Sunday, January 15, 2012


What is in the release of a novel, a short, a novella? Many people think that its easy to sit down and write boy meets girl, boy and girl grow close together, boy and girl fight and break up, they come back together and in the end realize their love can not be wasted on uncertainty creating their happily ever after. However, just like in a novel, the process of creating these lives takes time.

The writing process evolves for me with the smallest of scenes. Something that nags me to a level of consciousness that I can not let go. Sometimes its the smallest gesture, a smell, a sound, a single phrase of words that stick in my brain and bury itself in the endless fertilizer that circles my gray matter. No matter how I try to ignore it, it sits, grinning like the Cheshire Cat and waiting for that moment when I am least resistant to pounce.

The Walls of Jericho was such a story. In my mind, I could hear the thunder of horse's hooves as they raced along the canyon. I could smell the smoke of the hardwood fire and I could hear, Charlotte Murray's voice laden with desire as she asked Jericho Rivers to make lover to her out on the trail.

It is a good story, I solid tale of love once spurned now rekindled. I hope you, the reader will enjoy....

Check out Passion in Print for the January releases and tag along for the ride as the Walls of Jericho come tumbling down.


For a moment, he thought she might be sincere. As quick as her expression registered surprise, the knowledge of her betrayal gave way to his bitter bile. “Don’t think that highly of yourself, Charlotte. Someone might believe you.”

She blinked as if he had struck her and took one small step back. Seizing the opportunity, he shouldered his canteen and took a step past. She gave a thin gasp and her hand clutched his arm. Beneath the cotton of his shirt, Jericho felt his skin
catch fire. The heat he had held at bay tore loose and tumbled through his chest, settling deep within his bones.

“What happened or didn’t happen between us--” she paused. “Jericho, I couldn’t live knowing my actions cost you your happiness.”

They were so close. He could feel an unstrung rope swirlabout them, binding their souls together. Her breath came in gulps and he could see the rise of her full breasts against her cotton shirt, which served as a barrier to his hands. He wanted
her. No, he told himself and stiffened his resolve, choosing to focus instead on the long five years of simmering anger. “Nice words. Tell me, did you learn them in Chicago or New York?”

Her eyes widened, but he knew she was no innocent.

“You didn’t cover your tracks well, Charlotte.” He couldn’t help himself. He stepped closer. The faint scent of rosewater lifted from her body. Does she still carry that handkerchief dipped in that perfume between her luscious mounds? “Do you think the local papers wouldn’t have jumped on the reports of Michael Murray’s daughter dancing with the Governor’s son?” He leaned closer. Her color rose high in her cheeks. “What gowns you wore. Your latest conquests, all the way to the east coast.”

“It... It wasn’t like that,” she began to protest.

Jericho wasn’t in the mood. His blood stirred and overruled the cool of his head. His arms snaked about her middle and snatched her to his chest. His glance focused on her full lips. “Tell me,” he said, through gritted teeth. “Did they kiss like

Passion In Print

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