No one has the power to shatter your dreams unless you give it to them. That’s been Maeve Greyson’s mantra since she was a girl. When she’s not at the full time day job at the steel mill, Maeve’s writing romances about sexy Highlanders and the women who tame them. Tucked away in a five acre wood, Maeve listens to the wind singing through the trees and hears her characters telling their stories. Her work is proofed by her sharp-eyed dog, Jasper, and her greatest supporter is her long suffering husband of over thirty-five years who’s learned not to throw away any odd sticky notes filled with strange phrases.
Writers are kinda crazy like that too…
Have you ever heard about sports figures who believe if they’re not wearing a certain pair of socks or they don’t eat a particular food before “show time”, their performance will suffer? Well, writers are kind of crazy like that too.
We’re an odd sort to begin with so superstitions aren’t that great of a stretch. Here’s a few of what my husband fondly refers to as my “quirks”:
- Amethysts. I’ve got an amethyst ring, earrings and necklace that I always wear whenever I’m writing. I also have a chunk of raw amethyst sitting on my desk. Those lovely little purple gems help me focus which isn’t surprising if you’ve ever read anything about the power of crystals. Amethyst has been claimed to enhance one’s creativity and strengthen imagination—a talisman of focus and success. Trust me. I need all the help I can get when it comes to focusing.
- Moon phases. I always submit new projects or proposals on the new moon: the time for new beginnings, growth, fruition. If I can’t hit the new moon exactly then I at least attempt to hit the time between the new moon and the full moon. Waxing. The time of gain—when I’m hoping for a project to grow. My grandmother followed the moon phases, planting her garden and tending her chickens by the movement of the moon. Mammaw’s hens laid the most eggs in three counties and her garden produced enough to feed a large community. Proof enough for me.
- My desk faces south. I’m not sure what that signifies but I do know when it faces any of the other three directions, I feel uneasy and can’t concentrate. According to everything I’ve read, facing south is considered counterproductive but I’ve always been a little different.
And I’m not the only writer who’s just a tad cray-cray about such stuff. I have writerly buddies who have to have their favorite mug or glass, a figurine, or a particular drink (yeah—wine is a favorite) before their muses will kick it gear and start sharing the good stuff.
What about you? Are you superstitious about anything? Stepping on cracks in a sidewalk or walking under ladders? If so, don’t let it bother you. You’re in good company.
Perfect for fans of the Highlander novels of Karen Marie Moning and Janet Chapman, Southern sass meets Highland heat in Maeve Greyson’s scintillating new Highland Hearts romance.With bedroom eyes and racetrack curves, Kenna Sinclair seems like just another pretty Kentucky girl. But she can also read minds, erase memories, and jump through time—a skill set that comes in handy when her matchmaking granny sends her back to thirteenth-century Scotland on the pretext of visiting her older sister. When she encounters the clan’s womanizing man-at-arms, Kenna instantly knows the gorgeous Highlander has only one thing on his mind. She vows to steer clear of him, but after a single electrifying touch, she finds that playing hard to get won’t be quite so easy. . . .Bewitched by the first lass who could ever resist him, Colum Garrison will do anything to prove his devotion, even ask for Kenna’s hand in marriage—and swear off his chosen form of recreation until their wedding night. It’s a burden for a man of his thunderous appetite, but the sinful temptation is not his alone: Colum’s fetching bride-to-be is practically trembling with anticipation for a moment that can’t come soon enough. When she’s willing, Colum will be ready and waiting—with a love that lasts a lifetime.
Check out the Highland Hearts series:
Gray-white ash crept up the chunks of glowing embers as the heat of the fire abated. Granny’s voice took on a metallic, hollow sound, fading in and out as the connection through the fire portal weakened. “Don’t waste your time pouting or plotting to stay in the future. You knew this day was coming. Accept your destiny and embrace it.”
Kenna held her breath to keep from shouting “It isn’t fair” into the dying flames. No. I can’t do that. Granny deserves respect. No matter how much Granny pissed her off, she couldn’t defy the woman who’d given up so much to ensure that her four granddaughters not only survived their rough beginnings in the thirteenth century but thrived in whatever time Granny chose to place them. “Fine. I’ll see you and Trulie in a week.” Fighting against the squeezing frustration cutting off her air, Kenna stirred the coals one last time and forced out a strained “I love you, Granny.”
“I love you too, gal.” Granny’s pleased chuckle fanned the coals a hotter orange for a brief instant. “You’ll thank me, gal. I promise. You will thank me.”
Kenna slammed the cast-iron door to the stove shut and closed all the dampers. She very much doubted she’d thank Granny when she was balancing on a chamber pot or washing in icy water dipped out of a loch. The thirteenth century. Dammit. Kenna shuddered, flopped back on the couch, and dropped her head to her hands.
Keys rattled in the front door right before it swung open and banged against the wall. Giggles and frantic shushing echoed down the hallway. Kenna straightened and glanced at the ancient mantel clock squatting in the center of the bookshelf. Lovely. The twins were home, and they were late. Again.
“Would it kill you two to be on time? Just once?” Kenna snatched up the bowl of popcorn and headed to the kitchen. She was in no mood to deal with bubbly sisters who were currently lucky enough to not have a freakin’ care in the world.
“We’re not that late. It’s only five after,” Lilia said with a glance toward the clock.
Both grinning girls—twins who looked nothing alike—plopped down on stools in front of the bar separating the den from the kitchen.
“And sounds like you’re in a real snit. Are you really that torqued over five measly minutes?” Mairi helped herself to the bowl of popcorn, then peered at Kenna with a look that irritated her even more.
Kenna clenched her teeth and tapped a finger against the countertop to a silent count of ten. She didn’t need to explode at them. It wasn’t her sisters’ fault that Granny had decided her visa to the twenty-first century had expired. She turned to Lilia. “Five minutes is five minutes. We agreed you would both be home by seven so we could go over next week’s schedule at the shop—since, if you recall, we’re introducing the new seasonal line of bath oils.”
A flash of irrational sisterly irritation heated Kenna even further. “And how many times have I asked you not to wear my tops? You stretch them out so much I can’t wear them after you’re done with them.”
Petite but well-endowed Lilia glanced down at the snug T-shirt straining across her full bosoms. “Oh. Sorry. I thought you said you didn’t want this one anymore.”
“What’s going on with you?” Tall, willowy Mairi reached across the counter and gently patted Kenna’s hand. “Spill it, Kenna. You never get like this unless someone’s crossed you. What’s rubbed your fur the wrong way?”
Kenna gripped the edge of the counter so tightly, her knuckles popped. How could she tell her baby sisters their comfortable life was about to get put through the time-travel grinder again? Her heart sank even lower. How can I tell them I’m about to leave them too?
“You’ve been talking to Granny, haven’t you?”
Kenna nodded without lifting her gaze from the yellowed countertop. “Yes, Mairi. I spoke to Granny. The two of you just missed her.” She huffed out a heavy sigh and sagged against the cabinet. “She sends her love and said to tell you both she’s very proud of you.”
“If that’s what she said, then why do you look like you’re about to throw up?” Mairi’s eyes widened and she suddenly sat ramrod straight. “Oh, no—is Trulie all right? Please say she didn’t lose this baby too.” Mairi hopped off the stool and rushed around the counter to Kenna’s side.
“Oh, no . . . not again.” Lilia rounded the other end of the kitchen island.
Kenna waved both sisters a step back. “No. No. Nothing like that. Trulie’s feeling fine, and is due to deliver our little niece or nephew into the world any day now.”
“Then what?” Lilia bumped Kenna with a curvaceous hip and grinned. “Did Granny tell you it was your turn to go back to the past and hook up with a sexy Highlander?”
Kenna didn’t say a word, just turned and glared at Lilia. Baby sister already knew the truth of it, and she hadn’t even needed any of her damn foretelling visions that happened to be her dominant talent as a Sinclair time runner.
“Holy shit, she did, didn’t she?” Lilia’s mouth dropped open.
“Holy shit,” Mairi echoed.
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