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The Catch-an exciting story to love

Tom Donnelly, once know as The Catch-every woman’s dream guy, has fallen down every rung of the ladder he once worked so hard to climb. On New Year’s Day, he realizes how far he’s fallen and makes a list of resolutions to change his life. He vows to regain the trust lost from his family, his law firm, and his friends_ and maybe even find the right woman this time.

He crosses paths with Joanne McKenna Friedman-a smart young lawyer, beautiful on the outside, damaged on the inside. Joanne’s secret past leaves her distrustful of everyone. Until a court case comes up to threaten her career and even her life, and she turns to Tom for help.

 

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Thanksgiving Past

Looking back and forth with author Charmaine Gordon

The Ghost of Thanksgiving Past

Back in the days when people didn’t lock the front door or car doors, the big family I belonged to gathered at my parent’s home for Thanksgiving. When I say big-I’m talking BIG. Grandma and Grandpa had ten kids. My mom was in the middle and somehow she became the hub of the wheel of this family.

Picture this: Grandparents seated at one end of the table, candlelight shining on their white hair and proud faces. At the other end sat my father, leaning back in the chair, master of all he surveyed. Every other chair was occupied by an uncle while my aunts scurried back and forth from kitchen to dining room carrying trays heaped with enough food to feed a small nation. And as they waitressed, they managed to gossip about everything and everyone.

Did I mention that the table extended into the living room? Well it did, to accommodate all the cousins who were up to no good. Boys of all ages and me, the first girl born to this rowdy bunch and two quiet girl cousins. We couldn’t wait to finish dinner and crawl under the grown-up table and sit with legs of various relatives all around us, while we listened to adult conversation and tried to stifle laughter. We weren’t discovered until cigar and cigarette smoke from above sent us coughing and choking for fresher air.

Ah, sweet memories.

 

 

Wip-check this out

Newly widowed Joan has her mind in a spin. What to do with his car now that he’s gone and his Harley. Yum. She can ride that baby anytime and the Skeet club he belonged to. Hell, she can shoot skeet just as well as the men. Oh yes. And she had their, uh, her therapy dogs all trained and ready to work. That would take up several days each week.

And so we meet the widow to see what she’s up to.

With high hopes, Joan dressed in Larry’s Harley jacket over his fancy club outfit. His suede jacket fit nicely over her pink cashmere sweater and jeans. Her body had a good shape for an older woman; Larry always said so, the jerk, and best of all, the women never came to the event because they weren’t shooters.

She zoomed into the parking lot causing a commotion right away and she removed Larry’s helmet, shook out her beautiful hair and knew she needed a smaller helmet. James Franklin, the president this year so strong and healthy said, “We were all so sad to lose Larry and of course we will reimburse his yearly dues.

“James, that’s not what I had in mind since I’m an excellent skeet shooter and want to continue.” The tall man nodded, his gray hair combed so smoothly back fell forward: “Joan, we don’t have a rule leaving women out of the club so you are welcome.”

for more excellent snippets:

http://www.wewriwa.com/

A Basketball Team, she said

What a team. Daughter Amy teaches high school and the team is helping Image may contain: 6 people, people smiling, people playing sports, people standing and basketball courtHer mom is a teacher at a high school and these terrific guys have fun giving pointers to Grandest. She looks mighty happy and her game has improved. I’ll get to see a game this weekend, the joy of my life. To see her out there is a treasure.

She began last year not knowing quite what to do. As the season moved on, she gathered strength and her game improved. A guard, I thought. She might be a guard. But what do I know? I played a whole lot of tennis back then. Sports other than tennis weren’t in my book.

And now the pleasure of being a grandmother arrives in spades. From a little one to a very poised nine year old. How I adore this grandest.

Go girl Go!

A release to warm your heart

EARLY RELEASE! Charmaine’s Mature Romance Series is really taking off! Check out these Sexy Seniors!

NO TIME FOR GREEN BANANAS by Charmaine Gordon
Series: The Beginning…Not the End, Book 4

Celeste Hamlin, the seventy-five year old widow, CEO of O.U.R. Airlines specializing in chartered vacations, has a goal… She needs to once more conquer the six mountains in the Saranac Lake region before deciding what to do with the rest of her life.

Sixty-two year old Professor Paul Harris, is on sabbatical to hike and relax. When he meets the dynamic Celeste, he recalls the last words his wife said before she passed. “Find another love and begin again.”

What happens next between an older woman and younger man is a story of gentle passion and discovery of The Beginning… Not The End.

KINDLE
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00GL6AZHA

ALLROMANCE
https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-notimeforgreenbana…

SMASHWORDS FOR ALL READING DEVICES
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/373208

APPLE
https://itunes.apple.com/…/no-time-for-green-ba…/id736947468

NOOK
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/no-time-for-gree…/1117316855

NO TIME FOR GREEN BANANAS SNEAK PEEK VIDEO
http://youtu.be/nfv9xM_GF3E

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Are we having fun or what? I wrote No Time For Green Bananas awhile back and here it is again, mature romance included. This is exciting. You’ll love the mountain climbing, the parties and dancing and feel the romance grow and how the younger gentleman brings her family together.
Buy the book, leave a review and a special gift from me to you is forthcoming.
Love, Charmaine

Fabulous short stories to make you smile

AVAILABLE FOR PRE-ORDER
NO TIME FOR GREEN BANANAS by Charmaine Gordon
Series: The Beginning…Not the End, Book 4

Celeste Hamlin, the seventy-five year old widow, CEO of O.U.R. Airlines specializing in chartered vacations, has a goal… She needs to once more conquer the six mountains in the Saranac Lake region before deciding what to do with the rest of her life.

Sixty-two year old Professor Paul Harris, is on sabbatical to hike and relax. When he meets the dynamic Celeste, he recalls the last words his wife said before she passed. “Find another love and begin again.”

What happens next between an older woman and younger man is a story of gentle passion and discovery of The Beginning… Not The End.

APPLE
https://itunes.apple.com/…/no-time-for-green-ba…/id736947468

NOOK
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/no-time-for-gree…/1117316855

GOES LIVE NOVEMBER 13TH!
NO TIME FOR GREEN BANANAS SNEAK PEEK VIDEO
http://youtu.be/nfv9xM_GF3E

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About the Author
Charmaine Gordon writes books about women who Survive and Thrive. Her motto is take one step and then another to leave your past behind and begin again. Six books and several short stories in three years, she’s always at work on the next story. The books include To Be Continued, Starting Over, Now What?, Reconstructing Charlie, Sin of Omission and The Catch, and her series of Mature Romances, The Beginning…Not the End. “I didn’t realize at the time while working as an actor in NYC, I’d become a sponge soaking up dialogue, setting, and stage directions. I learned many tools of writing during the years watching directors like Mike Nichols and actors including Harrison Ford, Anthony Hopkins, and Billy Crystal. And would you believe, I was Geraldine Ferraro’s stand– in leg model, my first job giving me entrée into all the Unions needed to work. When the sweet time ended, I began another career and creative juices flowed.” You can reach Charmaine at http://authorCharmaineGordon.wordpress.com And on her FB page http://www.facebook.com/charmaine.gordon
No Time for Green Bananas got a five star review  and mentioned my publisher toward the end. She loved the romance of the couple, the climbing of the mountains and a gift he gives to her. Personally, I love this story and know you will too.

The last part of the long run

“Paul, here she is.” The grandmother who didn’t live long enough to meet this fine son of mine. So beautiful with prematurely white hair swept up in a pompadour forming a halo around her head, an orchid pinned to a pale gold organza gown. I remembered so well the day she bought it.

He hurried to my side, squeezed my hand, and touched my throat to speak to no avail.

I whispered, “I want three red roses for her headstone. Paul hugged me and patted my back. Three for Pop; one from me, one from you and one from Amy. The two of my children who never knew my mother only through stories and snapshots.

Paul’s new friend Rueben directed us to Walmart around the corner; we had half an hour before the appointed hour of the graveside service, the day after Mother’s Day. A kind saleswoman said there weren’t any flowers left and as we walked away dejected, she called us back. “Look in the shopping cart over there where there should be some leftovers. We thanked her, selected six roses and left.

Once more , we waited next to the fence silent in the rented car, the wilted roses, three red-three pink, between us. A shiny black hearse pulled up; Paul got out of the car and around to open my door, and steered me up and out.

I was dressed in a black pants suit, my son wore his only dark suit and we stood there with our six flowers at a cemetery in Chicago on a cold spring morning.  The back of the hearse opened; a somber man dressed in black, pulled along a polished wooden box balanced on rollers onto the tailgate. Paul edged me forward; the limousine transporting the family hadn’t arrived yet. On this brisk windy morning, we were there to greet my father who lived to be ninety four and I murmured to Paul, “No matter how old, you never want to let them go.”

The driver moved aside and we approached, my son and I. I reached out to touch the coffin. My hand flattened on the box and in a quavery voice, I sang the song Pop and I had sung together for ten years, mostly by long distance. I would sing one line, he the next; a silly song about a goat he taught me when I was a child. We never had a real conversation but we had our song. It never failed to make us laugh, and in the long run, that’s more than good enough.

Enjoy more snippets

http://www.weriwa.com/

Thanks for sharing my memoirs. Love, Charmaine