The Ball's in Her Court Giveaway!

This month as part of the End of Summer Giveaway, I'm offering an autographed copy of my book, The Ball's in Her Court, which won't be released until October. I dont have a cover yet, either, but it should be coming before too long, and I promise to post it as soon as I have the final version. I'll be picking a winner for my book on August 28th, so make sure to leave me a comment to enter the contest.

Denise DeWalt thought she had it all together and put the past behind her. Then an incident in her apartment parking lot brings the memories of her abusive childhood back to the forefront. When her past continues to haunt her, she decides the time has come to look for her birth parents. She just hopes the family who saved her from a life in the foster care system will understand.

Rich Jensen felt drawn to Denise the moment they first met--when he was introduced to her as her new boss. Though he knows he should keep things professional, every instinct has him finding ways to get to know her better. As he watches her struggle with her search and her past, he wonders if there's any hope for a future, but he's willing to give her time. The ball's in her court.

And to tease you with a little taste, a scene from the first chapter:

The afternoon was almost over when Denise caught her first look at the promising interviewee. Southwick ushered him into the room like an old friend. The younger man exuded authority and self confidence from the tip of his well-polished shoes to the mass of brown hair on his head. The body in between was broad shouldered and powerful looking as well. It wasn’t until he turned his gaze around the room that Denise saw his confidence went all the way to the core.

His dark eyes saw right through her, jolting her, stealing her breath, and there was something familiar about him. Denise wondered if the lightening bolt of recognition wasn’t where the aura of power came from. Or was it the other way around? His eyes widened for a moment before he blinked and returned his gaze to Southwick.

Denise could feel her pulse beating a wild tattoo in her veins. She calmed her expression and fought to make her insides comply as well. Maybe he attended the University of Utah or had a sibling who did. Or maybe he reminded her of someone she once knew. She clung to those explanations, though none of them accounted for the something more than recognition bouncing around inside her.

When Southwick reached her and Richard Jensen extended his hand, she took it in her own. A strange tingle began at her palm and extended up her arm. She met his brown eyes—eyes that would have seemed too big on any other face. Somehow the strong chin and cheekbones seemed perfectly suited to them. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Denise.” The words flowed like Southern honey from his lips—strange for a guy from Chicago.

“Finally?” Denise smoothly withdrew her hand from his grasp, desperate to break a connection that had her antenna standing on end. She wondered why her hands weren’t shaking when her insides were doing a tango.

“I’m Lily’s cousin. You are the one who told me about this company,” he murmured.

“And we’re sure glad you did. I know Jensen here will do well, though he’ll have quite a job to fill my shoes!” Southwick said, pounding Richard on the back and grinning.

“Oh.” Denise felt stupid the moment the sound left her mouth. No wonder he had seemed vaguely familiar, Lily had shown her his picture after Denise had sent him a list of companies he might want to check into. “Well, welcome to our little family.” Hoping to inject a note of levity, she jerked her thumb toward Jake. “Don’t take the joker here too seriously. And don’t let him anywhere near your soda if you don’t want it tampered with.” She forced a smile and hoped it looked sincere.

Richard glanced over at Jake and smiled, turning his slightly nicer-than-average face into something only a step below breathtaking.

Or maybe she was a bit short of breath after all. His gaze returned to her. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You can read the whole first chapter on my Website here. But first, leave a comment so I can enter you to win a copy!

Deadly Treasure Giveaway!

I'm giving away a copy of my new novel, Deadly Treasure. If you would like to enter to win, just post a comment below. But first, read a little about it. :)

A TREASURE MAP. A LOCKET. MURDER. DECEIT.

None of these things are on Lexis mind when she returns home to Park City, Utah, for her grandfather's funeral. That is, until she stumbles across an old diary while cleaning out his attic. Soon Lexi's head is filled with tales of hidden treasure buried deep in the mines of the Uintah Mountains.

When the diary is stolen and Lexi realizes her life is in danger, she decides to find out if the stories are true. She heads to the Uintahs in search of the secret mine, with her handsome friend Brad by her side. What they don't know is that someone is following them, someone who will stop at nothing to get the treasure. Soon Lexi and Brad are in a fight for their lives, just as they are starting to realize that there may be more to their relationship than they originally thought.

With surprising twists around every corner, expect the unexpected in this thrilling tale of adventure, romance, and mystery.

The Story Behind the Story

Wealthy pioneer, Thomas Rhoades, mined considerable amounts of gold from the Uintah Mountains. Some of this gold was shown to him by the Native Americans at the time, the rest he was led to by Spanish maps. But when he died, he took the secret locations of the wealth to his grave. To this day, these mines are lost, guarded, and sought after. Not surprisingly, few have found the gold, and those that do, die or disappear before they can take any.

I had no idea that these mysterious gold mines would be part of my book when I first started typing the characters' dialogue that popped into my head one day. That is, until I went to the library to look up some info about Park City and plot ideas and found all these books on the Rhoades mines sitting right there on the shelf. I couldn't move. I couldn't speak either, and it wasn't just because I was in the library and was supposed to be quiet. "Whoa, this is it! This is it!" I thought with my arm hairs sticking straight up. "This is it, not just because the whole idea is intriguing, but because Thomas Rhoades is my husband's ancestor!"

Once I started researching, I didn't expect to uncover the real life murder mystery of young Enoch Rhoades, whose mysterious death in the mountains over 100 years ago haunts me to this day. Nor did I expect to gain a profound love and respect for Thomas Rhoades and his family.

You can do your own research on this topic, but please be cautious if you decide to venture into those mountains. You may end up just like everyone else, and then who would be around to read my c0-authored cookbook coming out next summer?

Captain Hook

by Tristi Pinkston

I was twenty-four when I wrote my first novel, "Nothing to Regret." It took a little while to go through the publication process, so I was twenty-six when it came out, but still, my age was a curious thing to my readers. My novel was set during World War II, and a question I received often revolved around my young age vs. my interest in history. My age was a novelty (if you'll pardon the pun) and it drew a lot of readers to me.

A few years have gone by since then. I'm now thirty-three and I've even sprouted two white hairs (I yanked those puppies out as fast as they were discovered, believe you me). My age is no longer quite the attention-getter it used to be.

When you're an author, you not only have to come up with a hook for your book - something that will make them want to keep reading - but you need a hook for yourself, telling your readers what makes you special, what makes you unique. For me, it was my age, not that I purposely went out there and said, "Hey! I'm young! Come read my book!" - that just sort of happened on its own. But now I need a new hook because I've lost that age factor. Look for ways to market yourself that are timeless, that won't change in a few years or with the discovery of a little white hair. Create for yourself an image that is based on the essential nature of who you are, and you will draw readers to you because of the strength of your own unique personality.

Win a Copy of Altared Plans

The perfect day. The perfect marriage. The perfect groom.

What could go wrong?



What do being dumped at the temple doors, being called to be the "mom" of the FHE group, dressing up in a clown suit, an ex-girlfriend, an unwanted suitor, and dancing under the stars have to do with each other? If you read Altared Plans you'll find out.

"Rebecca Talley's new novel, Altared Plans is LDS chic lit at it's best. If you are looking for a good light-hearted romance, with many twists and turns along the way, this book is the one." Sheila Staley, Book Reviewer

"Talley's magic is in her dialogue." Tristi Pinkston, LDS author

"It was a quick and easy read and it was so hard to put down and do other things that needed to be done. Out of 5 stars, I give this book a 6!" Marie Lundeen, Reader

Leave a comment and you'll be entered to win your very own copy and find out exactly what could go wrong with "perfect" plans. Come back in two weeks to see if you're the winner.

Good luck!

LDSBA Convention

I've been reading the blogs this morning on LDS Booksellers Convention. It is always amazing how perceptions flow. This year at convention CFI had 6 booths, DB has 6 booths, Coven. had 4, Granite 2, Millennial 1, Signature 1. Excel wasn't represented as I recall. I can't think of anyone else who had more than 3. Last year DB had 20, we had 8, covenant had 8, Granite had 6.

There were 27 fewer vendors at the convention this year compared to last year (about a 25% drop). There were about 15% fewer retail attenders.

The most interesting aspect of the convention was that the association bought the entire hall, but only sold 70% of it. Apparently this was an effort to see if we could fit into a smaller hall. All exhibiters were limited to a maximum of 6 booths.

DB and Coven. have made no secret that they want a smaller convention. They have expressed that they do not like the expense of the event. I talked to nearly half of the board of directors. There were many opinions expressed privately that would not be expressed openly at the meeting. Apparently there was some talk of DB not attending if anyone were allowed more booth spaces than the six they wanted to buy.

I guess we will continually work on our perceptions to find out where reality lies.

Who Decides What Makes an Author?

By Nichole Giles

When I was first getting started with writing—I mean, writing for real—I used to wonder at what point a writer became an author. Did I have to be published first? And what kind of “published” meant I was officially an author? Do magazine stories count? Or should I wait until I have a book published?

Then I wondered who gets to make those kinds of decisions. I could see it in my mind’s eye: Someone official and special (probably an editor or agent) would come to me, big published book in hand and say, “I hereby proclaim you, Nichole Giles, an author of the first degree, promoted forthwith from the title of lowly writer.”

Except guess what? That never happened. I’ve published numerous articles, blogs and other pieces of writing, and am working feverishly at several books—some which will be on shelves this year, and some next—but no one ever came to me and said, “Hey, you’ve been promoted.”

What’s the deal?

Okay, here’s the truth. It doesn’t matter what you write, or if or when you ever get published. Does not matter if you publish short stories, or articles or epic series novels, you can still be a real, live author. If you write, you’re an author. No one has the power to decide that for you. No one but you gets to decide what value you put on your writing. No group, or organization, or special agent, or super powered editor is going to sit you in a chair and interview you to determine if you are—in fact—worthy of the illustrious author title. No one can make that crucial decision except you.

So go ahead. Call yourself an author and be proud of it. Go to conferences, get-togethers, and other gatherings, and introduce yourself as an author. It’s okay, you aren’t lying. And if you feel funny about it, like maybe you need that justification, here it is: I, Nichole Giles, Author of the Highest Degree, hereby proclaim you, (insert name here), an author, forthwith promoted from the lowly title of writer.

You’re welcome. Except, there is one catch. In order to keep the title I’ve just given you, you have to go forth, write, keep writing, keep trying, and never forget how important it is for you to write. That is the only charge for my services today.

Stay tuned in two weeks for the announcement of the big winner. (Remember, Cindy Beck and I are giving away a copy of our book, “Mormon Mishaps and Mischief: Hilarious Stories for Saints.” The winner will receive their prize hot off the printing press in December.)

See you next time!

Nichole

By Love or By Sea - Give Away!

I thought I'd give you a little treat and include a small section of my book. I'm so thrilled with the idea of this contest! And I hope you will all eagerly leave me a comment! I will announce the winner on Sunday, August 23rd. (So just leave me a comment about how much you want to read it and how much you adore me and you are automatically entered!) There will be prizes given away between now and then too from other authors, so make sure to stop by and see what they are! I wish you all the best of luck and happy kissing.

As Alice began on her journey home and passed through the town, she exchanged pleasantries with a few people but mostly kept to herself, enjoying the view of the vast ocean growing in front of her and the goings-on of the town...
Then, as though nothing more than a mirage, she saw a tired man crest over the hill coming from the beach and walking towards her. The distance between the man and herself allowed her time to stare at him without being obvious. The tall man wore a tattered pair of trousers and a fairly clean, cotton shirt fastened only by three lower buttons, allowing his vast muscles to protrude from beneath as he carried a knapsack on his shoulder. His skin was bronzed from what she assumed were probably years spent in the sun. His sandy whiskers weren’t long but had obviously been neglected for many days, and his blonde hair was nearly as white as old Mrs. Winters’, but unlike hers, his hair traveled halfway down his back.
He sported an odd appearance, yet he was almost intriguingly familiar...
“Excuse me, miss?”
Alice turned at the sound of a soft, masculine voice and there, looking expectantly at her, stood the man she had been visually devouring only moments before. “Yes?”
“I realize this is probably a strange thing to ask, but . . .” He paused and looked at the inquisitive eyes that were lingering on him from passing spectators. He seemed suddenly less sure of himself. “D-do you know if the . . . the Newman’s still live around here?” he asked in a lowered, hesitant voice.
“Well, sure. They’ve lived west of town about a mile for longer than I can remember.” Then as curiosity got the better of her, she could not restrain the question from escaping her lips. “Are you one of Augustus’s nephews? You bear a striking resemblance to Augustus himself.”
The man chuckled uncomfortably and pushed a hand through his tangled hair. “Well, thank you, miss, but I’m not his nephew.”
A look of pain seemed to cross his face before he tipped his head to her in parting and left her alone to ponder on the encounter. Alice knew she had never seen this man before. She would have remembered. His weathered face made him appear quite old, and she felt a stab of sorrow at the look of pain that had so recently crossed his face. The look in the man’s eyes caused him to look somehow even older than he did at first sight.
That evening as she sat in the parlor with her nana and pappy, her gaze lingered on the fire while her embroidery sat forgotten on her lap. “What has your mind in a tumble tonight, peach?” Gretchen asked.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she answered casually...
“Well, are you just going to sit there until she drags it out of you, or are you going to tell it to us straight out?” Henry asked, equally concerned about his granddaughter.
“I don’t really know what to think, Pappy. My mind’s all muddled up and I can’t seem to make heads or tails out of anything.”...
“Why don’t you start by telling me how things were while you still could make sense of them,” Gretchen encouraged.
“Well, I went to see Mama and everything went well. She was attentive to me, and we had a real nice time. I came home, just like I always do and then . . .”
“Yes?” Henry said when she paused.
“Oh, I don’t know what to think,” Alice whispered desperately. “I was walking home, and then there was this man who came over the edge of the hill. He’d obviously come from the beach.”
“Was it Clarence?” Gretchen interrupted. “He’s normally coming back to town about that time of day.”
“Of course not,” Henry put in. “She would have recognized him.”
Gretchen and Henry were both completely captivated by what Alice had to say, but in truth Alice could not figure out what she was thinking. So how on earth did they think she would be able to tell them a story they could understand? “No, it wasn’t Clarence. In fact, I don’t know who it was. My gut instinct tells me he was a ghost, except he spoke to me.”
“A ghost?” Gretchen laughed. “Really, peach! What would put your mind to thinking something as crazy as that?”
“I’m serious, Nana!” Alice whined loudly.
“All right then. What was it about the man that put it into your mind that he was a ghost?” Gretchen asked repentantly.
“Well, he looked real enough, but he reminded me of . . . He kind of looked like . . .”
“Who?” Henry coached.
“I don’t know if I can utter his name.” Gretchen’s rather disappointed look displayed itself blatantly upon her face. Alice knew her grandparents were dissatisfied with her answer, but she didn’t know if she could tell them who the man looked like. So she changed the direction of the conversation. “He spoke to me though. His voice was low and hushed, as though he was afraid to speak.”...
“Alice, who was it that the man reminded you of?” Henry asked.
“Pappy, I don’t know if I can utter his name,” Alice whimpered.
“And why not?”
Alice hesitated, attempting to give enough information without actually having to say the man’s name aloud. “He died about six years ago in a ship wreck while he was at sea as a merchant sailor.”
“Are you trying to tell us that you spoke to Caleb Newman on the street in town today?” Gretchen asked reverently.
“I don’t know that it was him, Nana. And besides, how could it be him? Remember? Grace said there were no survivors.”
“But . . .”
“No, Nana. I’m certain my mind was just playing tricks on me. It was probably some poor sailor, anchored in town for a few days.” With that, the topic died, and the conversation moved on to other things, but that night as Alice lay in bed waiting for sleep to engulf her, the image of the man on the street kept her weary mind company. He was, after all, intriguing and very striking in his appearance, no matter how tattered and tired he looked. The thought of him being an older version of the ever-so-handsome Caleb Newman made the mystery of the man all the more enticing. He had been such a good looking young man; tall and very handsome. Rolling over with a smile on her face, she eventually found respite as she fell asleep thinking of the young man she’d thought of so often before.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I9UC78cx-kE