I mentioned last week that I am into the tactile when it comes to grounding myself in character. I’ve worn a big ass, bold labradorite ring while writing Maggie (below). For Michele, I wore a diaphanous white linen gown. Katie was all about yellow and pink “sleepy sheep” pajamas. For Ava, I wore a triskelion silver pendant. Emily—a silver fox totem pendant. Honestly, I found while writing Maggie that rings work better than anything to keep me muse-based, because I see it and feel it on my fingers as I type.

Music also helps me stay centered on whoever I’m writing at the moment. For Katie, I listened to the Dixie Chicks. Emily took me to contemporary male country stars, like Jason Aldean and Cole Swindell. I was very inspired by John Legend’s “All of Me” when writing Going for Kona for Michele, and ultimately moved to Jah Rule’s version of the same song for Michele’s second and third books. I was all about Rihanna for Ava. Maggie led me to Lucinda Williams, who I now dearly love.

I have one more book to finish for Maggie before I open my heart, mind, and soul to the fierce Laura. She’s small and bright, loyal and feisty. I think of her as a little cardinal. I have a stone picked out for a ring for her already, although I don’t have a feel for what she listens to yet. Here’s her stone, a bloodstone agate:

I can’t wait to see what my goddess friend/jeweler Anita comes up with for it when she works her Jewelweed Sprouts magic!!!

But I can sure wait to get started on the Laura novels, LOL. I’ve still got two hard months to live in my Maggie world (finishing Dead Pile, finalizing it and Live Wire and Sick Puppy post copyedit and proofread) before I start brainstorming and outlining Laura, and I need every second I can get for Maggie.

I may sneak and wear that bloodstone agate ring a little early every now and then, though <3

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I hope you had a wonderful week filled with family, friends, food, and other wonderful things. We celebrated American Thanksgiving with a happy vengeance in Florida and Texas, along with the great news that my newest novel, Buckle Bunny, made the USA Bestseller List as part of Love Under Fire. Yeah, baby! But this week, it’s been back to the grindstone, with me at Nowheresville in TX and Eric in Jamaica, where he only forgot his dress belt, this time. See his hilarious post about what he brought instead:

With zero days left to go until SICK PUPPY is due, I must admit I’m pretty damn sick of it. 🙂 Sick of sitting on my butt. Sick of feeling guilty if I’m not working on a book. Sick of telling my brain to quit being lazy and DO BETTER. Sick of Maggie, Hank, and the whole What Doesn’t Kill You world.

But this too shall pass. Just not yet!

I have zero days off until I start the month-long push to finish DEAD PILE. No braincation for this writer! But after I finish, I’ll be done with Maggie and done with my 2019 novels and have only an new easy project through February. The rest will be working on edits and pre-publication and podcast and promotion. Busy, but no creativity required. That will be awesome.

So instead of working on SICK PUPPY yesterday I streamed crap shows and worked with my friend, goddess-jeweler Anita of Jewelweed on a Laura ring. I’ve found my Maggie ring has helped me write her tremendously, so Eric said I could have one for Laura for Christmas. Because Laura is my 2019 protagonist <3 and I have to find her voice somewhere in my burned out innards.

Thanks to my dear friend Stephanie, by the way, for sending Eric and me our Amarillo Sod Poodles t-shirts. Yes, that’s the name of their new minor league baseball team. Anyone care to guess what a sod poodle actually is? #funniestnameever #worstnameever The shirt is improving my attitude!

<3

Later, y’all.

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It was a very happy Hutchins Thanksgiving in Jacksonville, FL this year.

  1. We were with the ones we love.

 

 

2. ALL OF THEM!!!

3. THIS HAPPENED!!! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK FOR ALL YOUR SUPPORT! YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST <3

 

4. Making me an:

All our kids except one, Eric’s mom, Thanksgiving with all his brothers for the first time in 43 years, and USA Today?

Yeah, it was pretty awesome.

I hope you were blessed with much to be grateful for as well.

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Hey, y’all. Limited time offer. I’m giving away 25 copies. Giveaway ends midnight CST Friday 11/16. All details at the link. Sweet!

ENTER HERE.

Blessings,

 

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Hey y’all! Tuesday Nov 13 is release day for LOVE UNDER FIRE, which means you get my first Maggie story, BUCKLE BUNNY, along with 20 other romantic suspense books for only 99 cents (huge discount!), benefitting Pets for Vets, if you download now before it goes up to its full price. Download HERE.

I don’t currently own the rights to BUCKLE BUNNY, but I can share a taste of it with you here. <3

BUCKLE BUNNY EXCERPT, Pamela Fagan Hutchins (Copyright 2018)
Part One
Cheyenne, Wyoming
Friday afternoon
Maggie
Maggie checks her watch. She yawns, loud, and the hand covering her mouth turns it into a really bad imitation of a Native American war cry.
“That’s insensitive.” Her bassist, Brent, doesn’t look at her, doesn’t take his eyes off the rodeo action in the Frontier Park arena. He’s already dressed for their gig tonight. Snap-front plaid shirt. Tall, tall, tall in Wranglers, frayed and slit at the side hem over his scuffed boots. Brown hair short and spiky with gel, horn-rimmed glasses reminiscent of Buddy Holly.
It’s Maggie’s first time at Wyoming’s Cheyenne Frontier Days. She’s already sick of cowboys, sick of horses. Tired of big belt buckles and ten-gallon hats. She’s seen enough of them to last her a lifetime. Besides growing up in the country outside Austin, she’s dragged ass all over the US of A the entire summer, to every fair, festival, and rodeo she and the band could make between repair stops in their decrepit nine-passenger van. That’s what you get when you play Americana. Folk. Alt-country. Whatever you want to call it. The people with a taste for it frequent the bumpkin events.
She lifts a hand to Brent, as in “talk to the hand,” as in “Maggie don’t give a flip, bucko.” The rodeo is in full swing, this being Friday, and the championship round only two days away. “I need food.”
“Go get some.”
“You have any cash?”
He scowls at her, digs in his wallet, and hands her a ten.
“And a beer.”
“Uh-uh. You still owe me from South Dakota.”
Maggie—one of only two women in the five-musician band—is broke. She’s needed every dime she’s made to keep her dream alive since she ran off to be a star at seventeen. Now, five hard years later, her agent, Larry, and the record company have sent her out on the road to promote her sophomore album, Texana, with four virtual strangers to back her. It’s make-or-break time. They’re pulling a trailer full of their equipment and luggage so there’s room in the van for the albums, T-shirts, and CDs they take turns hawking at every show.
She’s this close to congratulating her religious dad on being right that her path to the stars was a road straight to hell, just as he’d predicted. Tucking tail and hotfooting back to Giddings, Texas, where she’ll do God knows what doesn’t sound as bad as it used to.
Six months. She’ll give it six more months. Then she’s done.
Maggie socks Brent in the arm. “C’mon. I’m sober as fuck. I need some juice before the show.” She uses the term showloosely. Maggie Killian and Crew—because they need a name, any name—don’t rate the main stage as opener, much less headliner. They’re sentenced to play the Buckin’ A Saloon. Two nights. The early shows. Post-rodeo drinkers, cheap cowboys and buckle bunnies mostly, with the main crowd forking out the big-ticket price to see the Frontier Nights A-listers. Tomorrow night will be Kenny freakin’ Chesney, for Christ’s sake. Shit. Cowboys aren’t going to buy Americana albums. They’re probably not even going to tip worth a damn.
Brent shakes his head.
Lead guitarist Davo, her sometimes hookup for lack of any other contenders, says, “You promised you’d kiss the cowboy who wins the bull riding tonight, pose for a picture. We need the PR.” At least he’s decent looking. Blond. Nice green eyes. Magical fingers, long and sandpapery with calluses. He doesn’t offer Maggie any money.
“I’m gonna get my ass pinched. Again.”
“Fine.” Brent peels off another ten. “But only because that guy left a bruise.”
She snatches it from him. “Thank you.”
“That makes fifty.”
“You’ll get it tonight.”
“And so the cycle goes.” Brent turns back to the arena.
Davo pulls her to him for a kiss, slips his tongue in. It feels mechanical and slobbery, and Maggie fights the urge to wipe her mouth.
She hightails it to concession. Bull riding is next, and she has to be behind the chutes for her duties. Then, straight to the Buckin’ A. The crowd is thick, and she puts a hand on the shoulder of a burly guy who, along with his buddies, is blocking her path to the two beers she intends to buy, along with whatever food she can afford with the money left over.
“’Scuse me, fellas.” She says it in a singsong voice. It hints of her soprano and its surprising smoky rasp. It turns heads.
The men take her in. Their eyes widen. Maggie’s dressed the part for her show tonight. A cowboy’s wet dream. Daisy Duke shorts, high-heeled cowboy boots, a tight scoop-neck T-shirt with a fringed suede vest, and a concho belt that drapes her hips. Her long, nearly black hair is teased and lifted. Her hoop earrings sway. Her kohl-rimmed eyes are heavy lidded.
The waters part for her.
She doesn’t smile for them. She saves her smiles. But she gives them a little hip roll, conscious of their stares and the whispered “Jee-zuss” in her wake. For a moment she considers stopping. Pocketing the two tens and letting these guys buy her drinks. But there’s no time. She’s getting fifty bucks for making nice with the bull rider who wins today’s round.
Ten minutes later, she’s scarfed a giant pretzel and downed her first beer. She sips at her second as she makes her way to the bucking chutes. She shows her ID to a woman at the gate. Even she reacts to Maggie. Pupils dilate. Breath draws in. Maggie’s used to it.
The woman checks her name on a list. “Do you know where you’re going?”
“Not a clue.”
The woman points, side-eying Maggie as she does. “See that big ole bear of a man by the orange gate? His name is Tucker. That’s where you wanna be, and who you wanna see.”
Maggie’s brows rise. The man is as big as the bulls. “Thanks.”
The woman lets Maggie through.
In the arena, bull riding is underway. Classic rock blares through loudspeakers just under the patter of the announcer and the miked rodeo clown. Maggie climbs up on the lowest rail and hangs on to watch, close enough to smell the bullshit, figurative and literal. A cowboy on a white bull ejects from the chute like a rocket from a launching pad. The bull spins to the right, his hind hooves punching through the sky. He reverses his turn, lurching his massive body with shocking agility. The cowboy holds on with one hand, the other swinging high in the air. His body shifts off center when the bull changes directions. He seems tall for a bull rider, this much Maggie knows. Bull riding favors the shorter bodies with more compact centers of gravity. The cowboy’s black hat flies off—he’s not wearing a helmet. The Stetson lands in the dirt. The bull crushes it as he hops twice on his front legs, nearly sending his rear hooves over his head. The cowboy can’t right his upper body, which is nearly horizontal to the ground now. The crowd gasps, ready for the cowboy to be bucked off, but he makes it until the buzzer sounds.
Eight seconds. He’s earned a score.
He rides the bull for a few more bucks, then makes a flying leap. The bull wheels, enraged at the puny human with the temerity to ride him. Three bullfighters swarm between him and the bull, the one doubling as a clown wearing white face paint. The cowboy bear-crawls away from the bull. A safety rider on an enormous horse with feathered hair at his fetlocks lopes between him, the animal, and the fighters. Meanwhile, Maggie’s eyes follow the seat of his Wranglers. It’s a really nice seat, framed by fringed chaps.
The cowboy scrambles to his feet and runs for the rails, straight at her, the cowhide chaps flapping. He snatches his mangled hat and hops up in one smooth motion. Up close, she can see he’s tall, a good head taller than the last ass-pincher Maggie’d kissed and mugged for the cameras with in Nebraska. He’s dark-headed with blue eyes that shine with good humor through the dust around them. And he has dimples. Big, juicy dimples.
Maggie hears the bull snort. It charges the cowboy one last time for good measure on its way out of the arena, clanging the rail with one horn. From his seat on the top rail, the cowboy smacks his hat on his thigh, then punches it into shape. He crams it on his head and jumps off the fence to the other side. A squealing bevy of young women call to him from outside the secure area.
He blows them a kiss.
“Nice ride, Sibley,” a man behind Maggie drawls in a Texas accent.
“Always a good one when you walk away, Joe.”
“Bet you can find a better ride over there.” The Texan—Joe?—passes Maggie and waves at the girls. “Which one you want?”
They’re interrupted by the announcer. “That’s a seventy-eight for Hank Sibley out of Sheridan, Wyoming, which puts him just out of contention for tonight. A real disappointment for a local favorite.” His voice sounds folksy. They always sound folksy.
His announcing partner answers. His voice is older, the voice of experience. “This just doesn’t look like the same Hank Sibley we saw at the National Finals Rodeo. The bull did his job, and Hank stayed on, but he’s only got one more shot to impress the judges tomorrow night if he wants to move on to Sunday’s championships.”
Maggie glances at the cowboy.
“Well, shit.” He doesn’t look that upset, though.
Joe slaps his shoulder. “Next time, buddy.”
“Sometimes you gotta lose to win.” Hank winks.
“If you say so.” Joe walks toward the young women. He stops. “You coming?”
Hank glances toward the tittering females. Then he notices Maggie. His shift in focus is immediate and total. “Well, hello there. I’m Hank.” He wipes a hand on his jeans and thrusts it toward her. “And you are?”
Joe laughs and shakes his head as he walks away.
Maggie backs off the rail. “Late for a date with the winner.”
“Ah, he’s a putz. Let me show you a good time tonight.”
She smiles at him, but not one of her real ones. The teeth-baring kind. “I’m not in the mood for an eight-second ride. You shoo, now, and hop over to one of those buckle bunnies over there.”
He runs backward beside her as she leaves. “Hey, don’t be like that.” His spur catches in the dirt, and he falls to his rear.
Maggie leans down, head tilted. “No score, cowboy.”
END OF EXCERP! Snag the rest plus 20 romantic suspense novels for only 99 cents for a limited time at https://books2read.com/LoveUnderFire 
~ Pamela

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Eric is on the road for two weeks. China and Taiwan this time, after his recent trips to Jamaica, Thailand, Singapore, Malaysia, and—again—China.

I miss him. We are one of those disgusting couples who like each other. A lot. But it’s more than that. I don’t sleep when he’s gone. Like two-hours-a-night kind of insomnia.

This tends to make the daytime—and working on Sick Puppy, my current Maggie project—a lot more challenging. And it’s not like I can nap during the day and work at night. I.DON’T.NAP. EVER.


Catch this week’s podcasts

J.A. frickin Jance (I added the frickin part, but she totally deserves it) and FIELD OF BONES

 

Judith Lucci, architect of LOVE UNDER FIRE — get the 21-book romantic suspense box set for only 99 cents, benefitting Pets for Vets, through Nov. 20th, here.


Today is day four. I hurt, I hurt, I hurt. My creativity is crap. My motivation is waning. I need S-L-E-E-P!

So send me good thoughts and pixie dust as I blunder through my days with him gone. I need it, bad.

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Eric + travel is always an adventure. Forgotten passports. Lost black leather jackets (so many lost jackets). Neglected medications. Because of that, we always use an acronym to be sure he forgets nothing. KEWL PIGS.

Keys

Wallet

Laptop and charger

Phone and charger

IDs

Glasses

Supplements and shots 😉

Sometimes it helps. Especially when he uses it. Of course, he has other problems we can’t acronym away, like illnesses. Wrong gender on travel documents. Canceled flights. Or, this week: airport changes, from one airport to another one hours away, with an ultimate destination of Jamaica.

So here’s what happened <3 We drove an hour to one airport to find his flight delayed past connection time. Eric texted me before I got too far away, to let me know we needed to drive to another airport two hours from there, for him to arrive to his hotel instead of by early evening to get in by 3 a.m.


Snag a mystery, thriller, suspense ebook on sale here.


I turned around. Five minutes away, I texted him from a red light to ask whether I should get gas and food first, time being of the essence.

No response.

I pulled up outside the airport. He wasn’t there. The clock was ticking. I waited. And waited. And waited.

Finally, he came out, flustered. And exuding an odd, slightly unpleasant odor.

“What’s that smell?” I asked.

He groaned. “You don’t want to know.”

“Before we go do we need to KEWL PIGS?” I recited the acronym. When I got to glasses, he stopped me.

He lifted his glasses case, opened it, and got out his glasses. He held the case up. “Oh, I’ve got them all right.”

Uh oh. “What happened?”


Pre-Order LOVE UNDER FIRE: 99 cents through release day (Nov. 13),

21 romantic suspense stories from bestselling and award-winning authors,

benefitting Pets for Vets!


 

“I’m leaving on an international trip, my travel is delayed, and I was working with my travel agent while I was in the men’s room.”

“So?”

“So, I needed my glasses while I was, uh, oh the toilet.”

“You dropped your glasses.”

“No, I dropped the case.”

“Oh, my God, into the toilet water?”

He snapped the case shut. “I wish. Unfortunately, I was . . . further along.”

Eric is known for relaxing in the bathroom. Sometimes he sits when sitting isn’t technically required. Think of it as energy conservation. Reading time. Phone time.

And thus I didn’t immediately get it. The glasses case dropped in the water. I thought, okay, yeah, best scenario, wet glasses case. Worst scenario, case dunked in yellow water. Yellow water is gross, but it’s sterile. Cases can be rinsed.

But no.

That is not what happened to Eric’s glasses case. His glasses case did a Baby Ruth dive a la Caddyshack into a public toilet. All Eric had on hand to remedy his unfortunate situation was cool water, hand soap, and cruddy brown paper towels. On a tight schedule, headed to a tropical climate, where he would unavoidably be using his glasses over and over in client presentations. Glasses he couldn’t afford to break by carrying unprotected, sans case.

My poor husband 🙁

But the man perseveres! He rocked the presentation. And afterward, he even had time to buy a new case for his glasses. Go Eric!

And if you enjoyed that floater story, you’ll probably enjoy another Eric floater tale, like this one. It’s my very favorite. Or if you want my whole book of this kind of love and laughs nonsense, go here.

Now, I’m off to continue the 30-day rewrite of Sick Puppy (Maggie #2)!

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You know you’re getting old when the highlight of your week is a good CT Scan and having a “weekend cheat” dessert on a Tuesday. By the way, I chose peach cobbler, and I savored every bite.

Mostly, I am in the weeds trying to finish Live Wire (Maggie #1). I turn it in to the copyeditor this weekend. Wish me luck. And a few days off before I start my final push on Sick Puppy (Maggie #2) which is due at the end of November, when I’ll be a limp noodle!!!!


Did you catch my interview with super awesome historical novelist Kristine McMorris about her new book SOLD ON A MONDAY? You can watch or listen anytime, here:

NYTB Kristina McMorris and SOLD ON MONDAY

Video version:

Ears only:


How cool is this animated graphic for the quickly upcoming Love Under Fire box set??? I could just look at it explode all day!  (Remember, pre-order only 99 cents, release date Nov. 13th). Way to go Virtual Assistant Extraordinaire, Bobbye Marrs!



Is urban fantasy your thing?

Dive into FIFTEEN amazing worlds full of action, adventure, magic and mayhem brought to you by some of the freshest voices in urban fantasy.

Want angels? Demons? Fairies? Witches? Supernatural assassins? Vampires? Whatever you’re after, you’re bound to find it in this incredible collection jam-packed with page-turning adventure.

This bundle features 8 full length novels, 4 short novels and 3 novellas written by:

Laura Greenwood
Jenn Windrow
Tiffany Shand
Victoria DeLuis
Monique Singleton
Chris Coleman
Ashlee Nicole Bye
Kim Richardson
Devyn Jayse
Robyn Jenkins
Tanya R Taylor
Sadie Moss
Cassandra Page
K. A. Last
Thea Atkinson

http://books2read.com/Shadowsandspellcraft


Have a great weekend, y’all!

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Y’ALL, it would make me so so so happy if you would pre-order your 99 cent copy of Love Under Fire today. You’ll get 21 romantic suspense books, and we, the authors, will get a chance to help the non-profit organization, Pets for Vets. All books are by Amazon #1 bestselling authors. I’m especially proud of mine, BUCKLE BUNNY.
Here’s your buy link: https://books2read.com/LoveUnderFire
If I had my druthers, you’d buy on Apple. We need the sales there to have a good chance at this set becoming a USA Today bestseller.
Here’s a little about each of the books:
MISSION under FIRE
The mission changed. Her cover is blown. With nowhere to run and nowhere to hide, what can she do to survive?
RUN for your life
Medical thrillers that chill the heart…
Cold Red
Lily’s Homecoming Under Fire
Monsters in my Closet

Can Becky keep her secrets?

The Turning
The Witches of Storm Island, Book I 
Two Hearts Under Fire
Can two wounded hearts under fire survive love?
Running with Horses
Moving horses on their annual journey from her grandfather’s ranch to the high country comes just in time as Mindy Murphy and her coffee date witness a murder at a Mojave Desert cafe.
Diamonds and Lies

When murder upends a diamond heist, can the jewel thief trust the mark who vows to protect her?

Tender Enemies
When Lily sets up a spy trap, she faces great danger––of falling in love.
Baja Get Away
Sometimes Love is Murder.
Virtually Lace

Michael creates a virtual reality simulation of the murder. Can he solve it in time, before the killer turns on the woman he loves?

The Haunting of Hillwood Farm

A dangerous ghost brings them together…but will they survive long enough to find happiness?

Ace Under Fire
Can this bad boy make a comeback to save an old flame?
Reign Of Fire
To expose a faction threatening America’s democracy, Emily joins forces with a detective investigating her sister’s murder, but she never expected to fall in love––or to encounter her twin’s ghost.
Code Enforcer

Can they overcome their painful pasts—and a murder investigation—to find happiness together?

Deception Bay

She’s armed. He’s dangerous. Together, can they stop a killer from tearing a small island community apart?

The Asylum
A Carmen Garcia romantic suspense novel
Carmen has a secret, and his name is Dr. Micah Worthy.
Chasing Secrets

Her husband’s secret is priceless. Her attempts to retrieve it could be deadly.

Summer of ‘78

Susan Evenbright, pledges to make her last summer in Texas a killer one.

Buckle Bunny
The last guy to call Maggie a buckle bunny didn’t make his eight seconds.
Thanks everyone!

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Welp, that wasn’t our most exciting WY2TX trip, but it was close. Our steep, sheer, narrow, twisty one mile “driveway” was icy. Very icy. Like a skip jumping ramp, except with 10,000 pounds of truck, trailer, horses, dogs, and people. We employed the “fireplace ash” trick recommended by the guy who built it, and we made it out. Petey nearly didn’t, as he ran off while we were loading the horses. We thought he’d walked out with my parents (who parked a mile away and led their horses to their trailer). Turned out he was standing between our trailer and our house, trying to suggest to us that we return to the mountain home he loves. His black and brindle coat stands out against the snow, so I saw him and fetched his sad hiney back. Bells don’t work when a dog is standing stock still!


Click image for 99 and free ebooks deals this week!


The head winds in WY were brutal. We got six miles to the gallon, but we only figured this out when our gas light came on 35 miles from our usual first stop. I don’t know how we made it, other than my superior gas conservation driving skills 😉 We were traveling with my parents, and my dad tends to be a go-go-go pusher. We let that get in our heads, and that low gas light came on before every single stop! Who knew what a thrill ride it would be?

We had planned to overnight in Amarillo and make our hard day the last day. That would mean I would drive 11 hours, dropping Eric in Dallas mid-way, then unload, unpack, grocery shop, and take care of animals. But Eric’s Thailand virus migrated to me, and just as he was getting better, I was delirious. So instead we made day two our hard day—while I had Eric to drive (although only after he finished critiquing the first half of Live Wire). On day three, Dad drove Eric to Dallas from two hours away and two of our kids met me in Nowheresville. I collapsed in bed and they took care of everything else. Ahhhh.


Did you catch NYTB Kristina McMorris with me on Wine Women & Writing talking about her poignant historical novel SOLD ON A MONDAY?

 

All’s well that ends well, right?

Now I’m enduring 99% humidity, torrential rains, and mid-40s temps while I work on Live Wire (Maggie 1) and sip Theraflu through a straw. Trust me, this is much colder than Snowheresville. Have I ever mentioned that I hate humidity?

Wah wah wah. 😉

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And that’s a wrap on Snowheresville, WY Summer 2018 on the face of the Bighorn Mountains. Back in December. Luckily, Eric got back from Malaysia/Thailand/Singapore in time to help me prep and pack. Next stop, Nowheresville, TX!

Last day!

Alfalfa face contest! (Feathers, bottom right, won in a landslide on Facebook)

In front of the fire, checking the weather.

Snow melts, and leaves behind this beauty.

Blessings,

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Fifty-one and I still get air sick nearly every time I’m on a plane, which is far too often. “She’ll outgrow it,” they said. “It’s all in her head.”

Oh, how I wish.



I flew to Dallas with Eric from Billings through Denver, and I managed to scare the crap out of some sweet young guy in the aisle seat who insisted he wanted to change places with me, because “sometimes when you need to run for it, the aisle seat is easier.”

Mountain lion knives, bear spray, and orange gear protect me hiking, but I’ve yet to find a remedy that works for my motion sickness. #bighornmountains #biggoosecreek #walkerprairie

Related: thank you Eric for always being so kind and gentle with me. On planes. In boats. And often in automobiles.[He does love really well; more suggestions on how he does that:HERE.]


Live video interview Oct 5 at 11 am ET (or later, recorded)! I’ll be chatting with Wendy Wax about her most recent novel, BEST BEACH EVER! https://youtu.be/zrQm9BSoVlY


Who else out there has lifelong motion sickness? Share you remedies in the comments. Here are some of mine:


NOW YOU CAN SAMPLE THE STORIES FROM LOVE UNDER FIRE, HERE!!!
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I just went to pick up our packages at our Dallas apartment. First, I tried to enter the passcode, which I set up, but it didn’t work. So they wouldn’t give them to me, because I didn’t have Eric‘s ID. I said, “My name is Pamela Hutchins. I’m Eric’s wife, and I’m on the lease, too.” And the snotty woman said, “Unless your name is Rita, no you’re not.”


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This reminds me of the time Eric sent me flowers and the card (which he dictated over the phone), once delivered to me on the road on a book tour read, “I love you Camilla.” [Yep, that’s how we do love; more suggestions HERE.]

We live with the truth of other people’s errors.

When have you been foiled by errors in technology/made by other people?

p.s. I did sign the lease with my own hot little hand, and Eric has tried to correct this repeatedly.

p.p.s. Rita is the wife of the previous tenant. I’ve never met her. But I’m sure her husband Bruce is no happier about this than I am.


Score EXCLUSIVE Buckle Bunny and Shock Jock previews!!

We’re making a run for the USA Today bestseller list and need 5 people to pre-order Love Under Fire (#1 on Amazon) TODAY on iBooks (which you can read on your Kindle or Nook or iPhone with a free app). The entire 21-book romantic suspense box set is only 99 cents and the proceeds help a Vet get a Pet.

https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id1392147503

Can you help me out? If you do, I’ll give you advance copies of Buckle Bunny and Shock Jock with a screen shot of your purchase. <3 <3 <3 I’m not releasing those until 2019 to anyone else…

Apple iBooks only. Send screenshots to pamela at pamelafaganhutchins dot com.


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I had a big scare recently. For those that don’t know, Petey, our badass Boston terrier, is recently 95% blind. His life has changed tremendously this summer as a result. However, he has still enjoyed off-leash walks on the road in and out of our property.

Until today.



One minute he was with Georgia and me as I worked with her on obedience/staying within 100 yards of me (she has reverted to a tendency to chase things and ignore me, so we’ve gone back to basics), the next moment he’d disappeared. I called and called for him, walking up and down the road looking for him, to naught. So I walked Georgia home as fast as I could to get our Razor and go back to search for him, meanwhile praying like a mad thing.

Our road makes an arc. I last saw him at the downhill end of it. When I got near the house, I saw a black and white speck moving in our pasture about 700 vertical feet below me. The little shit had somehow turned off through pasture and was crossing ravines and going through all kinds of foliage and terrain trying to get home. I called to him, and he heard me, but he got stuck in brush trying to get to me—because he can’t see it and he just plows through whatever is in front of him.

I was wearing running shoes, but I took off down what looked to be a less steep side of our road. The grass was covering up the true descent and I tumbled to the bottom of the ravine. Running shoes–not the recommended footwear for rough mountain terrain. I got up and made my way to him. He was very happy when I picked him up and carried him through the bushes, up the ravine, across the pasture, and back to the road. We were both exhausted.

I honestly don’t know how I ever saw him. It was just a flash before he got caught in the brush. Poor thing. He can’t ever go on a walk without a leash again; in fact I bought him a new harness since his collar slides from his thick neck over his little head on-leash. And a bear bell, so if he runs off I can hear him to find him. I may have bought him a new bed, winter hoodies, and some toys, too. Can you say spoiled little blind dog? I’m just so thankful I found him.

I lost Georgia’s collar, which was in my sweatshirt front pocket, when I fell down the ravine. I doubt I’d find it even if I went back for it. Which I’m not going to do.

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Before we talk about my Denise Grover Swank interview, I have important information for you:

It’s a (virtual) party weekend for Love Under Fire!  All weekend long, we’ll be partying at our FaceBook Event beginning at 11:00 a.m. EST on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday mornings and lasting until 9 p.m., but since it’s online, party-goers can come in at ANY time and enter giveaways, chat with the authors, and win prizes!  And there will be a lot to win, because there are 42 authors participating!  The 21 Authors of the Love Under Fire Romantic Suspense Thrillers Box Set have each invited a guest author to take-over a time slot and chat with readers, share their books, and offer giveaways.  Come celebrate with us AND help us support our charity, Pets for Vets. Every purchase of the Love Under Fire Box Set is another donation to this amazing organization that pairs shelter animals with veterans seeking companion animals.  Right now, you can get the set for a limited-time pre-order offer of just 99 cents!  That gets you 21 NEW, never-before-published stories and helps Pets for Vets.

Come join us starting tomorrow, Friday, September 14th, at 11 a.m., or drop by any time, day or night, during the weekend!  Here’s our Event Page on FaceBook, just click the link! Hope to see you there.

Link to partyhttps://www.facebook.com/events/919541461567630/?active_tab=discussion

Limited Edition Box Set only 99c on Pre-order!

LOVE UNDER FIRE:  21 Tales of Romantic Suspense by USA Today + WSJ Bestselling Authors

Hurry! Limited-time deal ~ Proceeds benefit Pets for Vets!

Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07GCTP7CJ

Nook: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/1128780222

iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id1392147503


Now, back to Denise Grover Swank, y’all! The writer most requested by my readers-listeners for me to interview <3 This has been the month of top 100 mystery authors appearing on Wine Women & Writing (to catch Craig Johnson and Robert Dugoni, here’s the link with all the shows, HERE).

Prefer “ears only?”

It was a super fun call!!


Vacation was over, but we didn’t finish our projects, so I still did a lot of varnishing. Deck furniture, doors, crown molding. In the evenings, we installed screen doors, molding, and tie backs. Every project spawns another, so it never feels like we’re done. But we’re very happy with the progress and changes.


I am going to keep it short this week, other than to let you know I’m planning on posting soon about the super exciting topic of my hair falling out 🙂 and to let you know about this contest opportunity, to win a bundle of humorous and cozy mysteries!

https://booksweeps.com/book-giveaway/humorous-cozy-mystery-september-2018/

You’re welcome.

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Hey, y’all!

Well, it’s over. Staycation, that is. Back to the grind soonish. We had an amazing long week of painting, staining, varnishing, cleaning, hanging, and decorating. I’ll give you a new tour of Snowheresville before we pack up in October, when we’re done. We have lots of little projects to cram into miscellaneous hours before then.

We did manage to sneak in some fun. Don King Days—polo, bucking horses, a blacksmithing contest—and a trail ride up the face of the Bighorns on Soldier Creek trail. I’ve put some photos and videos at the end of this post.

Work wise, I had great news: Love Under Fire is a #1 bestseller on Amazon, and I broke top 70 on authors of romantic suspense (which is funny, because I’ve never written romantic suspense before, but I enjoyed it!). Love Under Fire is a joint authors-giving-back project where 21 authors contribute their work to help the nonprofit organization Pets for Vets, including my Maggie prequel, Buckle Bunny. You spend 99 cents, we help vets get pets together. And, while you can pre-order it anywhere ebooks are sold, you get 19 additional stories if you order it from Apple iBooks and then email your proof of purchase (screen shot) to stephanytwrites@gmail.com. Here’s the link for all the sales sites: https://books2read.com/LoveUnderFire.

I hope to finish the first draft of Dead Pile this month (Maggie #3), and I have some great Wine Women & Writing shows coming up: Denise Grover Swank and Jill Shalvis.

I also have some sad news, things I’ve been holding back because putting them into words makes them real. First, Louise, our dumpster-diving, obsessive-compulsive eating rescue dog, disappeared earlier this summer. She was uncontainable. We’d built a kennel with a roof, but somehow she was still managing to get out. Her disappearance coincided with our neighborhood mountain lion reappearing 🙁 and now Georgia, who has been super depressed, is scared to run off anymore. We gave it a month hoping we’d find her, but we didn’t, and so I guess that’s that. I’ve never met a dog who enjoyed her life more than Louise. She absolutely loved to run and explore. She lived several years “wild” in San Antonio, and we were lucky to have her for a few years where she could share her free spirit with us.

RIP Louise Hutchins. 2013-2018.

The second news is also bad. Petey, our one-eyed Boston terrier, has gone blind in his other eye. It’s heart breaking. He first injured it a year ago, and he’s been in and out of the vet while it would heal, then he’d re-injure it. He’s getting along fine, but his adventure days are over. Now he’s my cuddly house buddy.

Hug your loved ones close, human and otherwise.

Staycation memories of my loves, Katniss, Eric, Georgia, and Feathers:

Katniss and me, playing, after 12 miles of mountain riding:

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I had the honor and pleasure of sitting down for a chat with Craig Johnson, the author of the wildly-successful Longmire books upon which the Netflix series are based. He lives not too far from me in the thriving metropolis (population 25) of Ucross, Wyoming. We did the interview on Facebook Live video at “The Ox” aka The Occidental Saloon in Buffalo, Wyoming, the real-life “Durant” from his novels. He’s got a new release coming out within the next week called Depth of Winter, and I’m looking forward to it. His is my favorite interview to date, not only because he is warm, genuine, and funny, but also because he’s my own personal favorite author.

Off-air conversation trivia: Craig once stayed at Snowheresville, our cabin on the eastern face of the Bighorn mountains near Sheridan, Wyoming, with his wife.

Find out which character in the series led Warner Brothers to film the show in the interview on the Facebook live, on Youtube, or for audio only, on Soundcloud.

Facebook Live:

Youtube:

Audio only:

Want a tour of the The Ox? I did that first 🙂

If you like this, check out my Robert Dugoni interview (author of the phenomenally successful Tracy Crosswhite mysteries).

Audio only:

Video version:

And if you never want to miss an episode, subscribe 🙂 HERE.

Meanwhile, my husband Eric has the week off, which we spent on home maintenance projects, but not before we indulged in a trail ride at Rosebud Battlefield National Park in Montana. <3 <3 <3 A buffalo jump, ancient pictographs, gorgeous scenery and weather, the company of my parents with us, a sand hill crane swooping by us as he skimmed the grass tops, and lots of history. Maggie and DEAD PILE languished this week, but that’s okay. We enjoyed temperatures down in the 30s at night, a visit from our Amish friends to paint our barns red, and a mountain lion sighting on our one-mile-long driveway.

Check y’all later.

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Ask writers and they’ll tell you that their novels borrow liberally from real life inspiration, and that they put much of themselves in their characters, too. (I discussed this exact issue with Robert Dugoni on my show last week, here)

Such was sadly the case with my most recent novel, Searching for Dime Box. As it has been with all my novels.

Last spring, when I was supposed to be writing Dime Box, I got sick. Really sick. In the hospital and then a month confined to a recliner kind-of-sick. It sucked. I was in a druggy haze that made writing impossible. I was depressed that my book languished, and I was worried about my health issues. About all I did was soak in the bathtub, sleep, and whine.


Quick detour! Catch this interview of me on Authors Love Readers podcast: https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/the-hardship-of-leaving-with-pamela-fagan-hutchins/id1329846041?i=1000416993915&mt=2


So what happened to me? I had my second go-round with a kidney stone. Five years ago I had an easy, scheduled lithotripsy on a stone. But this new one got stuck and tried to blow up my kidney—which hurt more than labor, let me tell you. It necessitated me making an out-of-body drive (Eric was away for work) to a friend’s house 20-minutes away (remember, we live in remote locations :-)) to catch a ride to the ER, where they put in an emergency stent to prevent sepsis, since I had raging infections everywhere. The infections, the urologist theorized, were coming from inside the stone itself. And I kept having them, one after another, even with the stent in. The stent itself was super frickin painful in my ureter. Gosh, it feels smarmy to type the word ureter. Ureter, ureter, ureter. Blecky.

Anyway, ultimately, they got the infections under control and pulverized the stone, gave me a few weeks for all the sand to pass, then pulled the stent. I was back to “normal,” like it never happened. It felt surreal.

Simultaneously, I had been experiencing problems with running and bicycling for a loooong time. Pain “down there” and leakage. I couldn’t get either issue under control, so I’d given up both activities. The latter issue also made horseback riding unpredictable, although I refused to curtail my horse time. A girl has to have her priorities, and her limits.

Since last spring, I’ve been fighting both issues with Kegels and with a variety of bladder products that are helping. I jogged today, for instance, with no issues, and trail rode in the mountains last week with nary a problem. That’s been a long time in coming.

Back to truth infiltrating fiction: When I first drafted Dime Box, I had Michele experiencing female hormonal issues that had escalated from the story in Fighting for Anna (I’ll humiliate myself some more and write about the tie-in for those someday soon). But after my health scare, on rewrite six-weeks later, her issues expanded into something closer to include what I had just gone through. I won’t spoil the ending, but suffice it to say that Michele should have been listening to the warning signals of her body. And that she endures feeling the unsexiness of the leakage issue, just as she’s embarking on her first relationship since the death of her husband Adrian.

Why would I do this to poor Michele? Because, basically, I try to make my protagonists real women. And what could be more real for a woman than these issues we all go through that are humiliating, uncomfortable, and can be quite serious? We don’t like to talk about them, but man-oh-man can we relate to how difficult they are and how much they can damage our self-esteem. Yet how far into denial we go about them, because they make us feel old and less than vibrant and desirable. In other words, including them helps me beat up on my protagonists by adding an authentic dimension of pressure into their lives at the same time as they juggle relationships, work, and whatever the problem (or dead body) du jour is.

Just like you and me.

Or, in this case, mostly just like me. LOL.

So, while it isn’t fun for me to disclose this stuff about myself, I think it might help some people. If you’re one of them, here’s some of the remedies I’ve used in battling my down-there problems. We can assume Michele did the same some time after Searching for Dime Box wrapped, too. 😉

(blushing) You’re welcome.

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Phew, we’re almost through the summer of book releases, and we now even have a 2-month break. So I’m not even going to talk about my books! Yay!

Eric and I are back in Wyoming where I am fighting off the excesses I’ve indulged in since I blew my diet change back at our daughter’s wedding in June. Just in time for our youngest daughter to visit this week. (I must stay strong, I must stay strong!) I’ve wrapped up 30-days-of-praying-for-Eric’s-happiness and have rolled into another 30 days.

The side effect of praying for his happiness is that he is happier. More confident. And feels loved extravagantly. That has resulted in a lot of closeness between us.

Uh oh. You know what that means.

So anyway, we were in Jacksonville for our very hard two weeks of helping his mother transition to a memory care facility and staying in her empty house. There are two bedrooms in that house in which multiple people have reported multiple male ghost encounters. Unpleasant ones. My husband is one of them. Separately, and before they had told each other about it, our oldest son had an encounter. As a result, we try never to sleep in those bedrooms.

We’ve never had an issue in the bedroom we stayed in this trip, and I thought of it as our sanctuary while we were there, because, frankly, the house scares me.

One night while we were . . . enthusiastically close . . . I saw a shadow in the hall outside the sanctuary bedroom. Because the bedroom is “safe,” I waited to tell Eric. We both blew it off and went to sleep, although we agreed it was the ghost. A few hours later, his phone started playing “Story of a Girl,” a 2000 song by Nine Days. At full volume, which I barely heard because I have these amazing anti-Eric-snoring earplugs that have preserved my romantical feelings about him. Anyway, it was a fire drill as we tried to figure out how to turn it off, because he doesn’t have that song on his iPhone. We checked and no apps were open, so it wasn’t playing from a Facebook video or anything. Finally, we just swiped up and saw it was the current track playing in his shortcuts, and I turned it off. And it disappeared and wasn’t on his phone anymore. Not then, not now.

So Eric thinks the ghost is fond of me and was sending a message . . . and paying us back for disturbing him. For your enjoyment, here’s what our poltergeist treated us to:

A few good ones to end on:

Wedding pictures are in!

Robert-frickin-Dugoni, y’all:

A picture of a picture taken in Jacksonville: My husband and his family, long ago on St. Croix, USVI. And he wasn’t lacking in self confidence then, either. Yep, the one on the far right with the great hair and bare feet. Oh my gosh, I love this man!

Have a good one.

 

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Friends, I need your B&N Nook and Apple iBook pre-orders on Love Under Fire, and I need them now. And…it’s only 99 cents. PLUS, the proceeds go to PETS FOR VETS, along with you getting 21 romantic mysteries. Help me reach the USA Today bestseller list? ORDER NOOK HERE. Please. Or ORDER iBOOKS HERE. Bonus: send proof of Nook or Apple purchase to stephanytwrites@gmail.com and get 19 additional free books!! (Really!)


Great interview last week: #1 NYTB Susan Mallery! And this week I interview #1 Amazon bestseller Robert Dugoni. Pinch me!


Vote for me! Head out to see the cover and tagline for Buckle Bunny in the Love Under Fire tagline contest, HERE.


Our two weeks in Jacksonville with Eric’s mother has come to an end. We’ll be back for the holidays, hopefully with all our kids and their significant others. God willing, she’ll recognize most of us. And even if she doesn’t, that she enjoys the present with “strangers” who love her.

It was a tough time. For her, always. For me, worrying about everyone. For Eric, facing life without parents. A life most of us eventually face. She’s here, but she’s not the mother he knows, most of the time. Alzheimer’s/dementia is a cruel beast.

At the airport on Sunday, I was due to fly back to Wyoming, Eric to fly on to Dallas for work. Meanwhile, my parents had extended their stay at our Wyoming Snowheresville, and they offered to care for our animals this week. I changed my flight and accompanied my sad husband on his work trip, where I now will finish Sick Puppy (Maggie 2). I made great progress on it in Jacksonville, but, in the end, I canceled many work days for a better cause: family. That’s okay. I extended my schedule by one week, pushing everything back through November and into December, to accommodate it.

When we got here, we discovered our Jeep is sick. With NO AIR CONDITIONER, and it is HOT in Dallas. Oh well. Welcome to Hell, right?

And that’s all I’ve got this week.

 

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Pamela's Latest Blog

  • Touching Allowed
    by Pamela on December 7, 2018 at 2:05 pm

    I mentioned last week that I am into the tactile when it comes to grounding myself in character. I’ve worn a big ass, bold labradorite ring while writing Maggie (below). For Michele, I wore a diaphanous white linen gown. Katie was all about yellow and pink “sleepy sheep” pajamas. For Ava, I wore a triskelion [... […]

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