Introducing the debut book by Anne B. Cole, Souls Entwined

Souls Entwined

Coming April 30th from Soul Mate Publishing

A Paranormal Romantic Suspense

Souls Entwined Blurb

When a cursed family heirloom sends Gretta Dobbs back in time, a hunky construction worker, Sam Daggett, suddenly finds himself love struck and joins her adventure. Their souls entwine within the bodies of young lovers on a Greek island in 1829, where they begin to unravel the mysteries behind Gretta’s ring all while avoiding a bloodthirsty pirate who is determined to seek revenge. Gretta and Sam must find the secrets needed to save her and her relatives from an afterlife in purgatory and return to their own lives – or risk becoming prisoners of the past, continuing the evil cycle of the ring’s curse.

A bit about Anne

Souls Entwined is Anne B. Cole’s debut release, combining sweet romantic suspense, time travel, and paranormal elements in a New Adult novel attractive to a wide range of readers.

In addition to writing, Anne teaches preschool and is raising three very active teenagers with her husband of twenty-two years. Her love for making fresh baked goodies, running, hiking, historical fiction, and her three pet cats continue to be her inspiration while she pens the sequel to Souls Entwined.

Connect With Anne

To follow Anne’s publishing journey and connect with her, check out her blog site and find her on Twitter and Facebook.





The ‘Write-aholic’ Intervention (1st Publication by:

My family says I’ve changed since I’ve become an author. Not in the sense of becoming overly confident or proud. They say I no longer clean my house.

Ashley, my youngest, said to me over the Christmas Holidays. “Mom, Jennifer is very worried about you. There’s dust on the cabinet in the upstairs hallway. And cobwebs!”

Me:  “There’s cobwebs upstairs? I hadn’t noticed.”

Ashley: “That’s the point. You’ve never had cobwebs. You’ve never had dust. Maybe you should get a cleaning lady to clean your house.”

I look around at my home. It’s not that bad. Maybe a bit of dust here and there, but it’s presentable. Isn’t it? I’m retired. How do I justify a cleaning lady? When I worked as a Controller for a corporation in St Louis, I didn’t have a cleaning lady. My husband would think I’d lost it if I suggested I needed help to clean my house now that I’m home every day.

Me: “I don’t think that’s necessary. I’ll assign a day to cleaning.” That should take care of it.

Ashley: “You need to cook dinners for Dad once in a while.” She couched her words carefully. Maybe my husband was wondering if I was ever going to leave the computer.

My face fell. My husband comes home from work every evening and cooks dinner. I always offer to help just as soon as I finish the scene I’m writing. By the time I type the last word, dinner is on the table.

Me: “You’re absolutely right. I’ll cook every Thursday. It’s your dad’s late night.” I beam at her as if the one night solves the issue.

Ashley sighed and went on. “Maybe you can help him with the laundry.” My poor daughter was obviously uncomfortable, but had taken on the job of opening my eyes to my overzealous dedication to my new career.

Me: “Your dad likes to do the laundry. He’s always done the laundry.” By now, shame is written on my face. I hate to do laundry. Maybe there’s another trade-off. “I’ll do the grocery shopping.” I’m satisfied; it’s a good compromise.

Ashley: “Dad likes to do the shopping. He likes to buy things for the kids on his Sunday morning adventure to Wally-World.”

Me: I sigh. “He does, but he also likes to do the laundry.”

Ashley: “Maybe you can mow the lawn once in a while.”

Me: “I can’t use the zero-turn. I’ll mow down his trees.”

Ashley: “Mom, he bought you a riding lawnmower. It’s sitting in the barn.”

I have no answer for this. There is a miniature riding lawnmower sitting in the barn. The grandkids drive it around when they visit.

Ashley:  Adding a positive note to my write-aholic intervention. “Well, he is happier now that he doesn’t have to take care of the horses every day. At least you did that for him.”

Me: “Yes, he is. I’m glad I gave in and sold them and sent Juno to the trainer.”

Ashley finally stops talking. I know she’s beside herself having to be the one to give me the talk, but who else will do it. She’s the closest. She doesn’t intentionally want to make me feel like a horrible person, but I am a horrible person. At least when it comes to neglecting my family and squirreling myself away to write. And I’m married to a Saint. For years,   I thought I was the Saint, but who was I fooling. No one, but myself.

I promise to do better. That evening, my husband comes home, and I tell him I’m going to be a better person. I’ll cook and clean and mow the lawn.

Husband: “When are you going to write?”

Me: “I’ll fit it in.”

Husband: “Don’t be silly. You love to write.”

Without my husband, I wouldn’t be able to write as I do. I’m able to spend hours at the computer typing away, spinning dreams, creating heroes, but the biggest hero in my life walks through the door every evening and cooks me dinner.

To find Stolen Hearts on Amazon:


Released 2014

Stolen Hearts

Coming in 2014 by SoulMate Publishing:

The Call    April, 2014

Love on the Double T   May, 2014

Moody Gallery   Summer, 2014

The Exchange   September, 2014

Writing the Love Scene or Not

How do you prepare to write the big love scene? Maybe you’re one of the lucky ones who finds it easy. No inhibitions to hold you back. No pent up emotions or repressions. Free thinking parents who always called body parts by their real names. Parents who explained that love (sex) was a natural part of life. If you are, then I’m jealous.

I remember saying the word sex at the dinner table and my dad, who was the most loving father in the world, choked on his cup of tea.

My mother, also an adoring parent, never mentioned specific body parts. She would just point her eyes to that part of my body until I got what she was talking about.

When I heard the words spoken by friends, you can imagine my distress. They’re descent to Hell was a big concern.

Are you beginning to understand my difficulty?  Now here is where things really get weird. I am a CP for a wonderful writer of erotica in addition to her other genres. I hear you laughing. I didn’t know she wrote erotica until we’d bonded, and the thought of losing her was traumatic. She’s the best CP, ever.

She obviously knew my difficulty with love scenes. After all, she’d listened to me lament about them for hours. “Do you want to CP my book? It’s okay if you don’t. I understand.”

Maybe this was an answer. If I read graphic sex scenes, I’d build up a tolerance. A type of immunity to the chilling words. I’d read somewhere that if you do something over and over, you become desensitized.

I agreed to CP her book. I secretly thought I could skip the sex scenes and concentrate on the story. Erotic books are all about sex scenes. Did you know that? I was able to muddle through it and even give some good suggestions. She actually changed some of the scenes that didn’t make sense to me.

Now, to write my own scene. I was armed with knowledge, a blasé attitude, and the will to succeed. I can do this, I said with great determination. Right! Wrong.

Reading someone else’s sex scene is not the same as writing your own. My hands shook when my fingers tried to type the dreaded words. I really wanted to write a sexy scene. I put on some music. Michael Buble has some very sexy CD’s. I poured a glass of wine and gulped (not sipped) while I wrote. I made myself type the words. I sat back with a satisfied and tipsy grin on my face. Well done, I said. I’ll read it tomorrow with fresh eyes.

“April, I’ve written a sex scene, a real one.”  April is a pro at this. It always confuses me, because she is very shy. How does she manage to type the words and describe the act in such detail? I mean excruciating detail.

“Let me read it. E-mail it to me.” I copy and paste the best scene I’ve ever written into the body of the e-mail. I write that tongue-in-cheek.  I read it for a tenth time. It’s very sexy, I think, proud of my accomplishment. My finger clicks on the send button.

I wait, and I wait, and I wait. What’s taking her so long? Does she think it’s as great as I do? She’s probably stunned because I wrote such a graphic scene.

My computer dings. I have an e-mail. I can’t wait to hear her praise.

“It’s cute,” she writes. Cute, cute! What does cute have to do with a hot and torrid sex scene? Sexy, hopefully… Sensual, of course… but cute. Cute and sex do not belong in the same sentence. Even I know that. My head drops to the computer.

I let myself go and write the hottest scene of my writing career.

The next day I couldn’t wait to read my scene. I knew it was going to be sexy, romantic, and hot. I scrolled to the scene and began to read. My heart raced. I felt the flush creep up my body until my face burned with embarrassment.

Dear Lord, I can’t publish this. My fingers went wild deleting. What was left were two paragraphs of mish-mash.

I rewrote the scene.  Sigh, I doubt I’ll ever reach the level of sensual or hot.


To find Stolen Hearts on Amazon:


Released 2014

Stolen Hearts    

Coming in 2014 by SoulMate Publishing:

The Call

Love on the Double T

Moody Gallery

The Exchange

My Breakfast With Emily

It’s six-fifteen in the morning and I crack open my left eye… just a bit. My granddaughter Emily is standing next to my hard, uncomfortable bed staring at me. I’ve spent the night at her house because we have Breakfast with Grandparents Day at her school. I want to know who scheduled a breakfast at seven-fifteen in the morning. Didn’t anyone tell them we’re old folks? Why not Mid-Morning Snack Day?

“Meme, you need to get up,” Emily says.

“I am. Just five more minutes,” I answer.

“Meme, are you awake?”

I lower my eye to just above bed level to see my grandson, Finnegan, staring at me. His dimples are deep which means he has a beautiful smile on his face. I can’t see it because my right eye refuses to open.

“Will you turn Jake on for me?”

“Where’s your mother?” I ask

“She telled me to ask you.” Finnegan answers.

I throw back the covers and sit up. Emily is dressed, but what is going on with her hair? It’s sticking out every which way. Her hair is curly and has a mind of its own. “Did you go to bed with wet hair last night?” I ask

“Mommy said it was bedtime and I didn’t get a chance to dry it completely,” Emily answers. “Yours looks the same,” she tells me.

I hurry into the bathroom and look in the mirror. It’s true. My hair is sticking out every which way. I run into the living room and turn on Jake for Finnegan. Emily and I stand in the bathroom running a wet brush through our hair. The result is not pretty.

My daughter appears at the door. “You need to get going, it’s seven o’clock.”  Where did the time go?  I run into the bedroom to throw on clothes. I’d brought my cashmere sweater and black slacks to wear. I didn’t want to embarrass Emily with my sweatpants and tee-shirt.  I pull them on and we run out the door. As I drive to the school, I pick off dog hair from my clothes. I touch my hair, which is damp and plastered to my head. Hopefully, it’s not a big turn-out.

I can’t find a parking spot. I watch dozens of grandparents, impeccably dressed, walk with their grandchildren into the school. I look down at my beautiful granddaughter who looks up at me and smiles. We both look like we’ve been caught in a rain storm.

There is a long line that winds down the hall. Emily and I stand at the end holding hands. She gives me up-close-and-personal stories of each kid that walks by.  There are a lot of interesting kids in Emily’s school. She’s going to be a writer and has learned to observe.

We finally reach the food. What food? We take our bowl of donut holes and juice to Emily’s classroom. Where’s the hot tea and bagel covered in a thick layer of cream cheese?

I pull up a tiny chair to her desk and sit. The grandmother opposite is decked out in her knit suit and pearls. Her hair is perfectly done.  Where did she get a life-size chair? She smiled at us and I grin back.

“My grandmother is an author,” Emily chimes. I pop a donut hole in my mouth.

The woman looks at me with new eyes. “Published?” she asks.

“Lots of books,” Emily brags. “She’s published.”  I look at my beautiful granddaughter and smile. In the tiny chairs, we’re at eye level.

Emily’s teacher comes over. “I’m so excited to meet you. I’ve never met a published author before.” Emily took my non child-friendly book to school to show her.

“I hope Emily didn’t get into trouble bringing my book to school.” I say.

She smiles. I like this teacher. “No, she told me she wasn’t allowed to open it.” I feel Emily’s hand slip into mine and I squeeze.

“Emily, why don’t you show your grandmother the library,” the teacher suggests. We get up and thread our way to the door. Along the way, we hear whispers, “She’s an author. She’s published.”

We walk into the library which is filled with spill-over grandparents all perfectly dressed.  I groan. Emily takes my hand and drags me around to look at the books. The librarian stands at her desk looking formidable. “This is my meme. She writes.” Emily announces to her.

“That’s nice,” she says. I can tell she thinks I write emails. I smile.

“She writes books.” Emily says.

The woman raises an eyebrow. “Published?” She asks. I nod. She peers at me and my crazy hair. “Please excuse the mess. I know some of the books are out of order. The children….” Her words trail off.

I’m not a librarian,” I console.

People are looking at Emily and me with our messy hair that sticks up every which way, but we smile at them. They stop us on the way through the library to ask about my books. Emily stands next to me looking up at me with shining eyes. I hold her hand.

It’s time to go and tears fill Emily’s eyes.  “I wish you could stay, Meme”

“I wish I could stay too, Emily.” I run my hands over her crazy curly hair and look at my beautiful grandchild. “I’m sorry my hair was a mess,” I tell her.

“That’s okay, meme. You write books.” She kissed me and walked into her class.

My heart is full.


To find Stolen Hearts on Amazon:


Released 2014

Stolen Hearts    

Coming in 2014 by SoulMate Publishing:

The Call

Love on the Double T

Moody Gallery

My Roller Coaster Ride with Amazon

Do you have an Amazon author page? If not and you enjoy roller coasters, I suggest you get one. I count my pulse rate whenever I visit. It’s a great way to get the heart pumping.

There are days when the roller coaster is at the bottom of the incline and my heart plummets.

“I’m doomed,” I whine to my husband who is my greatest fan.

“Check it tomorrow.” We go through this once a week. “It will be better tomorrow.”

The next day I check it again. I know I shouldn’t. It’s barely moved.

“I’m flat lining!” I wail to my greatest fan when he comes home that evening.

“You are not dead,” he laughs. “It’s not going to change that quickly, unless you sell two hundred books in one day.”

I laugh hysterically at such a silly thought. “You’re right. I’ll wait for three days.”

The next morning I’m busy writing, but my fingers feel the itch. Just a quick peak, no, I’m waiting three days, I vow.

Somehow I survive the wait. My heart flutters in my chest. I pull up Amazon and follow the trail to my author’s page. There it is, taunting me, the tab for rank looming on the page. My mouse hovers. What if it’s lower? What if it hasn’t pulled me out of my near death limbo? I move the mouse away.

Maybe I’ll wait another day…who am I kidding? It’s a damn miracle I waited three! My hand creeps back. My finger presses the left button. I close my eyes before a graph appears. I visualize my ranking. I’m in the top one hundred! I burst out laughing at the insanity of my thought.

With my eyes closed, I push away from my desk and go to the kitchen to make tea. It seems cold in the house, so I check the thermostat. Apparently it’s just my lack of blood flow because it’s not far from 80 degrees in my house. The tea kettle whistles. Carrying my tea, I return to my desk. I can’t close my eyes or my tea will spill and scald me.  I try not to look, I really do. And then I buckle up for the ride, the dreaded ride.

My heart surges. That line, the one that brings me pain and joy is climbing. Yippee! My graph is moving! Sigh. I’m not dead. It’s adding another mountain to the drawing of the Alps I’ve got going. I’m on my way to the peak again.

“It turned,” I say to my husband as he walks in the door. No hello, how was your day, just, it turned.

“You knew it would. How many times have we gone through this?” How sweet. He said we. He shares in my pain.

For the next few days, I can check my Amazon page.  I know the routine. It will clamber up the mountain, and bring a smile to my face and a flutter to my heart.  But I know what’s coming. It will reach the peak, and you all know what follows. It takes the downward spiral to the depths of hell. And so it goes my roller coaster ride with Amazon.

To find Stolen Hearts on Amazon:


Released 2014

Stolen Hearts    

Coming in 2014 by SoulMate Publishing:

The Call

Love on the Double T

Moody Gallery

It’s Time to Fess Up

I have owned horses for eighteen years.  I have loved them, cared for them, bred them, and comforted them as they passed from this world. Horses are who I am. I am also afraid of them. You read it right. I’m afraid of horses. I know you’re shaking your head, but it’s true. I’m afraid of horses.

I guess the key here is that I love them more than I fear them.

You’re a writer. Isn’t it the same for you? You love writing more than you fear rejection. It’s the beauty of what we do. Love pushes us further than we would dare to go without it. We’ll climb the mountain, jump off the cliff, run into the burning building, run the marathon, all because we are passionate about what we do. We conquer that demon called fear.

It’s a gift, the ability to conquer our demon. Without it we would sit on the sideline cheering on those who dare. We don’t always think about it. We take three deep breaths open our laptop and press the keys. Sometimes the demon sneaks in and whispers in our ear. “You’re wasting your time. You could be doing ………fill in the blank. No one is going to want your manuscript.”

But you love to write more than you fear rejection. You plunge ahead with the story you love. You’re filled with joy as the story progresses. You fall in love with your characters. You dance when it’s finished. You edit and polish and edit and polish and you send it off to the publishing company or agent. You love to write more than you fear rejection.

Casey and her foal

That’s how I feel about horses. The fear is there when I walk into the stall with the mama and her foal staring me down.  The fear is there when I wonder if either will hurt me. The fear is there knowing they may reject me. But love pushes me on.

How do I describe the feeling when the foal takes that first step toward me, then runs back behind her mama’s legs to hide.  Her little face peaks out and eyes me. Her curiosity kicks in. And then a second step and a third until her sweet little muzzle is buried in my hand.

I love horses more than I fear them.

I love to write more than I fear rejection.


Stolen Hearts

Release in 2014 by SoulMate Publishing:

The Call

Love on the Double T

Moody Gallery

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The Author’s Curve

Stolen Hearts B

The Author’s Curve

Stolen Hearts

By Pat Hudson                

                                                                                   Patricia Hudson

Genre: Romance/Suspense

Heat Level: Medium

About the writer:

Patricia Hudson was born in Wales, UK. She currently lives Central Illinois with her husband, two dogs and four quarter horses. When she’s not writing or taking care of horses, she spends time with her three grown children and seven grandchildren.


After seventeen years of marriage, Sara’s husband betrays her, leaving her for another woman.  Angry and humiliated, Sara moves to Florida with her daughter and her two show jumpers determined to make a new life for herself as a horse grainer.

Her new work is filled with horse shows, students, drams – and Ryan, a fellow trainer, who she meets at the Midland Equestrian Center.  Her life is perfect, except for Derrick and Marcy, who covet her promising show jumper, Denby.   They stop at nothing to own the promising four year old, including trying to get Ryan, the man she is falling in love with, to help persuade her to sell her beloved horse.

When Sara learns that her cherished thoroughbred has been stolen, she must rely on Ryan to help her find her beloved Denby.  Even as she struggles to trust Ryan’s true intentions, she discovers that while Ryan is helping her recover her stolen horse, he has managed to steal her heart, as well.

Amazon Website:


You may find Pat Hudson at one of the following websites:



Soul Mate Publishing:

Bullitt Publishing:

Books by Pat Hudson to be released spring 2014:

Stolen Hearts:

Love on the Double T:

The Call: