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Kally Masters
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756 followers
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I've made the decision to revert to the original sexier covers for books 1-4 in the Rescue Me Saga. This means these four covers will disappear. We still have a VERY LIMITED number of them in paperback and when they sell out, they will be gone. But I know a number of you preferred the original covers, so you'll be happy to see those coming back soon. We'll begin the transition for the e-books next week! The sexier covers won't be available in paperback in the Kally Swag Store until January, tho. If we haven't sold out of these, we will ask those ordering copies to specify which cover they prefer for each. We have no plans to change the covers of the other books in the series or of ROAR at this time.

You can get all of these books and others at my Kally Swag Store: www.kallypsomasters.com/kally_swag
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My December newsletter is going out today. I’m going to make a special advanced announcement about something coming up, as well as share other news with you! If you're not already on the list make sure to follow the link below and get signed up before this afternoon.

www.kallypsomasters.com/newsletter 

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You do NOT want to miss out on the 12 giveaways I'm doing from Dec. 1-12 on Facebook. And good news! You haven't missed out because we're drawing ALL the winners on the 13th, so get over there and enter. ONLY your first entry per day will be considered, so please, just one per day. Half of the prize postings are up now! Just go to https://www.facebook.com/KallypsoMastersAuthorPage and scroll! Oh, you have to like that page to be eligible, too!
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Hey, if you also follow me on Facebook, speak to and hear from spirits of loved ones who have passed over (or like reading stories about that), love Contemporary Romance novels, or just want to see what I'm up to lately, check out this group. https://www.facebook.com/groups/230459307384354

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Pie baking day! Last night, I baked my mince and cherry pies, and earlier today it was the pumpkin and pumpkin-chess. All that's left is four pecan pies.

For the pumpkin and pecan, I go with the classic recipes (found on jars and cans!), but I wanted to share what I call my pumpkin-chess pie recipe in case you want to try it for yourself. Pumpkin haters as well as pumpkin lovers alike love this pie. Here's a pic I took this morning while the pie was still bubbling just out of the oven.

1 cup sugar
1 heaping tbls. flour
1/2 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 tsp. nutmeg
1/2 tsp. ginger
2 tbls. pumpkin (not the pie filling kind, but pure pumpkin)
1-1/4 cups cream (I use heavy whipping cream, but you can also use Half & Half or a mix of the two)

Preheat oven to 350-375 degrees

Mix dry ingredients together. In a separate bowl, mix the eggs, yolks, and pumpkin together. Mix both dry and wet ingredients together. Add cream. Pour into pie shell. (Do NOT use deep-dish pie crust.) Bake for 1 hour.

You can easily double this recipe for two pies at once. 
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Today's date has always meant one thing--the day President Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas. When I quit writing around midnight, I went downstairs to watch a movie I'd borrowed from my sister (Mary 1) called PARKLAND. Very moving (based on the Vincent Bugliosi book "Four Days in November") and grieved again. I was only 5 years old when he was killed--and I was too young to be able to tell you where I was--but I vividly remember my dad lining up his five daughters in front of the TV Nov. 25 to watch the funeral, telling us this was history. (I didn't know what history was then either!) We were an Irish Catholic family, but I think his death touched the lives of every American.

I've had a fascination with the Kennedys ever since. In the 70s, I read every biography I could get my hands on. I had fantasies of one John John or one of Bobby's sons falling madly in love with me. (Sometimes things work out for the best just the way they are!) And when I went to DC in 2009 for the Inauguration, I spent 5 hours the Sunday before walking around Arlington Cemetery on a bitter cold day--and one of the graves I paid my respects at was President Kennedy's.

But I just wanted to share that before I head into the writing cave for about 30 minutes before I head up to a tough oncology appointment with me sister, Mary 2. Fortunately, Mary 5 will be there, too.



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Working with Charlotte on an ad for this week encouraging new and old readers alike to reread the wonderful Thanksgiving story that is the first section of MASTERS AT ARMS in my free book and remembered it's Meme Monday, so when I went looking among my Marine-related pics, found this one. Not the image of Karla and her mom in that section, but I though it was cute for #MemeMonday anyway! If YOU haven't read that section, or need a re-read, download it free everywhere using the links at http://kallypsomasters.com/master-at-arms-nobodys-angel/.

Here's a bit of the opening scene about a grieving Marine and teenaged runaway who converge in a bus station on the eve of Thanksgiving in 2002.

Masters at Arms (copyright Kallypso Masters, 2011)
Section One: Adam
Night before Thanksgiving 2002, Chicago, Illinois

Joni, you were my anchor. I’m lost without you.

Adam Montague slumped into the seat at the terminal, hoping to catch a couple hours of sleep before his bus left. He looked around Chicago’s busy travel hub and saw the autumn decorations scattered every five yards or so. Apparently, going for the homey Thanksgiving look. Not even close. Just another shithole bus station, no different from the ones he’d seen a lot of during his early years in the Marines.

Twenty-two years. He’d survived the First Gulf War in 1991 and a deployment to Kosovo in ’99. Just when he and Joni started planning for his retirement, some damned assholes attacked the United States, the country he’d sworn to protect and defend. So, he’d put off turning in his retirement papers until he could see how Operation Enduring Freedom went. He’d serve as long as he was useful and needed.

Adam had been deployed to Kandahar twice since 2001. His first tour ended with a medical leave earlier this year after a clusterfuck of bad intelligence led one of his recon units into an ambush with disastrous results. He’d gone in after them and gotten only a few of them out unscathed, but he’d lost two good Marines and managed to get himself injured in the bargain.

So, he’d been home at Camp Pendleton with Joni more than a month last winter as his body had healed. Now he wondered if she’d known about her cancer back then and kept it from him. Would it have made any difference if he’d known? He’d have been sent back to war, and she’d still have had to fight the disease alone. She’d known the deal when she married him. While he was active duty, she’d have to take a back seat to whatever conflict he’d been sent to fight in the world.

His last tour had ended with his hardship leave two months ago when Joni’s mother had finally told him Joni’s cancer had come back with a vengeance. He hung his aching head and held it in his hands hoping the heels of his hands would quell the throbbing in his temples.

Memories of walking into that bedroom in Minneapolis two months ago flashed through his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it out, but the sight would be imprinted in his mind forever. God, the disease had so ravaged her body by the time he got home, he was afraid to touch her. Then her frail hand had patted the queen-sized mattress and he’d crawled into bed with her and held her in his arms while she sobbed.

Adam raised his head and wiped his hands down his face. Numb. He felt numb, whether from losing Joni or from the two-week bender, he wasn’t sure. Probably a bit of both.

He guessed his unit was out of Kandahar by now. Sounded like Iraq would be next on their dance card.

Bring it. I got nothin’ left to lose.

Fuck! Stinkin’ thinkin’ like that would get the Marines under him killed. He wasn’t mentally ready to go back, but his orders were to report Monday. He hoped he’d find the intestinal fortitude he’d need by the time he reunited with his unit.

A cornucopia cutout hanging from a fluorescent light fluttered when a blustery wind blew in from the open doors. Joni had always taken so much pride in making their home festive for the holidays. She especially loved Christmas, even though it was just the two of them, well, when he wasn’t deployed. She even kept her nativity set and some other favorite decorations displayed all year long for whenever he did make it home. Not that he paid much attention to that. He’d just been happy to see her, hold her, love her, and make up for lost time.

So damned much lost time.

What the hell was he going to do with all that stuff now? He’d call her mother and tell her to do whatever she wanted with it. He had his memories and a few photos—and her wedding ring. Shit, he hoped Joni had gotten rid of their playthings before she’d moved in with her mom. Well, nothing he could do about that now.

Camp Pendleton—or wherever he would be sent—would be his home until he retired from the Corps. He hoped that, by the time he got back in country, whichever Marine Area of Responsibility that would be, he’d have shaken off this black mood that matched the frigid black night outside.

In a way, he couldn’t wait to get back. Combat and military life, he understood. What stumped him was cancer. Fucking cancer. Nothing in his tactics or weapons training prepared him to help Joni fight against the insurgent that destroyed her body.

Not that she’d even wanted him to help her fight the disease. By the time she’d let her mom tell him about the recurrence, she was given a month at best. She’d managed to hold out for a couple weeks longer than that estimate.

God, his eyes burned. He rubbed them with a thumb and forefinger, then lowered his hand and clenched his fist. Damn it, he should have known sooner.

Joni told him she saw no point in pulling him away from a place where he could make a difference, just to sit by her bed and watch her die. She’d figured he’d have gone stir crazy with the helplessness of not being able to do anything to change the unalterable outcome.
He’d kill for another bottle of scotch right now. He looked at the wino passed out on the floor across the room. Adam thought about offering the man a wad of money for whatever he had left in the brown-paper wrapped bottle he clutched to his chest with both arms like a lover.

Adam had held Joni in his arms for the last time, just like that, as she had slipped away from him forever. Before she died, two days short of their twentieth wedding anniversary, she’d assured him she wouldn’t have changed a thing in their years together.

Hell, he’d sure have changed a few things.

Togetherness wasn’t the best word to describe their marriage. She’d lived with him on base when he wasn’t deployed, and they had eight years together after the end of the Gulf War and before he’d been sent to Kosovo. Then came Afghanistan and he hadn’t been home much since.

They’d talked about the good times they’d had in the ’80s and ’90s when he hadn’t been deployed to combat zones. Their Dom/sub power exchanges had been total then. But that had been impossible to sustain while deployed.

Fire burned the backs of his eyes. Joni never wanted him to take his focus off the military missions to deal with her “little problems.” Like the time she’d totaled the car. She’d taken care of everything herself. He’d been deployed, of course. As always, she’d handled everything perfectly. Except she hadn’t told him. Said she was afraid he’d be upset about the car. Hell, he didn’t give a shit about the fucking car. He’d just been worried when he heard how close she’d come to being killed.

All of the times she’d needed him—from when she’d held their stillborn son in her arms in 1991 to when she’d fought her last rounds of chemo and radiation this past summer—he’d been fighting battles elsewhere. Long deployments in too many hot spots in the world had come before her more often than he’d wanted. Hell, he’d barely made it home in time to watch her die.

Joni, I’m so fucking lost without you.

[Embark on the journey of a lifetime in the opening section of Rescue Me Saga with one grieving Marine and the teenaged runaway about to storm into his life and change everything forever. Download your FREE copy today of MASTERS AT ARMS & NOBODY’S ANGEL at http://kallypsomasters.com/master-at-arms-nobodys-angel/.]

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My two youngest sisters came to my place yesterday for some deep cleaning and OMGod, this place looks great. Well, the rooms anyone is going to see on Thanksgiving, anyway. Still more to go, but I think I've come to the realization I need to have a maid to keep up with it. LOL How about you? Do-it-yourself cleaning, or do you hire help? If hired, how often do they come? And what do you pay? Inquiring minds want to know!

No time (or relatives) for a deep cleaning? Here are 10 tips to make your place presentable for guests without doing a major project! http://www.thekitchn.com/10-tiny-steps-to-get-the-house-clean-for-thanksgiving-213412

I got in three good 20-minute sprints this morning with Annalise Delaney. I still need 808 to make my goal (which includes about 500 words leftover from yesterday), but time to get back to cleaning. Have to load up my car with stuff to give away to the local community center clothing and household goods bank. AND I'm having lunch at 2 with Charlotte to sign a set of books and go over whatever else needs doing. She gets some more stuff, too! Tomorrow, my two youngest sisters are coming over to help with the deep cleaning, since I hope to have cleared some room by then! What are YOU up to today?

I'm in exile from Facebook (which keeps deleting my posts). So, who else on here is doing #NaNoWriMo this month? And how are you doing?

I'm right on target, altho I did get derailed a little last week along with the rest of the country, I think. I'm Kallypso Masters there, if you want to buddy up.

Novel: JESSE'S HIDEOUT
Genre: Contemporary Romance (with a ghost--light PNR)
Length: 60-75,000 (probably--I can never predict)
Current Manuscript Count: 31,820
November NaNo Word Count: 27,611

Still need 722 words to make today's goal. Off I go to do that before supper! As you can see by my posts here, I'm having fun with the history of Jesse James (along with some folklore about the man), but he isn't the ghost in the story. I have a matchmaking grandma spirit (the hero's grandmother). This is book one in a new series I've tentatively called Bluegrass Spirits. 
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