I thought I'd said goodbye to these characters, but they started speaking to me again. Now before you put a cray-cray label on me, you have to consider the fact that writers are a strange breed. We stare out of windows or at the ceiling, scribble notes for hours--even talk to ourselves. And we're not delusional or schizophrenic. We're writers! Can I hear an "Amen' fellow authors? (If you still need
proof, my husband and family can attest to the veracity of this too).
While I'm not sharing the title just yet, (you're gonna love it), here is a teaser to the next book in my "When The Fat Ladies Sing" cozy mystery series. Still writing. Having the greatest fun.
Spinning. The room twirled in circles, like an out of control merry-go-round. The nausea didn’t take long to kick in after that, and I soon found myself knee-down on the bathroom floor, “driving the porcelain bus,” as my best friend Sue Jan was fond of saying.
After a few frantic knocks at the door, Hudson burst into the bathroom, worry in his voice. “Lovita, what’s wrong? I heard—“
But I was too busy tossing my cookies to answer my husband. Hugging the toilet, I tried to answer, but the contents of my stomach had other ideas.
“Oh, Honey, you’re sick?” He turned on the faucet and ran cold water over a clean washcloth. Wringing it out, he waited till I was done, then handed it to me.
Though my stomach was still doing somersaults, I looked up at the face I adored and said “Thanks,” forcing my mouth to turn up into a weak smile.
Clothed in a navy blue suit, I couldn’t help admiring his masculine jawline, sleek dark hair and intense baby blues locked onto me. Dressed in my favorite green plaid pajamas and a white robe, no makeup and crazy bed-head hair, I was certain my complexion emanated it’s own peculiar shade of complementary green. “You should keep your distance.” I pointed to his suit. “I-I don’t want your clothes to get all messed up. You’re on your way to work.”
He shook his head. “I don’t care about my suit.”
“But you care about your client. You have to be in court.” I fought back the rising tide of nausea. “That important case you told me about--”
“Maybe you ate something that didn’t agree with you.” He snapped his fingers. “We had those grilled peppers and Italian sausages at Sue Jan and Monroe’s last night. They were a bit too greasy for my liking. I’ll bet that’s it.“
“Oh no . . .” With the mention of peppers and greasy sausages, my poor stomach couldn’t hold out another second.
I glanced up as soon as I was able.
His brow furrowed. “Sue Jan’s a good cook, but you’ve been following a vegetarian diet for a while. Maybe you shocked your body eating those greasy . . .”
Palm to the sky, I pleaded. “Stop! Honey, please---please don’t mention that again.”
“Sorry.” He cocked his head to the side. “I hope and pray you don’t have food poisoning. I’ve had that before on a mission trip and—“
I swiped at my face again with the washcloth. “Hudson.”
He grimaced. “Sorry again. I didn’t mean—I shouldn’t have mentioned . . .” He turned and ran some cold water at the sink and handed me a fresh washcloth. “Can I—uh, can I get you an antacid or some water or something?”
“I wonder if you have a temperature?” He opened the medicine cabinet and peered in. “Where’s the thermometer?”
“No, I don’t think I have a temp. But you need to listen.”
Intent on finding the thermometer, I knew his mind was focused on the search.
“I’m really sorry I mentioned that food to you. What was I thinking?” He poked through the contents of the cabinet. “I don’t see the thing. Do you have any idea where it could be?”
I lifted myself to the edge of the bathtub, sat down and sighed. “Hudson, I guess this is as good a time as any to tell you.”
He spun around and came to my side. “What is it? What’s wrong? I should have helped you up. What kind of husband am I?” He knelt down and pressed the fresh washcloth to my forehead. “Tell me what?”
I touched his cheek. “I don’t have a temperature, silly. We’re going to have a baby.”
Okay, that's it. No more looking. You'll have to wait for the book to come out. Which reminds me, I'd better get back to writing it.
Linda Kozar is the co-author of Babes With A Beatitude—Devotions For Smart, Savvy Women of Faith (Hardcover/Ebook, Howard/Simon & Schuster 2009) and author of Misfortune Cookies (Print, Barbour Publishing 2008), Misfortune Cookies, A Tisket, A Casket, and Dead As A Doornail, (“When The Fat Ladies Sing Series,” eBooks, Spyglass Lane Mysteries, 2012). Strands of Fate released October 2012 (Hardcover/Ebook, Creative Woman Mysteries) and her nonfiction title, Moving Tales, Adventures in Relocation, released in 2013 (Indie-Published). She received the ACFW Mentor of the Year Award in 2007, founded and served as president of Writers On The Storm, The Woodlands, Texas ACFW chapter for three years. In 2003, she co-founded, co-directed and later served as Southwest Texas Director of Words For The Journey Christian Writers Guild.
In addition to writing Linda is Lead Host of the Gate Beautiful Radio Show, part of the Red River Network on Blog Talk Radio—interviewing Christian authors from Debut to Bestselling, airing the 3rd Thursday of every month. She and her husband Michael, married 24 years, have two lovely daughters, Katie and Lauren and a Rat Terrier princess named Patches.
Represented by: Wendy Lawton, Books & Such Literary Agency
Member of: CAN (Christian Authors Network), RWA (Romance Writers of American), WHRWA (West Houston Romance Writers of America), ACFW (American Christian Fiction Writers), Writers On The Storm, The Woodlands, Texas Chapter of ACFW, Toastmasters (Area 56) The Woodlands, Texas, The Woodlands Church, The Woodlands, TX.
Linda’s Website: http://www.lindakozar.com
Gate Beautiful Radio Show: http://www.blogtalkradio.com/search?q=gate-beautiful
Babes With A Beatitude: http://www.babeswithabeatitude.blogspot.com
Bookish Desires: http://bookishdesires.blogspot.com
Cozy Mystery Magazine: http://cozymysterymagazine.blogspot.com