Wassup Wednesday? Modogamous Release!

Wassup Wednesday? Modogamous Release!

IMG_2261_voteFor today’s Wassup Wednesday, I have author Karen E. Martin talking about her new release, Modogamous!

A bit about Karen…

Karen E. Martin, M.Ed. is a full-time freelance writer/editor. She has been in the publishing business since 2004, working on books and publications for major and independent publishers, universities, businesses, and private individuals. Prior to entering the field of publishing, Ms. Martin worked as a Senior EFL Fellow (English as a Foreign Language) for the U.S. Department of State in Romania, a Junior EFL Fellow for the U.S. Department of State in Jordan, and a teacher-trainer for the U.S Peace Corps in Mauritania, Jordan, Romania, and Morocco. Ms. Martin served as a Peace Corps volunteer for two years, teaching English in the Errachidia Province of Morocco.This is Ms. Martin’s first novel.

Welcome, Karen!


Hi, Francine! Wassup???

I thought I’d share a little tidbit from early on in the book. It’s no secret that a pug factors into this story somehow. Today, I’d like to invite readers to find out more this cute little guy’s role. Enjoy!



Kate closed the front door behind her and slumped against it with relief. It had been a long, long day at work, and all she wanted to do now was sink into the bathtub and enjoy an evening of peace and quiet.

Unfortunately, there was about to be Drama. In the form of a wiggling, wagging, hysterically barking, incredibly ugly, slobbering little chunk of a dog.

And it was jumping on her.

Kate’s satchel crashed to the ground and she shrieked. Evette came tearing around the corner, wild-eyed, and rushed to grab up the yappity ball of fur. “Kate, stop it, you’re scaring him!”

“I’m scaring him? That thing nearly gave me a heart attack! Vetta, why the heck is there a dog in the house?” Kate scowled, crouching down to gather up the things that had spilled out of her bag onto the floor.

“What?” she batted her eyelashes. “You knew I was getting a dog. I told you.” Evette feigned a look of innocence, but Kate knew her well enough to read the mix of confidence and guilt that lurked just beneath the surface. Evette was the kind of gal who preferred to ask for forgiveness, rather than permission. It was one of the traits that Kate loved best about her friend—except when it was used against her. This wasn’t the first time she’d been the victim of some such stunt by Evette, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

“When?” demanded Kate, crossing her arms in front of her chest with an exasperated look. “When did you tell me you were getting a dog?”

“The other day at the café, at breakfast.” Evette cuddled the quivering little pug close to her chest, rubbing her own nose against its tiny black one and making soothing shushing sounds. “Awww, precious, did big bad Katie scare you, my widdle angel?”

Ugh, baby talk…revolting! “Oh, come on. I didn’t know you were serious with all that stupid talk about modogamy. We were just humoring you.” Kate gauged Evette’s expression at zero percent humor.

“Maybe it was all just funny talk to you, but I was dead serious. I’m through with men. It’s just me and Drama from now on. And anyway, it’s too late to take him back to the shelter now,” she said defiantly.

“Drama?” Kate raised one eyebrow.

“Yes, Drama. That’s his name.” Evette offered the pup in Kate’s direction, but Kate flung up her hands and backed away, the revulsion on her face reminiscent of a new father facing his first poopy diaper. Then Kate threw her head back and laughed until her sides started to ache.

“Well,” she gasped for air between snorts, “with a name like that, he should be a perfect fit for you!”
Evette flounced out of the room, taking her furball with her.


Click here to buy MODOGAMOUS now!

Also… Click here to join in the Modogamous Holiday Hop Giveaway to win a fabulous Swag Pack full of prizes! The Swag Pack winner will receive a signed copy of the paperback, tote bag, coffee mug, Christmas ornament, and more!  Additional prizes include a copy of the e-book, a signed paperback, and a limited edition, signed art print of the book’s cover art.


ebook final cover 11.30.2013Kate Adams has it all figured out. Five years out of college, she’s got a steady job, a home she loves in the big city, and good friends who always keep her laughing:  her stylish but nosy roommate Evette, happily-married Cecie, and of course, good old Mitch, her seriously cute co-worker who’s been stuck in the Friend Zone since the day they met.

Everything is going just fine—until the night Kate crosses the line with Mitch, and the boundaries between friendship and love begin to blur. Things get even more complicated when hunky JP enters the scene. What’s a girl to do? Add to the mix a spunky little pug Kate never expected to fall for, and her neatly-ordered life is starting to look more like a dog’s dinner.  Maybe her roommate has the right idea after all:  forget the men, and stick with a canine companion instead.

It’s time for Kate to figure out what she really wants in life. But can she dig her way out of the mess she’s created before she ends up permanently in the doghouse?

Contact Karen about writing, publishing, and literature by using the links below:




162762_2662032389151_5076510_nLet’s connect! Find me on Twitter and Facebook, and email me: francine@francinelasala.com.

Five for Friday: Brea Brown

Five for Friday: Brea Brown

breaglassesIt’s Five for Friday time again and I’m delighted today to be welcoming one of my favorite authors–and favorite author pals–back to the Shed!I know Brea Brown via Facebook mostly (Twitter less–much, much less). She’s one of the most supportive writer pals I have. And she’s funny. Have I mentioned how funny she is? Because she is. I loved her Daydreamer and I’ve started to read her beloved The Secret Keeper series. She’s a talented storyteller and you will love her books.Brea and I also wear glasses. At least in pictures. And we feel this is a real bonding thing… I’ll give you a minute to reflect on that. Yep, that’s how how simpatico we are. Because isn’t the very definition of “simpatico” someone you can be a idiot with? In any case, I swear I will meet her one day! Before then, here’s how I connect with Brea, and it’s just how you should, too:

Here! Connect with Brea!



Twitter (She loves Twitter dearly; she’ll be delighted!)



I live in Springfield, Missouri, where nothing ever happens, so I make things up in my head. My published books are Daydreamer, Quiet, Please!, Plain Jayne, and the Secret Keeper series (The Secret Keeper, The Secret Keeper Confined, The Secret Keeper Up All Night, The Secret Keeper Holds On, and The Secret Keeper Lets Go. Stop by my website for links to my books, a peek at my blog, and a glimpse of my Tweets (that’s right… hubba hubba). I’d also love it if you stopped by my Facebook page and said hi. I’m on there. All. The. Time. I have three boys, a very understanding husband, and a crush on several celebrities, including Colin Firth and The Man in the Yellow Hat.


1. For those who aren’t familiar with The Secret Keeper (TSK for us lazies) series, can you tell us what inspired you to start it–and what keeps you writing it?

Some people inspire others to tell them their secrets–from the silly and superficial to the deep and dark. One day, I was lamenting the fact that I seem to be one of those people on whom others like to dump all their dirty laundry, and I got this flash of inspiration about a fictional character with this same problem, only with more humorous results and with huge secrets of her own. In the case of my protagonist, Peyton Stratford, I made her family the biggest offenders of these crushing confessions, and instead of having Peyton turn to a therapist for guidance, I thought it would be more interesting–and certainly less conventional in this day and age–for her to seek support from a Lutheran clergyman… a very young, handsome, personable clergyman. I keep writing the series because I love writing about characters whose public personae rarely hint at their private lives, and people assume things about them that aren’t true or that are based on stereotypes. I’ve had a great time molding characters who just happen to be Christians in the context of true-to-life situations and dilemmas that often seem to have very little to do with faith and spirituality. This is not Christian fiction; I don’t have a “message” I’m trying to force on readers. I’m really just exploring what it means to be a person of faith (and I think it translates to any faith) in a society that seems to have less and less use for the concept.

2. What are you doing when you’re not writing or reading?

Sleeping? Ha! Seriously, when I’m not at my full-time day job or sleeping, I’m reading and writing. Occasionally, I take breaks to eat and do the things required of me as a parent and wife. As for what I do for “fun,” I still have a few friends who haven’t written me off as obsessed with imaginary people, and I get together with them occasionally to eat, drink, and be merry. I also have a mild (okay, it’s insatiable) addiction to British TV shows, particularly period dramas and series. Oh, and I love professional American football. Go Chiefs!

3. Can you give us some background about this excerpt you’re sharing?

In the excerpt, Peyton has become desperate enough with her current situation to seek the help of someone in touch with a higher power. Not a therapist, not a psychic, but a pastor. Unfortunately, she underestimates how awkward it can be to tell a man of God something as personal as what she feels compelled to tell him.

4. If TSK became a movie or TV series, who would star–and why?

Now, see… I hesitate to reveal these names, because I’m a firm believer that readers need to have the freedom to picture whomever they want when they read about my characters, but I have very strong feelings about who I see when I write the books. And I absolutely HATE when Hollywood casting doesn’t coincide with who I’ve pictured in a book as I’ve read it. That being said, I’m going to risk readers’ wrath by revealing who I picture when I write the books. And it’s really okay if readers don’t see the same people, but I don’t want a bunch of indignant messages about it, m’kay? There are no wrong answers here!

In my head, Peyton Stratford is Emma Stone…
Peyton S.
And Brice Northam is Matthew Lewis (have you seen him lately???).
M Lewis Pastor Shirt
Of course, I’ve cast all the other characters, too, but I won’t bore you with the long, scrolling credits.5. What’s next for you? Can you tell us about your current WIP? Give us a little taste?I’ve just finished the first draft of the next book I hope to publish. I originally wrote it more than a year ago; I asked some beta readers to read it; they very diplomatically told me they didn’t like it; I agreed it was crap; I put it aside and wrote two Secret Keeper books; I picked it back up and started over. It’s been challenging but rewarding. I still have a ton of work to do on it before it’s ready for publication, but here’s the elevator pitch: A male nurse named Nate with an inferiority complex and a love for chick lit finds out the woman he’s recently started dating writes chick lit but is too afraid to publish it. He gets roped into being the face of the author when the books are self-published under a male pen name… and his picture is used–unbeknownst to him–as the author’s photo. Readers love the books, and he becomes the new face of Indie publishing with “his” outspoken views about the publishing industry. Meanwhile, all is not well between Nate and the real writer of the books… And that’s all I’m willing to say about it for now. I’ll be posting a cover reveal and sneak peek on my web page as I get closer to publication, but I don’t have a timeline for any of that yet. Soon, though. Very soon.
BONUS: Say I’m coming to Springfield for one night. What are we doing?
Well… I’m hardly a lady-about-town here, but I’d definitely take you to my favorite restaurant, a lovely establishment called Farmer’s Gastropub, a traditional English pub owned by a real Brit (in Springfield, Missouri!) who makes everything from locally grown ingredients. The atmosphere is great, and there’s usually at least one rugby game playing on the TVs mounted high on the walls.  Then I’d take you downtown to visit many of the places that inspired the settings in The Secret Keeper series. Then after we’re really silly, we’ll go to Bass Pro Shops (Springfield’s not known for much else) and take crazy pictures of each other with the stuffed, mounted animals. Hopefully, none of this would end in charges of disturbing the peace or the need to be bailed out of jail. So, when can I expect you?
How about next Tuesday? Thanks, Brea! A pleasure, as always!
Don’t forget about following Brea all over the Internet:
Twitter handle: @BreaBrown
And buying ALL her books! Look, here they all are. In one fancy ribbon!
Book Ribbon 8 books

And here’s an excerpt from the very first TSK book!

This is not going to be easy. Of course, no part of this entire experience is going to be easy. But this is going to be especially difficult.

I smile at Marilyn, the church secretary, when I catch her staring at me… again. She’s no doubt wondering why the heck I’m here to speak to Pastor Northam. I’d imagine that anyone under the age of sixty who goes out of his or her way to meet with him is in a sticky situation. I mean, isn’t prayer typically a last resort? Yes. For most people. Myself included. But I need divine help.

After returning my smile, Marilyn checks over her shoulder, nods, and informs me, “Pastor’s ready to see you now.”
I stand on wobbly legs, feeling like someone who’s wearing high heels for the first time in her life. After walking through his open office door, I stop abruptly, not sure what to do next or what to say.

He rises from behind his desk and offers me his hand. Young and fairly new to the church, he replaced the minister who passed away two years ago after more than twenty years with our congregation. I haven’t had much one-on-one contact with him, because, honestly, I’m not very involved at church, other than attending most Sundays (and that’s only because I go to the same church as my parents, and I’d rather not be lectured about one more thing). Based on some of the things he’s said in his sermons, I like him well enough, and I appreciate the forward-thinking direction in which he’s trying to take the church, despite some members’ best efforts to thwart him. I’m not in the habit, however, of just dropping by to have chats with him, so I’m nervous, complete with jittery tummy, dry mouth, and shaking hands.

He notices right away and acknowledges my unusual visit. “So! This is a nice surprise. What brings you here?” He gestures for me to take a seat on the sofa and sits next to me, instead of keeping the desk between us.

“I don’t have anyone else to talk to about this.” As soon as the words are out, I hear how terrible they sound and blush. “I mean… my friends haven’t been much help, and I really need help.”

He chuckles at me. “Okay… Um… I get what you mean, I think. So relax.”

Relieved, I nod. “Sorry. I’m just… My parents always taught me that when I needed help, I could talk to my pastor, but I’ve never had to…” I trail off, not sure how to finish and also mortified that I sound half my age.

“…use this lifeline before?” he finishes for me, his eyes sparkling.


“I take it you’re not here to complain about the type being too small in the bulletin or the music becoming too contemporary, then.”

His joke actually makes me laugh. “No,” I confirm his assumption. “I don’t care about any of that.” Quickly, I correct, “It’s not that I don’t care, it’s just—”

Patting my arm, he consoles, “Shh. It’s okay. Take a deep breath for me.”

I do. Because you do what your pastor says. At least, you do when he’s sitting right there.

After I’ve settled down somewhat, he remarks, “You know, times like this, I think the Catholics may have the right idea with the confessional booth. I mean, logically, the confessor knows, ‘That’s Father So-and-So in there,’ and the priest knows, ‘That’s Suzie So-and-So out there,’ but it’s psychologically easier to talk to a screen. Don’t you think?”

When I nod into my lap, he urges, “Why don’t you just tell me what’s on your mind?”

Suddenly, I don’t think I can do it. And I’m afraid I’m going to chicken out and lie to my pastor about the reason for my visit. Only the knowledge of how truly terrible that would be keeps me honest. Or silent, more like.

I gulp. He waits. And waits. And waits.

Eventually, he rises and returns to his desk. “Tell you what. I’m going to do some stuff over here. And if you feel like telling me, go ahead. I don’t have any other appointments this afternoon. But I do have to work on this sermon that I’ve procrastinated on all week.”

When my head snaps up, he asks, “Is that okay? I mean, I don’t want you to think I don’t care, but I feel like it’s too much pressure, or something, with me sitting there waiting for you to talk.”

“It’s fine,” I answer automatically, too shocked to say anything else. Anyway, I’m not offended. Just surprised.

After a few minutes of neither of us saying anything and the only sound in the room being his typing and mouse-clicking, he queries, “What’s another word for ‘hopeless’?”

“‘Despondent’?” I supply, feeling the picture of it.

He thinks about it before nodding. “Yeah. That works. Thanks.” He goes back to typing furiously.

“I’m nearly ten weeks pregnant.”

His fingers slow on the keys, but he doesn’t say anything right away. Then he looks up at me. I have no idea what his opinion of my revelation—or me—is, based on his expression. “Oh. Hmm.”

“And I’m not married,” I prod, helping him to see part of the problem (the smallest part, in my book, but probably not in his).
“Yeah, I know that,” he says dismissively, tapping his cheekbone.

Now I feel an odd impulse to try to get a stronger reaction from him. “And I don’t have a boyfriend.”

He sits up straighter, but his expression remains passive. “Do you know who the father is?” he asks as if he’s inquiring if I know who invented the cotton gin.

“Of course!” I snap. “I’m not that horrible.”

Unruffled, he states, “Well, there are no degrees of sin. It’s not a matter of better or worse. Simply… sin.”

“So I should have gotten my money’s worth, huh?”

He laughs. “Uh… I guess you could look at it that way.”

“I’m just kidding,” I make sure he knows. I definitely don’t want him to think any money changed hands, on top of everything else. “Anyway, yes, I know who the father is. No, we’re not in a relationship. No, he’s not the kind of person I want to be in a relationship with. No, he doesn’t know I’m… you know.”

“Was this… act… consensual?”

I nod, feeling more ashamed than ever. If only I could say otherwise. You know you’re in a bad way when you wish that. That’s just sick.

“If you don’t particularly care for this person, why’d you have sex with him, then?” he asks bluntly, making me blush.

“Well… I… Uh…” I stammer.

He shakes his head. “Never mind. That’s not important.”


My face must have that question written all over it, because he qualifies, “I mean, it is, and it’s something that you should probably pray about, but it’s not anything I need to know to help you.” Taking a deep breath and shooting me a shaky smile, he asks, “How can I help you, by the way? I feel like I’m being anything but helpful with all my stupid interjections.”

Now I find myself reassuring him. “You’re okay. I’m the one who’s being weird. I schedule an appointment to talk to you; then I get here, and you have to drag it out of me.”

He shrugs. “It happens.”

“Anyway, I guess I just needed to tell an authority figure.”

Looking over his shoulder then back at me, he points to himself and says, “Who, me?”


And here’s some praise for the writing of Brea Brown!

 “Ms. Brown is a gifted author with a unique voice and a talent for portraying true-to-life characters who find themselves landed in true-to-life situations.”
–KATHLEEN IRENE PATERKA, author of the James Bay novels and Royal Secrets.
“Like the rest of you I love to sleep, but I decided to forego that and read this book.”
–Rev. Denise V. Fournier
“It’s very hard to write any kind of storyline around organized religion without coming off as either preachy or patronizing, but Ms. Brown does neither here. What a wonderful, complex story, full of characters that are REAL, with foibles and depth.”
–Claire Matthews
“Brea Brown is the kind of writer who inspires me (also a writer) to always give my best. TSK is captivating. At times laugh-out-loud funny, at other times heartbreakingly sad, it’s the kind of book you hate to see end.”
–Martha Reynolds, author of Chocolate for Breakfast and Chocolate Fondue.

162762_2662032389151_5076510_nLet’s connect! Find me on Twitter and Facebook, and email me: francine@francinelasala.com.