The Widow’s Walk is celebrating its sixth birthday!
During the late summer, I was pleasantly surprised to receive a contract renewal from Debbie Gilbert of Soulmate who is both my publisher and editor. Debbie heard my pitch at a Connecticut Romance Writers chapter event in 2013 and accepted the manuscript which was published November 11, 2014. And I’m honored that she still believes enough in it to keep it on the Soulmate Publishing list.
It’s hard to believe so much time has passed, but I still absolutely love the cover which was done by Christine Caughie.
The Widow’s Walk was my first long fiction publication, followed by Breakwater Beach in 2016 and Storm Watch in 2017. And even though The Widow’s Walk was published first, it wound up being the second book in the series.
Many of my beta readers loved the dual timeline stories of Elizabeth and Edward and Liz and Mike, but wanted more about how they met and fell in love. So Breakwater Beach was born, and became book one in the series.
I hadn’t intended to write two novels, let alone three, but while sitting on the real Breakwater Beach one summer morning, a fisherman was sitting in his grounded boat waited patiently for the tide to come in. (For privacy reasons, I waited until he was out of sight to snap the image)
He reminded me of Mike, and the character Sandra intruded and insisted I write Storm Watch. Her character was more fully developed, but she is still insisting on Book Four, which is in progress.
And the first paragraphs of Storm Watch turned out to be set on Breakwater Beach, featuring Mike and Sandra setting up the ominous story line. Here’s a teaser revealing the more about Sandra Kensington, the main character in Book Four, which will also be a dual timeline, dual life novel.
The boat teeter-tottered on its keel as Mike climbed aboard and settled into a seat. Reassured by the glimmering water rippling in to release him from bondage, he readied his fishing gear. Chants of “ohmmmmm” from morning beach yoga carried in the breeze. At least that was connection with living spirits, as opposed to the dead, stale vestiges of lives ended too soon who were unable to give up and let go.
A woman out for an early morning walk grew larger and larger. Her broad brimmed hat dipped so low over her eyes he couldn’t see her face, though her skinny legs, matchstick arms, and pigeon chest were unmistakable once she’d emerged from the glare. That, the jangling earrings and the purple and pink broomstick skirt hitched up and secured with a silver belt.
“Good morning, Mike.” Always oppositional, Sandra was headed out when everyone was on their way back.
“Where’re you going, Sandra? Tide’s coming in.”
She flipped up the floppy brim and grinned. “I’m headed over to check on Harley.”
The Whaler rocked in the surf. “Should be ready to roll in about twenty minutes. I’ll give you a ride over.”
Sandra didn’t break stride. “That’s okay. I’ll be sitting on the beach with the old buzzard before you even pull up anchor.”
They were both oddballs: He, wearing a Red Sox cap, a scruffy beard, a black tee shirt showing a bit of belly, while sitting like a bum in a beached boat. Sandra, like an escapee from a Harry Potter novel, headed over to check on a ninety-six year old hermit who lived on a dune that was cut off from the mainland at high tide.
They were Cape Codders, lifers who’d weathered many bad storms. She had to know he planned to empty and secure his traps, get the Whaler to Paine’s Creek on the high tide, and out of the water in the event even one of those storms took the predicted track. Just like he knew she was trying to get Harley to safety.
If those hurricanes were as strong as predicted, all of them and their tragic past lives legacies would be broken apart and buried in the mud like a bunch of poor, old crabs.