A Good Kind of Knowing

By Kathy Lynn Harris, Copyright ©2005

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Book Description:

A Good Kind of Knowing tells the story of one spirited woman and the music store she owns—and how together their presence and eventually the possibility of their absence—shape the lives of the people in a small Central Texas town. As Sera battles a life-threatening illness, the characters must deal with and overcome their mistrust and begin to understand and respect each other. They discover as Sera's presence is slowly taken away, that the store’s future, and in many ways their own, lies in their hands.

Read more...Chapter 1    Chapter 19

Blue Straggler

By Kathy Lynn Harris, Copyright ©2005

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Book Description:

What makes a person spin and spin until they become unraveled? Is restlessness, or even craziness, passed down through generations like tarnished wedding silver, frayed quilts and bad costume jewelry? Can we really define family and home for ourselves, or does the past always determine who we are today?

Bailey Miller has spent all of her life in South Texas, trying to be the loyal daughter, the good friend, the career-minded young woman. But as the cycle of mental shakiness she calls RODA (Recurring, Obstinate Dread and Anguish) begins to circle out of control, Bailey turns to the vague story of her great-grandmother, whom no one speaks of, for answers.

Filled with eccentric characters who complete Bailey's world, Blue Straggler takes readers on the journey from Texas to Colorado and back, as she tries to uncover not only the secrets of her great-grandmother's life, but also her own.

Read more...Chapter 1    Chapter 9   Chapter 17

To Be Titled

By Kathy Lynn Harris, Copyright ©2005

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(Excerpt from a work-in-progress)

Virgie Ruzzo used the top of her knee to steer the car while trying to remove the markings of a glitter pen from her hand—years of dishwater lines and freckles blending unnaturally with green sparkles. She rubbed, scraped the area with her fingernail, used a bit of spit, all the while balancing a cigarette between her lips and keeping the car on the right side of the rural road. She took the curves too fast, she knew, but she was late. And late was not good.

Crenshaw—a mostly grownup man, mind you—had been playing around last night with a promotional glitter pen he’d gotten from some grocery store manager. One of his bread deliveries on the Highway 59 route. Virgie had accused him of flirting with the manager. Women couldn’t resist a man who smelled like fresh bread and cinnamon rolls.

He’d simply curled up one side of his mouth and then the other, a dimple sinking into his cheek like a penny. Neither denying nor admitting.

Virgie had muttered, “Go to hell, Crenshaw,” but couldn’t say it without laughing, what with that face of his, eyebrows raised to the roof.

He’d tackled her on the living room rug and wrote vulgar things all over her skin, Virgie shrieking like a teenager until her mother Mabel yelled from the back bedroom to turn the television down.

Virgie hadn’t owned a TV in three years. And glitter ink doesn’t wash off with soap and water.