New Release and Two Free Books!

Over the past few years, I was a part of a Rockford writing club called the Prompt Club. It was the brainchild of Mary Lamphere, who not only compiled the list of prompts for the year, but also scheduled our meeting times/places and printed folders and bags for the members.

Despite it being called the Prompt Club, I don’t think I was ever on time. The one time I was, I had the night wrong. #soitgoes There were such talented writers in our club! It was very inspiring to be around such a group.

At any rate, three years of Prompt Club times twelve 1000-word stories a year adds up, and I had over forty short stories languishing away on my flash drive, where they’re not entertaining anyone! I write humorous articles quite a bit, and five of my stories ended up being published in the amusing book series “Not Your Mother’s Book” a few years ago. I have two in NYMB on Sex, and one in each of the following categories: Parenting, Family, and Being a Stupid Kid. Some of the funniest stories went on my blog as well, the Life and Times of Poopwa Foley. However, I also love to write paranormal, creepy stories and had many, many of those too.

I assembled my favorites and bought a cover from Go On Write. Fun fact—I ordered a cover from them last Thursday at 1:42 p.m. I received the completed cover ready to go THREE MINUTES LATER—not kidding! Check them out!

The Amazon fairies did their magic and published my collection of short stories this past Saturday. It’s called “Weird, Wicked Tales…Creepy Stories for All Hollow’s Weird, Wicked Tales - High Resolution - Version 1Eve.” I have gotten great feedback from early readers, and I’m really excited about the stories. Take a look for yourself, if you’re in the mood for some spine-chilling tales!

If that wasn’t enough, I have made Baylyn, Bewitched (a mystical, magical witchy romance) free for the Halloween season. Why? Because Halloween is so friggin awesome, that’s why! Baylyn, Bewitched is a book I co-wrote with my sister, along with the second book called Cat, Charmed. We had a blast co-writing and are proud of the finished books.

41j-aIQTHsL__UY250_Another book I wrote is free today and tomorrow. It’s called Knew You’d Come, an erotic time travel/paranormal novella. This story is near and dear to my heart because it contains several things that make me happy…time travel, ghosts, romance, and of course, hot, smexy times.41zTJz4riFL__UY250_

A tiny sample:

She transcribed the recording but the typed up transcript of the conversation came off as frightening. Creepy. The tone and timbre of his voice, however, had been patient. Kind. Loving, if a little perturbed. Oddly, she had felt exhilarated hearing his voice. It had sounded so familiar to her and lit a flame in her that she had not even known was there.

That was frightening.

Then there was the fact that she wanted to hear his voice again.

That was frightening, too.

But the quiet joy in her heart—the little voice in her head that whispered “You found him. You found him, finally.”

That was the most frightening of all.

This All Hollow’s Eve, get your scare on. Try my book of creepy short stories, Weird, Wicked Tales. If that’s not up your alley, give Baylyn, Bewitched a try. If you’re looking for something smoldering hot, grab your copy of Knew You’d Come.

Happy Halloween!

Happy Halloween – Here’s a Free Read!

Alls Fair_Love & Warlocks_Updated_Cover

“Why the hell am I here? Why me?”

“Talking to yourself, even for a witch, is generally thought to be a bad sign. Unless you’re casting a spell.”

Adanna jerked her hand away from the thick, wooden door handle and glanced over her shoulder at the person who was speaking. The curtain of her hair obscured her view somewhat, but she saw enough to know she did not recognize the handsome warlock with thick, dark hair and gray eyes. At least, she assumed he was a warlock. Most covens frowned upon making their otherworldly selves known to humans, even though they all lived in the same world.

“Not casting a spell. Do I know you?”

“Probably not.” He offered his hand. It was a human custom, but most were.

“Anton Burke. I’m from New England. Salem, to be exact. Weather’s certainly nicer here at this time of year.”

Salem. Humans, of course, were obsessed with the town, as so many (non) witches had been executed there, several centuries ago. It was a particularly troubling period in their history. And witches, despite their disdain for humans, were just as enthralled with the area.

“It’s pretty mild in Savannah, with the exception of July and August. Your coven is the one that’s taken over all of New England, isn’t it?”

Something akin to a grimace darkened his face but did not dim his handsome features. He had the kind of rugged good looks that screamed bad boy, the kind that caused red-blooded women to tumble into his bed and ask questions later. Her grandmother’s lessons to always read people before interacting echoed in her head. She pushed away the memories, the reminder of who she was, what she was.

“Yeah. It’s easier that way, I guess. So many small covens; it just wasn’t, you know…”


He smirked. “Economical. Hard to support all those mini empires. Made more sense to create one mega-coven. More money, more control over issues and stuff.”

“I heard your coven now stretches all the way to South Carolina.”

“You sound suspicious.”

Adanna shrugged. “I’ve belonged to the Savannah Coven my whole life, and we’ve always been pretty small-town. Seems hard to believe all those covens were willing to be swallowed up by Big Brother, so to speak.”

“Times are changing. Most of the covens were run by older witches. They were tired, wanted to retire. And there aren’t enough marked Supremes to take their places. What else were they supposed to do?”

Adanna raked a hand through her long locks and focused on steadying her temper. Why it flared at the mention of the conglomerate of covens along the east coast, she had no idea. What did it matter to her if an abnormally larg group of witches and warlocks wanted to band together under one Supreme? Everybody knew witches needed someone to manage them, or at the very least, help when they ended up in hot water, which happened more frequently than it ought to.


Like it so far? Keep reading by downloading the rest from Amazon – FREE – only until Friday!

All’s Fair: Love & Warlocks

All's Fair_ Love & Warlocks

Happy reading & happy Halloween!


Tami Lund Headshot 2014


Tami Lund writes romance, drinks wine, and wins awards. If you want more, check out her website:


Do the weird thing. Life is fra-geel-ay.

IMG_20161114_112851311_HDRBecause I am a nerdy geek, I did a nerdy, geeky thing with my sister, Jenny. To begin celebrating the holiday season, we took a five hour car trip to Cleveland Ohio, where we went on a tour at the house where the holiday must-see movie A Christmas Story was filmed! We had no idea what to expect. Would it be cheesy? Embarrassing? Would there be only one person there besides us? As it turned out, it wasn’t cheesy or embarrassing at all but in fact far more nostalgic than we ever dreamed.IMG_20161114_112909033~2


They charge $11 per person for the tour, and in our group there were fifteen. The tour guide said that the closer it gets to Christmas, the lines and groups are incredible—approximately twenty to twenty five people per hour all day long, with lines around the block. The tour guide was knowledgeable and told us entertaining, behind the scenes information. For instance, the snow wasn’t real! Watching the movie now, would you have ever been able to tell? Also, Darrin McGavin, who played the furnace battling father, is the only one who got royalties from the movie!

We stood on the landing where Ralphie wears the horrifying pink bunny outfit. That was a dream come true. The tour took us upstairs, where we saw the phone Ralphie’s mom used when she made the phone call that got Flick in trouble. As a matter of fact, when you pick up the phone, you can hear a recording of the conversation. The bedroom Ralphie and Randy shared was open for viewing, as was the bathroom where Ralphie solves the “drink more Ovaltine” puzzle and where he is also punished by having to hold a bar of Lifebuoy soap in his mouth. IMG_20161114_113145721

We saw the kitchen where the Bumpus’ dogs demolish the turkey, where mother hasn’t eaten a hot meal in nine years, Randy eats like a little piggy, and where he later hides under the sink because he thinks Daddy’s going to IMG_20161114_113343260kill Ralphie. We also went outside into the back yard where Ralphie has his imaginary shootout with Bad Bart and breaks his glasses. Let’s not forget the most important thing of all…the crate containing THE leg lamp.

When the tour was over, we were allowed to enter the Christmas Story museum and see costumes and props from the movie. We found out there were six different Red Ryder BB guns used in the movie. There were lots of pictures of behind the scenes filming—fans of the movie would love it.IMG_20161114_115709099~2

We next went to the gift shop. My Discover card is still rather warm to the touch from our shopping. I mean, they had everything you could hope for in souvenirs. I bought a t-shirt, a leg lamp ornament, and horrid red Christmas sweatshirts that features the leg lamp on them and says “Fragile”, which I forced my long suffering husband to wear not only to Christmas with the family, but also to our corporate Christmas party. We needed to get our money’s worth out of them before they’re put away for the season.

The highlights of our trip were many. We talked about kids, writing and husbands. I was informed that I snore, but “very lightly.” I might have misheard because I was pretty high on painkillers from a dental procedure. And we were eating potato chips in the car when driving out to Cleveland; my sister misjudged how quickly a toll gate would come down. It turns out it comes down VERY quickly. It hit the top of her minivan and cracked off. We spit out chips and cough-laughed for almost an hour over that, calling ourselves Thelma & Louise (but in sensible shoes). We also had dinner at the Cheesecake Factory, which was awesome. I got a piece of Lemon Raspberry cheesecake and if that wasn’t a Christmas miracle, I don’t know what is.

All in all, this was one of those unusual trips that turned out to be so much more fun than we ever imagined, and we’re already planning our next nerdy geek adventure.

A day in the life

You may or may not know (or care) that I’ve spent the last two years self-publishing a series as Marci Boudreaux–my sweeter self. I chose to self-publish because in the span of just a few months, three–THREE–indie houses I was with closed and left me with rights to almost all my books.

I didn’t want to deal with that again, so I ventured into self-publishing. And I loved it, but it is a lot of work and there isn’t that feeling of acceptance that comes with having a publisher (even a small one) believe in your writing. Recently, I decided to try my hand at the submissions game again.

And I immediately remembered why I hate this effing game.

Rejection is the real name of this game. Constant, unwavering, soul-crushing rejection. If you are lucky, you get a kind word to go with the form letter…if you get a form letter at all. Many editors and agents just don’t respond if they aren’t interested, leaving you hanging on to a thread of hope that they just haven’t read your manuscript yet and will be reaching out at any moment to tell you that you are brilliant!

After a recent string of rejections from agents and publishers, I confided in a friend that I feel like maybe this isn’t “my path.” Like maybe, I’m not cut out for this after all. I have thick skin, I know rejection is the norm and acceptance is the high we authors are addicted to and always seeking. I know all this.

But I guess I’d forgotten out hard it is to hear “no” ten times in a row and keep believing in yourself.

That sounds pouty, doesn’t it? Maybe it is. Maybe I am pouting just a little (maybe even a lot), but bear with me. That’s also part of this process we authors go through. Rejection stings. Even when you are prepared, even when it is part of the game, even when you know you should wear it as a badge of honor to prove that you’ve tried.

burnout [Converted]

Rejection. Hurts.

But we have to keep believing that we are talented. That if we keep working hard maybe more people will buy our books. That someday a big publisher or agent will see that we do have something to offer.

I’ve asked myself more than once during this particular rejection cycle why I keep going. Why do I keep banging my head against this wall?

Because I believe in myself. Because I know I’m talented. I know I have something to offer my readers–even if I haven’t found the right agent or publisher–I have wonderful readers who always say nice things when I meet them at book events or chat with them online.

Maybe I won’t ever be rich or famous or even more than moderately successful, but I have to keep trying. Because this is my path. I didn’t choose it. It chose me. And I’ll keep walking it until I get to the end.

I just hope that end isn’t another brick wall to bang my head against.

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Publication date: January 17th 2017
Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Romance

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The perfect shade of red.

There are hypochondriacs, then there’s me. I live on a whole other plane of existence.

“Are you sure it’s a pulled muscle?” a slithery voice asks me, when I’m sure that the reason my shoulder is sore is because my wild boar of a dog yanked on his leash. “Are you sure it’s your gall bladder?” it asks, when I have a stomach ache, but I’ve already had a scan that shows significant gallstones, a surgical consult, and a scheduled date for surgery.

“But are you sure?”

Because it’s not enough to constantly worry about the aches and pains that come with being 50 and menopausal, I also have a big side order of anxiety deluxe.

Other people: My leg hurts. If it keeps up, I’ll go to the doctor and have it looked at.

Me: I have a blood clot, and I’m going to die.

Other people: Geez, what did I eat today? I have terrible indigestion and gas.

Me: I’m having a heart attack, and I’m going to die.

Other people: Boy, this is a terrible headache. I’ll take a couple of Tylenol and it should subside.

Me: I have a brain tumor, and I’m going to die.

You may be noticing a pattern. My counselor calls this catastrophizing. I call it “Monday.”

I joke about my health anxiety. I have to, in order to stay sane. There are several tricks I have in my arsenal now to get through the day. Sometimes the fact that I get through the day without calling my doctor in a panic or speeding to the ER is a major feat.

Sound generators (ocean waves, white noise, tubular bells, etc.) help as well. Recognizing ANTS (automatic negative thoughts) tends to defeat intrusive thoughts. Watching funny videos is always good too, especially the little clips I have of my little grandchildren. Watching American Housewife. (looking at you, Katy Mixon.)

Occasionally, though, I get an A plus in imagination and creativity when it comes to my anxiety. For instance, the other night I was battling for space on our bed with our pig of a dog, and when he finally laid down, my covers were pulled down. Since the light was still on, I was able to see a giant reddish bruise right between my boobs.

Cold fear shot through me. I couldn’t remember injuring myself, so obviously, the only reasonable thing to conclude was that I was bleeding internally. Lips numb with fear, I wet a piece of the top sheet and rubbed at it, and it disappeared. My tired but still slithery brain said that I was just dissipating the blood, and I was quite confident I’d be dead by morning. I decided against calling the ambulance just then.

Morning came and the alarm went off as usual. After I took a shower I noticed the bruise wasn’t there anymore. I had been given a reprieve and was going to live, temporarily at least.

After lunch I brushed my teeth in the bathroom at work, and just for shits and giggles, decided to look and ensure the bruise was still gone, just in case I should forget entering sales and begin writing my obituary. I pulled up my shirt and to my absolute horror; the bruise was back, only bigger. And redder.

I hyperventilated for only a minute or two while I was wetting a paper towel, just in case a wet paper towel was good for curing internal bleeding.

Funny thing, though, once again it disappeared. Not only that, there was a red stain on the paper towel.

Wait just a gosh darn minute.

It was then that I remembered that while I was getting ready the day before, putting on makeup, a small chunk of red lipstick had crumbled off the tube and dropped. I hadn’t found it on the bathroom floor.

However, my bra caught that small crumb of lipstick right between my boobs, where the warmth melted it onto the inside of my bra, where it caused a big, red “bruise”.


I let out a high pitched giggle. I wasn’t about to die, after all. I could put off writing my obituary and instead write this article.

Thanks for the welcome to Love, Lust, and Laptops!!

Welcome the latest addition to LLL!

Guys!! We at LLL are so very excited to announce author and margarita drinker extraordinaire Christine Cacciatore is going to be joining us as a regular blogger! Stay tuned! Her first post will debut on Monday!


If you aren’t familiar with Chris’s work, you have homework this weekend!!!  Check out her exciting list of books and learn more about her now!

Go, go, go!

But not before giving her a big welcome and waving hello! And maybe having a drink to celebrate.

Welcome, Chris! We are so happy you are here!