For a Short Time

Front Cover
Lachesis Pub, Apr 19, 2010 - Fiction - 303 pages

 Keri has no idea who she really is anymore.

Raised in the Midwest, where catching frogs and shoveling manure is common practice, then spending several adult years traveling the country and hob-nobbing with celebrities and the elite, Keri returns to her roots. She now lives in her sister`s basement, wondering just who she really is anymore.

After a peculiar meeting with the Quinn cousins, Keith and Jeremy, Keri is determined to capture Keith`s attention. An actor, a tall, compelling man, elusive, even abrasive at times, Keith is particularly intriguing to a woman like Keri who is accustomed to capturing the heart of any man she`s ever wanted. Yet it was Jeremy, the humble cabinet-maker and owner of a misshapen dog named Scalawag, who leaped into a bon-fire to rescue a scrap of an old coat that had sentimental value for her.

Following two episodes with the facial disorder, Bell`s Palsy, and after Jeremy has moved out of state, possibly to run from his heartbreak over her, Keri finally realizes not only who she really is─but who she needs to become.

But is it too late . . .

About the author (2010)

 I’ll always be a country girl at heart. Growing up on a small farm in Wayland, Michigan was a surreal experience; our excitement consisted of such things as riding a bow-legged cow named Raisin, sitting in the crow’s nest of a magic apple tree and reading comic books, or building leaf forts and Koolaid-Machines. There were also less interesting adventures. Wading in Rabbit River was a perfect way to get leeches stuck between your toes, and pouring salt on them was about the only way to get the nasties off your skin without damage. Then there was crawling through the muck fields, picking potato bugs off of dad’s crop (chemicals were too toxic) and plopping the bugs in cans of gasoline. Ick…Yet I still found time to write goofy plays that my sisters and neighbors would act out beneath the boughs of the huge maple trees rimming the yard of our humble farm house. That’s when the writing bug really started,and continues to this day. Our magic apple tree (sniff) is long gone, as well as the potato bugs (yay)– but stories fill my head nonetheless. My hope is that the oddities of my life have lead to an originality in my stories that people will connect with and love.

Bibliographic information