailers!
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