I was logging onto my Yahoo account, minding my own business, when an article about Yellowstone caught my eye. Since my current writing project centers around an eruption of Yellowstone, obviously I had a professional obligation to read said article. And then read every article linked within said article. I even understood most of it, though the unit “microstrain” must have been invented since I graduated with my geology degree in 1989.

Many folks, when I mention Yellowstone, say something like “Oh, it’s so beautiful there, I can’t wait to go back,” or “Visiting Yellowstone is on my bucket list.” The eruption concept of my series fuels a few to admit worry about impending volcanic activity at the USA’s first national park. (They get an A for even knowing about the possibility. I recently had a reviewer who actually asked in the middle of the review if Yellowstone was really a volcano. As if I would invent that plot twist, and as if he/she couldn’t have answered that question with a five-second online search. Definitely not a geek.) For those of you now scratching your heads, here is a list of key talking points about Yellowstone. If you have geek-like tendencies, you might want to know more, which is why I’ll tackle some of these as single topics in 2015.

1. Yellowstone is, at its essence, a volcanic caldera. That’s why it’s hot and steamy, like a great romance hero.

2. The potential of Yellowstone is massive. It is part of an elite club known by commoners like us as super-calderas. There is no firm definition of what constitutes a super-caldera, but to even apply to the club, a volcano must have emitted in a single eruption at least three hundred cubic kilometers of stuff. (Picture a solid block with each edge long enough to reach from New York City to Baltimore, Maryland.) Some scientists hold the bar quite a bit higher, at one thousand cubic kilometers. Yellowstone has done all that and more, so it’s a gold card carrying member.

3. Volcanoes are just local events, right? Wrong. Remember the volcano in Iceland that screwed up air travel in Europe for several weeks in 2010? During it’s troubling second phase, it ejected one quarter of one cubic kilometers of stuff, or a cube with edges equal to something like the long side of a city block in Manhattan. That is a trifling sneeze compared to a super-caldera (see point 2.)

4. Yellowstone will probably not erupt, and is much more likely to do so in a small way, like a tiny garden wedding as opposed to the mass weddings of the Unification Church.

5. Though even Yellowstone isn’t monitored as overwhelmingly as curious scientists would like, we’ll probably have warning signs of a massive eruption, so as long as you have a go-bag for the southern hemisphere, you’ll be fine. Or you’ll at least survive longer than the rest of us.

6. Of course, Yellowstone isn’t the only super-caldera to worry about.  There are at least six known on Earth. If any one of them cuts loose in your lifetime, buckle up.

Curious enough to dash down the path of geekdom? Here’s the article that got me meandering into this blog post in the first place, or you can follow my blog so you know when I post the next fact-filled blast.

And here’s a link to my Pinterest board where I collected images for my series. There are some really impressive photos of volcanic eruptions! I definitely want to see an active volcano in person some day, though I hope it is one that is sort of gurgling along, like Kilauea, not a super-caldera with the potential to end life as we know it.

SETUP OF THE SCENE

Lily is a college freshman giving swimming lessons to kids when she sees a very handsome guy watching in the stands. She’s so unsettled by his good looks and his focus on her that she even lets one of her students, Andy, slip underwater for a second.

EXCERPT

“There he is,” Andy said, pointing down the hall.

My mind was barely processing the “he” instead of “she” when it went into free fall as I watched the guy in the Bribury polo move down the hall toward us, his eyes on Andy.

And then they turned to me.

He was even more gorgeous up close, and as he moved closer still, I felt that hitch again—like I’d gone underwater without first holding my breath.

“That’s my brother, Lucas. He’s picking me up today, because my mom…” Andy was saying. I got the vitals: Lucas—brother. Andy might have said more, but by then the guy—Lucas—had reached us.

“You looked great out there, A. Really comfortable in the water. How’d it feel?”

Andy’s little chest puffed up. “Good. Better.”

Better? Had there been a problem before? Sheesh, some instructor I was.

“That’s good. That’s really good. See, I told you it would get better.”

Andy was nodding, his fair hair wet and shaggy, droplets falling onto the back of his sweatshirt. Freddy never did help the boys with stuff like their hair in the locker room.

“Did you see me go under?” Andy asked, pride in his voice. Like it wasn’t me who’d let him slip out of my hands.

“I did. Very brave. Way to conquer, my man,” Lucas said. He wasn’t looking at Andy now, but at me. With a look that said he knew exactly how Andy’s fear had been conquered.

“Yeah, you were right, Lucas. Nothin’ I couldn’t handle.” The words were spoken in such a way that I knew that was how they’d been sold to Andy.

“This is Lily. My teacher.”

I held my hand out, but Lucas had just put his hand-shaking hand on Andy’s shoulder. He just nodded in my direction. “Lily,” he said slowly. “Thanks for taking such good care of my guy.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice.

Andy was puffing up again—obviously loving that he was Lucas’s “guy.” But I barely noticed; my brain had gone semi-dead when Lucas said my name. His voice was smooth and deep. And dark. So, so dark.

In high school, I snuck into the school pool really late at night, had the place to myself. I did that from time to time, just to get away. I never swam, though—I was too much of a goodie-goodie to break that much of a rule. Plus the whole safety thing stopped me. But one night, after a particularly galling scene of listening to my father berate some poor flunky on the phone, I did go in.

I dove from the high board in just my bra and panties. No lights were on, and when the water swallowed me up I was cocooned in deep, wet darkness. It was disorienting, scary, and exhilarating all at the same time.

That’s what it felt like when Lucas said my name.

“I’m supposed to get some information from you?” he asked me. “Like how he’s doing? Stuff to work on?”

There was a tiny bit of vulnerability in his voice, which was in contrast to the sheer physical confidence he seemed to exude.

His eyes—brown, a deep, lovely shade of brown—darted between Andy and myself, and I realized he was uncertain.

“Yes,” I said, summoning all my father’s bullshitting skills. “Andy is indeed becoming more comfortable in the water, and that is leading to increased confidence in his abilities. I think that our next session will show even more improvement.”

Lucas was nodding, but his eyes—so expressive, those brown pools, when the rest of his face was impassive—sparked with skepticism.

Yeah, people always knew when my father was bullshitting them, too.

“In the meantime,” I pushed on (sadly, my father’s daughter), “you could work with Andy on his floating. Easy to do in the tub. A few minutes on his back, then a few on his front, with his face to the side to breathe.”

“We don’t have a bathtub,” Andy said.

I saw Lucas clench the hand that wasn’t resting on Andy’s shoulder.

“We’ll figure something out, buddy,” Lucas said. Andy looked up—way up; Lucas had to be six-three—and grinned at his older brother. That grin said Andy truly believed that Lucas was capable of creating a bathtub where none existed.

Hell, maybe he was.

“We need to get going, buddy,” Lucas said, turning Andy toward the exit. They started walking away. After a couple of feet, Andy turned and said with his lopsided smile, “Thanks, Lily, see you next time.” He waved his little hand, his sweatshirt too large for him, the sleeve almost swallowing him up.

“You bet, Andy,” I said. My hand was still raised in a wave when Lucas turned around. His gaze was intense again. My hand froze where it was—midair, mid-wave.

“Thank you,” Lucas said so softly I wasn’t sure if he’d actually spoken the words or mouthed them. “Lily,” he added.

That word I heard. All the way through my body.

END OF EXCERPT

Oh yeah, she is definitely hoping to see more of Lucas and so are you. You can find In Too Deep at the following vendors.

Amazon                       iTunes                    Kobo                     Google Play                Barnes and Noble

To keep in touch with Mara, visit her website at www.marajacobs.com and her Facebook Page at https://www.facebook.com/pages/Mara-Jacobs-Author/141802575897824.

Mara and I welcome your questions and comments. Stop by next week for another first meeting excerpt on First Sight Saturday.

SETUP

After being kidnapped while on assignment in Afghanistan and forced on sabbatical, war correspondent Beckett Reid follows his friend into a Paris apartment for a party. The noise is too much for Beckett, so he climbs up to the roof where he meets Everly, an American heiress with demons of her own.

EXCERPT

“You want to get out of here?” I’m not sure why I bother. She doesn’t trust me enough to even share her name.

Her shoulders shake in a small shiver and her feet stop swinging. She breaks our staring match to gaze back out over the city.

Around us, life continues. Things move forward. But the two of us are suspended, waiting.

“I wonder what it would be like to fly,” she whispers. She doesn’t say any more, doesn’t answer me. She just throws out a question like that and lets it sink into the darkness between us with its uncomfortable heaviness. Her hands grip the ledge and she bends forward, her weight resting on her thin arms. She looks as if she might push off and test her question, like she believes for a minute she has wings.

“What would your last thought be if you fell?” She nods toward the street below, suggesting a fall from this building—a fatal fall.

Her face is a mask of peacefulness, but I know the truth. I’ve spent too many years reading people. Too many years deflecting other’s opinions of me and my circumstances. The boy with the sad story.

“There wouldn’t be time,” I say. “It would be over before it even began.”

“It wouldn’t have just begun.” She faces me, the corner of her mouth tipped up in a smug smile. Her fingers run through her hair, tussling it until I smell her perfume—pears and vanilla. “Sure, I’ll go for a walk.”

I don’t want to leave with her anymore but I don’t think I should leave her alone either. Her question still rings in my mind and the damnedest thing is that I can’t think of an answer.

I pull out my phone to text Ollie that I’m bailing when she grabs it away.

“What are you doing?

My hand flexes as I push down my temper. “Texting a friend.”

As I soon as I explain, she shakes her head, a dry laugh pushing over her lips. “Of course.” She waves me off, then hands it back to me. “Sorry.”

Obviously she’s a bit skittish. And untrusting. I should head out without her, but I can’t when she looks at me again. There’s too much about her I don’t know. She spins around, crouching on her haunches, nothing behind her except a yawning distance between this building and the next. And the street far below.

I wait, stuffing my hands into my pockets, fighting back the urge to hand her down from the ledge. She’s not the type to want help. I’m not the type to offer. Usually.

But when she swings her legs out to step down, her knees graze the brick. The knobby curve of one beads with blood, her skin scraped raw.

She’s quiet, staring at her knee as if she can will it from bleeding. I’m not sure why I do it or why I care, but I step forward and lift up the edge of my T-shirt and press it against her knee, soaking up the blood. She keeps her head tucked down and her hands at her side as I inch closer. My free hand settles by her hip, her hair brushes against my arm.

“What’s your name, pet?” My words are barely a whisper.

Her fingers hover above my hands on her knee. I keep my eyes anchored there as she slowly entwines them with mine. That spark people talk about when two people touch—apparently it’s not a heap of shite because it happens and I don’t know what to do when it does. I don’t know anything. Why I’m here with her. Why we’re not kissing. My name.

“Everly.”

Buy Links: (Everly After is available for pre-order and will be released on October 21.)

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Rebecca and I look forward to your questions and comments. Come back every week for a new first meeting excerpt from a fresh author on First Sight Saturday.

I wish I’d experienced a true college romance. I had a couple of boyfriends but always seemed to start the relationship about a month before the end of spring semester and by fall the long distance killed the spark. For the guy, not me, which meant I’d wasted my whole summer pining for a boy who lost interest by July 4th.

What’s special about a college romance? I picture sitting together at football games, studying on a dorm bed, holding hands as you walk across the leaf-strewn quad. Something about being part of the student population but also having that one special flame burning, that one face you really hope you see as you walk into the food court/library/post office.

As a consolation, I’ve started the ideal college romance in my newest release Eruption. Violet, the main character, experiences many of the benefits of an autumn boyfriend. Until the Yellowstone volcano erupts. And that interrupts her love story in a whole different way than summer break.

You can learn more about Violet here, and if you want a chance to win your choice of some Eruption swag, sign up for my newsletter at www.jillhughey.com/contact before September 27.

Hope you continue to enjoy the Fall Into Romance blog hop. Don’t forget to enter the Rafflecopter for a chance to win a $75 Amazon gift card.
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To find all the authors on the Fall Into Romance hop, visit www.hopswithheart.blogspot.com

EXCERPT

I glanced around the room again, in the midst of a minor panic attack and, seeing my bike, remembered the first time I’d ever talked to Boone, for real. Last September, on a gorgeous Saturday evening, I’d taken my old bike—a heavy blue Neanderthal compared to my Giant—for a quick spin to escape the freshman roommate from hell who’d gotten high, or drunk, or both—in the middle of the afternoon, no less—and drained her cell phone battery with sobs to her hometown boyfriend. When I tried to be sympathetic, her wordless snarl told me she didn’t want my support, though I’d tattled to our RA on my way down the hall. I really didn’t want to return from biking to find my cray cray roomie dead from an overdose.

After my responsible escape, I’d ridden four or five miles out of town then looped back on the country roads. At the first stoplight, a biker came toward me on the perpendicular street. He nodded at me and looked away then looked back at about the same time I recognized him. Boone freakin’ Ramer. The unexpectedness both jazzed and horrified me. Hotness, all to myself, yes, but he was seeing me in a helmet, sports sunglasses and a water bladder backpack.

“Hey,” I said.

He wore sunglasses, too. The reflective orange lenses hid his eyes, but not his frown. “Aren’t you a freshman at Western Case?” he asked. His voice was nice, not crazy deep but definitely masculine, and he spoke with a slow cadence, in no hurry at all.

“Yeah,” I said. Scintillating. Brilliant.

“What’d you think of the game?”

“What game?” I scooted my bike farther onto the shoulder of the road as a car cruised past.

“The football game. Today. At home.”

“I don’t follow sports much. Was it good?” Those maddening mirrored glasses hid everything. His extended silence couldn’t be a positive sign.

“Are you lost?” he finally asked.

I glanced around. “I don’t think so. Do I look lost?”

His self-deprecating smile thinned his lips but showed no teeth. “No, sorry, most students only ride far enough to find beer.” He moved his head in a way that suggested he was checking out my gear. “I should’ve noticed you weren’t dressed for a grocery run.”

“I only did about ten miles,” I said with a shrug.

“Twice what I can do on these hills.” He grimaced.

I slid my sunglasses off my sweaty nose. I didn’t like not seeing his eyes and hoped he’d show me his if I showed him mine. I used the maneuver as an excuse to check out the rest of him. His biking shorts were loose, like gym shorts, accentuating awesome, tight calves. The top half of him didn’t disappoint, either, with the thin fabric of his shirt plastered over his pecs. He was respectably muscled, not over-juiced like Bodacious.

Hot. Ness.

“New to biking?” I asked.

“Rehabbing my knee.”

“That sucks.”

“Yep.” He finally removed his sunglasses to wipe his forearm over his ruddy face.

“What happened?” I indicated his leg with the tip of my chin.

His quick glance registered surprise before he gave the same odd little smile. “Oh. I was a quarterback for the football team. Took a low hit at the end of last season.”

I squinted at his leg. “Wow, those scars are tiny.”

He prodded at a shiny pink dot on his hairy skin. “The doctors in Pittsburgh are some of the best.” He sounded tired, or sort of downcast.

In an unusual moment of insight, I said, “Was today the first game since?”

“Yep.”

“I’m guessing you didn’t play?”

He looked down the street, away from me, then at the road cinders at our feet. “This is the first fall I haven’t played ball since I was six.”

“Wow. I can’t think of anything other than, you know, the basics like breathing I’ve been doing for that long.”

He smirked.

“Docs wouldn’t clear you?”

“They did. I didn’t.” He picked up the front of his bike by the handlebars then set it back down. “When the mom who drove you forty miles round trip for midget practices and the dad who wrecked his shoulder passing the ball back to you both say it’s time to quit….”

“Sounds like your parents are good at mind-jobs, like mine.”

He smiled a little more cheerfully and I smiled back, glad because he’d been cruising toward miserable. Just the image I wanted to create—here’s the sports ignoramus who can totally bum you out in thirty seconds flat.

“They let it up to me in the end. I made the right decision. It’s not like I have a chance to go pro. I’ll be able to walk when I’m forty, maybe throw the ball with my own kid.” A shrug bunched the muscles at his shoulders. Another shadow of doubt passed over his face.

“The bike’ll be good for you.” Again with the brilliance, as if some millionaire orthopedist hadn’t already told him about biking. Duh.

“I can go farther in Nebraska. Fewer hills,” he said. He reached for the water bottle attached to the down tube of his bike, and I could almost see him shaking off the blues. “Where are you from?” His green eyes bored into me with unanticipated curiosity.

“Indiana. We have hills but not like this.”

“Why do you ride?” he asked after he’d finished taking a deep drink from the Copperheads Football bottle.

“Um, mostly ’cuz it feels good. I mean, it helps me to clear my head.” It feels good? Really, did I say that out loud?

“Endorphins,” he said. “Though I could do without the bugs smacking me in the face.” He tucked the bottle in the cage and pushed his sunglasses back on. “Wanna head back?”

“Sure.” I slid my own glasses on and clipped one foot into a pedal.

We stood on the corner, ready to launch, each waiting for the other to lead.

“You go ahead,” he finally said with a chuckle.

“Is this a test to make sure I’m not lost?”

“No.” He grinned. “My mama taught me ladies go first.”

I rolled my eyes, checked traffic and pushed off, thanking God my other biking shoe clicked neatly into its bracket.

“Clips,” he said from over my left shoulder. “You’re brave.”

“Power on the upstroke and downstroke,” I said.

“Or instant death the first time I tried to stop.”

I laughed. “I practiced in my front yard for awhile. If I can do it, anyone can.” I shifted into a lower gear for the gentle climb. The real bitch of a hill would come at the end.

“Don’t baby me, now,” he said.

I glanced over my shoulder at him. “Have it your way.”

He panted in even, deliberate puffs by the time we reached the edge of campus, but he hadn’t given up. He’d stayed on my back wheel. I did a cool down loop on the local streets before guiding us to the dorm.

I stepped off my bike and reluctantly removed my helmet. My stubby ponytail was mostly intact, though much of the front section of my hair slipped from the skinny hairband. I did my best to tuck the errant strands behind my ears.

He arranged his own gear then looked at me with the green stare again, more intense than before. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.”

“I’m sure we freshman all look alike.” I extended my hand. “Violet Perch.”

“Boone Ramer.” He took my hand and, though our palms were hot and sweaty, he continued to hold it, lighting a fuse of attraction that sparked up my wrist and past my elbow. “Violet. Unusual name. I’ll remember it now.”

“Yeah, it’s kind of a curse,” I said as the heat passed my shoulder to go straight to my skort.

“I didn’t mean unusual bad. It’s nice. Feminine.” He released my hand while his eyes touched me, sliding down my pink jersey and along legs I knew weren’t particularly long but had hints of muscle definition.

I knew what I was. In our world of breast enhancements and thigh gaps, I didn’t have the right dimensions to attract a guy in Boone’s league, especially with my sports bra smashing my itty bitty titties down to nothing. Helmet hair, sweat stained armpits, padded bottoms, and black sturdy shoes completed the non-seductive, flat-chested ensemble. I was all in.

His face sharpened in a way that suggested he might like what he saw. My nostrils flared in immediate, misguided response. God, he was magnetic.

“You’re in good shape,” he said appreciatively. “I bonked on the last hill but you pulled me up.” He waggled his brows at me. “Couldn’t let you make me look bad.”

My face flushed beyond exercise-induced red. “You did good.” We wheeled our bikes toward the door and I’d almost worked up the courage to ask if he’d like to ride together again when a trilling voice called his name.

Twyla Blakelock, who’d ignored me at a rush party last week, bounced up to press her glossy lips against his mouth. Her nose wrinkled. “Ewww, you’re all sweaty,” she said.

What kind of moron touches him and says Ewww, I thought. You’re ewww, Twyla.

“Hey, I’ll see you later,” I said out loud, eternally grateful for the guy who came out the door at the right time to hold it for me.

END OF EXCERPT

Only 99 cents at Amazon until September 27.  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00MRHAIRO

The lead character in my new release, Eruption, has one best friend/college roommate. The two of them seem like opposites on the surface, but Violet likes Mia’s eccentricity, and Mia likes Violet’s normalcy and steadiness. They’ve both been burned by people they’ve trusted before, so they take nothing for granted with each other.

In this excerpt, we see Mia helping Violet get ready for her first date with a guy she’s been crushing on for a year.

EXCERPT

Mia and I dug through my wardrobe on Saturday, a day of perfect football weather. Chilly temps on the walk to cafeteria “brunch” morphed to blindingly sunny and warm by noon. Mia and I had totally different taste in everything, which meant I couldn’t pull off her ruffled mini skirt and black leather jacket look. She understood me, though, and we settled on a pair of skinny jeans, a yellow sleeveless top with black trim (school colors!), and my sporty flip-flops with floral straps. I slathered sunscreen on my shoulders and arms while Mia searched her collection of hair clips.

My brown hair rested a tad below my shoulders. I finger combed a sloppy part down the middle most days and usually had at least one side tucked behind my ear. I tried not to pull it up all the time ’cuz the bulk made the top of my head look too wide. Mom said my face was heart-shaped which I interpreted to mean my chin was too narrow for my forehead.

Mia twisted the front pieces of my hair back and secured it with a bobby pin so it didn’t blow into my lip-gloss if a breeze kicked up at the stadium. (I’d rejected a rhinestone clip and a daisy barrette.) “You sure you won’t wear some eyeliner?” she asked for the third time. “I could make your eyes look big as pool balls if you’d let me.”

“Just the look I’m going for,” I said, picturing one of those big-eyed puppies that adorned every greeting card a few years ago. “This is a football game, not the prom.” I already felt overdone with one coat of black/brown mascara.

“If one wants to be treated like an aristocrat, one must dress like an aristocrat,” she said in a voice like the Queen of England’s.

“I’m a Copperhead, not Princess Kate.”

“Whatever.” She sulked. “Ooh, ten ’til one. I’m outta here.”

“You don’t have to leave.” The panic I’d been fighting since daybreak changed my breathing to hitching gasps. Boone Ramer. Here. To get me. Soon. I thought I might puke up my ham and cheese omelet.

The best roomie ever grabbed my shoulders to show me my reflection in the mirror screwed into our dorm room wall. “You got this thing, sister. His Hotness obviously likes you, and you’ve been ready to have his babies for a year. Be you. Except lose the expression of terror.”

I nodded and smiled and practiced not looking like a deer in the headlights.

Mia grabbed her jingly neck lanyard and skipped through the open door.

END OF EXCERPT

These two will go through plenty together in this book—including Mia’s only half joking encouragement for Violet to jump Boon’s bones—and they’ll experience plenty more growing pains in the series.

Eruption Blurb

I’m in the middle of the perfect college semester, hundreds of miles from Mom, with an awesome roomie and my freshman crush finally becoming a sophomore reality—Hotness! I’m figuring out calculus, I’ve got both hands on the handlebars and the wind of freedom in my hair. What on earth could slow my roll?

How about if the Yellowstone volcano erupts for the first time in 630,000 years, spewing a continuous load of ash (crap) all over North America? Think that’ll put a kink in my bicycle chain?

Make that kinks, plural, because here’s a scientific fact I’ll bet you didn’t know. Nothing ruins the perfect semester like a super caldera. Now that I’ve made you smarter today, maybe you can tell me how to keep my life cruising in the right direction—no to Mom, yes to roomie, double yes to Hotness!—during a global disaster?

My lame name is Violet and, in the interest of full disclosure, I’m not hanging from the side of a cinder cone on the last page of this trauma, but there’s definitely more to come. Unless, of course, humans become extinct and then there’s not. Duh.

Eruption is available for preorder, released on September 13, and will be on sale for 99 cents until September 27.

Amazon http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00MRHAIRO

I’m giving away some cute swag with the book cover and Yellowblown™ series logo charms made into necklaces, bracelets, and bookmarks. Sign up for my newsletter at www.jillhughey.com/contact for a chance to win one of your choice!

Another case of good timing: on Thursday Amazon announced the ability for indie authors like me to set new books up for preorder. This is awesome on several levels, not the least of which is the creation of a link for the book. With a link one can reward early purchasers with a fantastic early bird price (99 cents), start to set up advertising and have a real place for interested readers to land. Did I say this is awesome?

So, here is a link for the Amazon preorder page for Eruption and my funky new blurb.

BLURB – by Violet Perch

I’m in the middle of the perfect college semester, hundreds of miles from Mom, with an awesome roomie and my freshman crush finally becoming a sophomore reality—Hotness! I’m figuring out calculus, I’ve got both hands on the handlebars and the wind of freedom in my hair. What on earth could slow my roll?

How about if the Yellowstone volcano erupts for the first time in 630,000 years, spewing a continuous load of ash (crap) all over North America? Think that’ll put a kink in my bicycle chain?

Make that kinks, plural, because here’s a scientific fact I’ll bet you didn’t know. Nothing ruins the perfect semester like a super caldera. Now that I’ve made you smarter today, maybe you can tell me how to keep my life cruising in the right direction—no to Mom, yes to roomie, double yes to Hotness!—during a global disaster?

In the interest of full disclosure, I’m not hanging from the side of a cinder cone on the last page of this trauma, but there’s definitely more to come. Unless, of course, humans become extinct and then there’s not. Duh.

END OF BLURB – Thank you, Violet.

Hey, don’t forget to sign up for my newsletter. I’m not super-chatty but I will share bonus material and sometimes I give stuff away. Just click on Contact in the header!

With Violet’s perfect college semester underway, of course the Yellowstone caldera will erupt for the first time in 630,000 years.

Sign up for my newsletter so you don’t miss the fireworks, plus you’ll earn the chance to win some really cool swag – a choice of one of these nifty items made with a Yellowblown and an Eruption charm. I’ll pick the winner based on signup order after August 19 using random.org.

So many interesting bloggers are sharing my big news. There is a list of them and links below.

Visit these blogs to learn more about Eruption.

The Velvet Lair                    Happily Ever After          Reviews by Crystal

Lynda Bailey                        Tina Donahue                A Passion for Romance

Writing Dreams                    The Whole Shebang      Melissa Keir

D’Ann Linden                       The Pink Fuzzy Slippers   Some Like It Hotter

Storm Goddess Book Reviews