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Posts Tagged ‘Mellie E. Miller’

With Dante’s Angel sent off to the publisher, I’ve gone back to Gambler’s Folly for a third book. The Russian will be the third book in the series.

In this book, we meet Dmitri Ivanovich Volkov, a wolf-shifter so old he doesn’t remember exactly how old he is. He grew up, at least in part, in what used to be Russia, back on old Earth. He’s on Gambler’s Folly tracking an illegal drug shipment.

Two hundred years ago, his soul mate died and he swore he would never take a mate again. It was much too difficult to lose someone who was that close to you.

But what do you do when you  meet another soul mate? Shouldn’t there only be one to a lifetime?

Excerpt:

“If it hadn’t been for her scent, he would have been fine. The lilacs with honeyed-vanilla and white musk scent wrapped around him softly. Hazel eyes under blonde curls had drawn him in. He’d thought, after all this time, he would have control over his urges. What had possessed him to kiss her?

Her mouth, now. There was a treat. Fresh raspberries and sweet white wine still teased his palette. Between her scent and her taste, he was one messed up wolf. He wanted to run through the forest, roll in the leaves, and howl to his pack mates about this delicious female he’d met.

It was good he wouldn’t see her again. He didn’t need a mate. Life around him was too uncertain. Besides, he’d had a mate long ago and, when she’d died, she’d taken his heart with her.

No. He was here for a job. He had no time for females.”

So, in the meantime, if you haven’t read Gambler’s Folly, now’s’ your chance! It’s available at Amazon in both eBook and paperback.

Dante’s Angel will be out later this year, so watch for it!

Now it’s time for me to get back to work and see what the crazy Russian is up to.

Have a great weekend!

Image from: http://elelur.com/mammals/wolf.html

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Well, it has been sent off to the publisher. Dante’s Angel, that is. Here’s hoping they love it and it will be a huge success.

Gambler’s Folly is a pleasure center in the galaxy. Whatever you want, you can find there, whether it’s gambling, beaches, mountains. Exciting times or relaxing times, you can find it on Gambler’s Folly.

But like anyplace else, there is a darker underside to this pleasure paradise–the syndicate. Many of the syndicate members function on the wrong side of the law, bringing in drugs and other illegal substances and practices.

One of the most dangerous players is Damiano Leone, owner of the Stella d’Oro and other enterprises on Gambler’s Folly. Only he isn’t quite what he seems. Or perhaps he’s even more. His wife and mate he won from her husband on one hand of cards. The man had run up a debt of over a million credits. This was his way out. If he won, he kept his wife, his debts were cleared, and he would leave on the next shuttle out.

But if he lost–which he did–though his debts were still cleared, his wife, Karianna,  became the possession of Damiano Leone.

Have you read Book 1, Gambler’s Folly? If not, head on over to Amazon or to Bookstrand and get your copy. Book 2 will be out later this summer.

http://amzn.com/1627405844

http://www.bookstrand.com/gamblers-folly

I’ll post updates on Dante’s Angel here and on Facebook.

Follow me!

https://www.facebook.com/gamblersfolly

https://www.facebook.com/meleighscreations

Dante’s AngelComing Soon!

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Black and whiteFreedomInk Publishing is once again hosting the Annual Reading is Retro Summer Challenge. What is the challenge? To read ten books during the thirteen weeks of summer.

https://www.facebook.com/events/1109248062434457/

Now, I know summer is half gone, but there is still time to get in on the challenge. There are a lot of books out there, in every genre you can think of.

Perhaps you’d like to peruse what FreedomInk has to offer.

Darkness Before the Dawn, by Dawn  Miller. One woman’s true story of abuse, neglect and rebirth.

Woman on Fire, by Trinette Collier. Life’s challenges can either refine or destroy. Read this woman’s story of rising above the trials with God’s help.

Angel Eyes, by Katandra Shanel Jackson–A collective memoir of child sexual abuse.

Jareth, First Lord, by Mellie Miller– Esperance Book 1. Fantasy romance on a distant highland world.

Viviane, First Lady, by Mellie Miller–Esperance Book 2. The story continues.

For a look at all they have to offer:

http://www.freedomink365.com/the_books

So come on in and join the fun. Reading is Retro. And reading is fun. Who say’s you have to leave the house to go on vacation? Dive into a good book and let the party begin.

What have I been reading? I’ll share that in another post.

Ciao for now!

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Black and whiteGet along little…? Can you fill in the blank correctly?

Call it a pet peeve. Call it overly sensitive. Call it OCD. Call it anything you like, but twice in a week I’ve seen this quoted, or something similar, and both times the above line has been finished with “doggie.”

Incorrect!

Most people quote it as yippee ki yi yay, get along little doggie, which is doubly incorrect.

The original lyrics were:

Whoppee ti yi yo, get along little dogie.

Now, I realize spell check probably doesn’t like this word, and it is from a different era, out on the range. But dogie is cowboy slang for a motherless calf in a herd.

A doggie is a creature of the canine variety.

The lyrics to this cowboy ballad were first published in John Lomax’s  Cowboy Songs and Other Frontier Ballads. It has been performed by many different people and groups including: Roy Rogers, Tex Ritter, Charlie Daniel, The Kingston Trio, and Sons of the Pioneers.

So, unless you’re herding dogs, the word to use here is dogie.

I smell lunch cooking, so this little dogie is gonna go eat.

Get along little dogies! Talk to you later.

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Black and whiteMac had gone over to a relative’s home for dinner one afternoon and, as the daylight grew dimmer, the rain began. As he had traveled on horseback, he was loath to start home after dark in a storm.

His host apologized saying they had no spare room he could use, which surprised Mac as he’d seen an extra bedroom down the hallway.

“Oh, we have a room, but it’s haunted,” the man explained. “You wouldn’t want to stay there.”

Now Mac was amused. Haunted? He didn’t believe in such things.

“I think I’d rather stay there than ride home in the rain,” he replied.

The man and his wife talked it over and agreed to let him stay in the room, but only if he understood they would not be responsible for anything that happened.

They showed him a cozy little room, which looked much more inviting than the dark, rainy weather outside, and he got ready for bed. They had told him what they’d witnessed every night they’d lived in the house, but he was sure they were exaggerating. Ghosts indeed!

After saying good-night, he undressed, slid into bed and looked forward to a good night’s sleep. He wasn’t worried about any “haints”.

Sometime later in the night, perhaps around midnight, Mac woke to the sound of someone walking across the bedroom floor, heavy steps as of a large man. His eyes strained in the darkness, but he could see nothing.

The steps continued to the bedroom door, the door opened, and he heard the steps cross the living room toward the front door. The front door then opened and he heard the steps cross to where the water bucket sat under the pump spout on the porch.

The water dipper banged against the side of the bucket, someone drank from the dipper and then let it fall back into the bucket. A moment later, the steps began to retrace their path back into the house.

When the door to the bedroom reopened, Mac didn’t know what to think, but decided that if he just kept still he’d be alright. At least that’s what he thought until the steps came over to the bed.

Suddenly, he felt a great weight on top of him, a weight he felt would crush the life from his body. He struggled and tried to cry out, but he couldn’t get his breath. There was nothing to see, nothing he could grasp, only the weight crushing his chest.

And as suddenly as it began, it stopped. Gasping for breath, Mac staggered to the bedroom door and went out into the living room, clutching a blanket around him. The next morning, his host found him curled up on the hearth-rug in front of the fireplace.

He told them his story and they nodded, knowing smiles on their faces.

“It happens every night,” his host told him. “Rain or shine, winter or summer, the man leaves the bedroom, goes to the porch for a drink of water and comes back to bed. We’ve tried nailing the bedroom door shut, barring it, everything we can think of, and he still opens the door and gets a drink.”

“Why do you stay here?” Mac asked.

“He doesn’t do any harm, as long as nobody tries to sleep in the room. We don’t need the room, except for storing things, so we just let him be.”

Mac went his way after breakfast a changed man. He would never laugh about ghosts and haunted rooms again.

This is a true family story from my father’s side of the family. Did it really happen? I’ve talked to several people who swear it did, and not just to Mac. Nobody knew who the “haint” was, or what his story might have been, but he went and had a drink of water every night.

Do you like the paranormal? Psychic abilities? Check out my books at:

http://www.amazon.com/author/melliemiller

 

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Cancer and War.WayYes, I got the bad news on my 51st birthday, via phone call, while teaching a kids karate class. I hadn’t been prepared for this. From what my doctors had said, the little lump shouldn’t have been malignant. It didn’t feel right.

But it was malignant. The pathologist at the hospital said the whole lump wasn’t malignant. The cancer cells in it were more like someone had sprinkled pepper on it. Just little specks through the lump.

My best friend, Cindy, said if I wanted to go out and drown my sorrows, she’d drive. But this would solve nothing. As a martial artist, it was time to fight. Was I scared? Yes. I was fighting for my life.

My first surgery was for the lumpectomy, another to remove the lymph nodes from under my left arm, and one to put in a port-a-cath to administer the IV chemotherapy.

From diagnosis  through treatment—eight sessions of chemotherapy followed by 33 of radiation—everything was a blur. Part of the blur was due to the treatment. First, the drug Ellence made me sick as a dog and the anti-nausea meds knocked me out. The second half of my chemo was Taxol. It gave me bone pain and tooth aches, temporary memory loss, and made my toes and fingers numb. I wrote notes in the living room so I’d know why I went into the kitchen.

My husband, Steve, was in Iraq for most of this time, which worried him sick. Our daughter, Dawn, was my greatest help. She took me to and from the clinic, helped clean the house, and made sure I’d eaten.

My only lasting challenges are lymph edema in my left arm on occasion, and a little neuropathy in my feet. I’ve found ALA helps.

For those of you still fighting, never give up. Attitude makes all the difference in the world. Learn to meditate. Find something to laugh at, take a walk and enjoy nature, or find something that still tastes good and indulge.

Do not throw a pity party. Instead, prepare for a marathon. This fight won’t be endless. Take it one treatment at a time. I did a mental countdown after each session. After the last of the radiation, we went out for a celebration dinner.

I’m 61 now, and have been cancer free for nine years. I survived.

Now get out there and win!

For more about my fight with breast cancer:

http://amzn.com/B00F3ZW2LW

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Cancer and War.WayJust before my fifty-first birthday, I wore a new bra for the first time and that evening I had a very tender spot under my left breast. I put it down to the new bra. The next day it was still sore, but I didn’t think there was a problem. Later in the week, I wore the bra again, and the spot was even worse.

Feeling around the area, I found a spot about the size of the end of my thumb which felt like a blister under the skin.  My annual physical was scheduled for the next week, anyway, so I could talk to my doctor about it.

Once she’d examined the area, she said she wasn’t sure what to think. It felt “squishy”—a very technical medical term. The surgeon I saw the next week didn’t feel we needed to be too concerned, but he ordered a diagnostic mammogram. He would remove the lump, just to on the safe side.

Since they weren’t concerned, I wasn’t either. From everything I’d read, a malignant tumor was hard, not squishy. I called his office two days later. They’d received the results, but he hadn’t looked them over yet. After leaving a call-back number, I drove to the training studio to teach the junior martial arts class.

The junior class—ages five to twelve—was always a lively bunch, so I had my hands full. About halfway through class, our secretary told me I had a call.  Apologizing for giving me the news over the phone, he said the tests were back and it was malignant. He would schedule my pre-ops and surgery as soon as possible.

As I hung up the phone, I remembered it was my birthday. Great! Happy 51st Mel. You’ve got breast cancer. The rest of the evening was a blur. From this point to the start of chemo, everything seemed to be racing forward, towing me along.

How did my martial arts training come to my rescue?

My training gave me what I call a warrior mindset. I treated this disease as I would any other threat.  I attacked instead of backing away in fear and self-pity, as I would have before training. I met several women who gave into self-pity and didn’t make it. As one man I met told me, attitude is everything.

It was time to fight. I went into the OR with my mind on fighting cancer. I came out of anesthesia fighting everyone in reach. A male nurse, beads of perspiration on his forehead, said I was a lot stronger than I looked. The next time, I resolved to have peace and calm during surgery, and it worked much better.

As part of my training, I meditated every day and I feel this helped keep my mind calm and my focus on recovery. There is evidence that regular meditation aids the healing process, and I feel it helped me.

A sense of humor helped, too. My poor oncologist will never recover. Nearly every time he stepped into the exam room my daughter and I were rolling with laughter. I fear he took it personally. Our family is known for its wacky sense of humor, though. We can find something to laugh about in nearly any situation.

Exercise is great for overcoming the effects of chemotherapy and I was used to working out. But I had to redefine my terms. My goal became walking to the mailbox and back each day without help, a total of about fifty yards. I would improve for three weeks, go in for chemo, and start all over.

When my husband flew me to Spain between treatments, we walked in the park across the street nearly everyday.  Our favorite restaurant was Vivaldi’s. While he was at work, I had time to sleep and recover with nothing else to worry me. I’m glad I finally agreed to go.

I’ve just turned sixty-one, and my birthday always reminds me of my fight against cancer. I’ve been in remission for nine years, thanks to my husband and our daughter who helped pull me through.

My motto? Don’t let the bastard win.

For more about my fight with breast cancer, go to:

http://amzn.com/B00F3ZW2LW

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