Thursday, September 29, 2016

#RomanticTravel with guest author Claire Gen

Romance author Claire Gen shares her novel and a favorite vacation location!

A Favorite #RomanticTravel Destination:

Since I’m a native New Yorker, many of my favorite travel spots are right within the state’s borders. Naturally, I set many of my books in the various places I’ve enjoyed since I was a child. Hearts Unloched, my New York Book Festival winner, is a romantic suspense set in the tiny burgh of Loch Sheldrake, N.Y., near where my husband grew up. A Taming Season is the first of my Love at Lake George Novels, set in the upstate village of the same name. I’ve vacationed on Lake George all my life, so there wasn’t any better place to set a series of loosely related romantic novels—there simply is no better place to fall in love.

My new release, out today, is The Phoenix Syndrome. Although the story begins in Boston, it follows Lannie Marvin as she chases after her son’s favorite band, Dreamwish, who are giving a benefit concert at the site of the 1969 Woodstock Festival in Bethel, N.Y. This is a very rural but absolutely breathtaking part of the country, and a place we still visit often. The serenity of the mountains and simplicity of the small towns make upstate New York the ideal romantic destination.

The Phoenix Syndrome—contemporary romance/women’s fiction

Research technician Lannie Marvin has a very rough birthday. Turning forty is bad enough, but she discovers her husband is leaving her, & then is bitten by an experimental mouse at work. Lannie snaps, taking off to chase her old dream of a music career & her new crush: the drummer of a heavy metal band.

Tristan Allard holds a benefit every year for his late wife, who was also his muse. He's beginning to have doubts about his ability to write the band's music. Plus, he's damn lonely. So when Lannie nearly plows him down at the backstage reception, he's ready to learn more about her--and her long-abandoned dream of music composition.

But reality soon bites back, invading their blissful weekend fling. Tristan is headed back to his home base in the UK. And Lannie discovers, to her horror, that the experimental mice have gone deaf.


But then there was the drummer. If not for the overhead monitors panning in for close-ups during the performance, I might never have known he existed. What a travesty that would have been.
In a word, he was . . . magnificent. He sat like a king on his throne at the elevated rear of the stage, sparkling silver-flake drums surrounding him like loyal minions. The monitor directly over our seats focused on him often, so close and so clear I could see the sweat glistening on sculpted upper arms, bare beneath a black muscle shirt stretched taut across a broad chest. Some sort of ink crawled over one bicep. A black-and-white paisley bandanna covered most of his head, but long, dark curls framed his face and clung damp against his neck. His facial hair, limited to a sparse mustache and goatee, was chocolate brown. I indulged in the fantasy that his eyes were that same sweet, smoldering color.
His passion for his work was palpable. Hands flying, head bobbing, he was completely engrossed, as if the music were a drug he was tripping on. His hooded eyes gave him the look of a sleepy lover, but when he did open them, I could swear he was gazing directly at me.
Looking back on that night, I can’t be sure how long we’d sat there before I fixated on my drummer boy. The music, which at first grated on my senses as way too loud and completely discordant, gradually began to permeate my brain. Before long, my bare toes started tapping against the carpeted floor. I freed one hand from my cup of wine to pat my thigh in time with the music. When my head began to bob, almost of its own accord, I smiled.
Ah, now I know why they call progressive metal fans head bangers.

We were climbing into my brother’s SUV, Paul at the wheel with Jeri and Jay next to him in the front. I sat squashed between my husband and son in the back.
“So, what did you guys do for all that time?” Ryan asked.
“We saw Dreamwish,” Paul piped up from the front, sounding as though his statement actually made sense.
“You saw our concert? You guys?” Jay sputtered through his laughter.
I opened my eyes to find my son staring at me in much the same way Jeri had been earlier.
“How’d you like it, Mom?” Ryan asked in a slight singsong of ridicule, which I chose to ignore.
I hesitated, clearing my throat. “The music is . . . different,” I said.
I caught my brother watching me in the rearview mirror. He was wearing an impish grin. “It’s true, Ryan,” he said. “For a while there, we were afraid your mother might run off with one of the roadies.”
“To hell with the roadies,” I snapped. “If I run off, it will definitely be with the yummy drummer.”

Claire Gen writes intensely emotional romantic novels. Her vision is to transport her readers into another place and time, creating characters so real, readers miss them when they reach The End. Her heroes are hot, & her heroines strong and brave: a combination producing the spark to fan the flames of your most intense romantic fantasies. Claire's characters are human, just like you & me. They make mistakes, they get clumsy sometimes, & they're not too proud to laugh at themselves & each other.

The keyword here is EMOTION. Big on the *Sigh* factor, Claire's stories aim to hit you straight in the heart and leave you smiling through happy tears.

She writes in two genres: romance w/a ghostly twist, and sexy contemporary. Claire's books are like a thrill ride at a theme park. Whether it's spooky-scary, angst-ridden relationships filled with gut-wrenching turmoil, silly chuckle moments, or hot-flash-inducing sex, Claire guarantees to take you on an emotionally intense romantic journey.

Monday, September 26, 2016

Writing and Running: 6 Lessons Learned from Jogging #NWHFD #fitnessday

In honor of National Women's Health & Fitness Day (September 28, #NWHFD #fitnessday), I wanted to share some lessons I learned from running.

In March of 2011 I started jogging. Despite the occasional illness, injury, and ‘I don’t wanna,’ I’m still getting out regularly. On one long and rather tedious solo run, I started making connections between jogging and writing and life.

Get Some Running Buddies

It helps to have inspiration. I started jogging with a Couch to 5K group that met twice a week. Having the regular schedule kept us on track. The program helped us pace ourselves, starting with short runs and frequent walks, and working up to a 45 minute run. We also had an experienced leader to offer advice.

A retreat is a great place to critique – 
and maybe get some exercise!
Several of us continued running together after the program ended. I wouldn’t get out there as often if people weren’t waiting for me. I’d be tempted to stop early, if I didn’t have the encouragement of the group. Hey, peer pressure is powerful! You might as well make it work for you. Plus, it’s more fun to run with other people.

For writers, it’s important to find the right peer group for your needs. For many, this is a critique group. They may be large or small, meet in person or online, have open or closed membership, get together weekly or monthly or as needed. Finding a group that suits your needs is invaluable.

Other writers share goals and deadlines, checking in with a friend daily or weekly to report progress. There’s that peer pressure again! Even a non-writing friend can help hold you accountable. (But choose carefully. You don't need someone pressuring you to finish your novel in six months or run a seven-minute mile.)

Finally, social groups can provide camaraderie and networking. I live in a small town with a science and engineering college; I know far more computer geeks than writers. But by making monthly trips to Albuquerque to attend a writing meeting, I’ve made many friends who understand what I do. I’ve also made connections by teaching workshops and guest speaking for groups like Sisters in Crime. For those who can’t attend in person, online discussion boards, listserves, and online classes offer information and a sense of connection. (Women on Writing offers many online classes. I’ll be teaching You Can Write Stories for Children starting October 17 and Advanced Plotting: Keep Those Pages Turning starting January 9, 2017.)

It’s Distance, Not Speed

It really is about the journey, not how fast you get there. Pace yourself, and enjoy the journey, or you might burn out along the way. If you can see the end, or at least imagine the cheering crowds and free food, it might give you the extra boost you need to keep going. But take time to enjoy the sights, and the experience will be a lot more fun.

As a writer, don’t focus so much on the response to your query letters. Sure, celebrate successes, and try to learn from disappointments, but put most of your energy into enjoying the journey. (That works for the rest of life, too.)

New Mexico is a great place for outdoor activities
But Keep Moving

A slow pace may get you there, but if you have a long way to go, you might as well do it running. A marathon will take a lot longer at a stroll than at a jog, even a slow jog. Run when you can, walk when you need a rest, but keep moving. That’s the only way to reach the end.

Take the time you need to learn and practice your writing craft. Do as many drafts as you need to polish your novel. Don’t rush, but do keep working. Write a page a day, and you’ll have a complete draft in a year. It may not be perfect, but it will be more than what you started with.

Practice Makes Perfect, or At Least Lessens the Pain

If you’re training, you need to get out regularly. Running once a month will just leave you sore and frustrated each time, and you won’t see any progress in your fitness.

It’s the same with writing. Establishing habits and sticking to them will keep your mind fit. Writing several times a week will hone your skills and make it easier to get started next time.

Easiest isn't always best.
Beware of Shortcuts

If I map out a 5K run, but take every shortcut, that could cut the distance down to 3 ½K. Easier, sure, but that won’t prepare me for running a 10K. It’s the same with life. Whether you’re trying to switch careers, meet the right partner, or finish a novel, some shortcuts may help, but others may do more harm than good.

I work with a lot of writing students. The beginners want to know if they’ll get published after taking one course. Nobody wants to spend 10 years learning how to write, but you need to do the work in order to earn the reward at the end. If you beg your friend to send your rough draft to her editor, you’ll blow your chance to make the best use of that connection. If you self publish your work before it’s ready, you’ll waste time that could be better spent working on your craft.

Sometimes the long, hard path is the only one that gets you where you want to go.

A new location can provide inspiration
Push Yourself Sometimes

With enough practice, you should get better. When I started jogging, it was a struggle to go for 10 minutes without a break. Six months later, I could make it through 45 minutes without stopping.

And then I plateaued. Jogging had become comfortable, if not easy. Why cause more pain by trying to go farther or faster?

Because that’s the only way to get better. And most likely, it’s the only way to stay interested. Fortunately, one of my jogging partners is great about coming up with new workouts. We add in some sprints one day, do hills another day. We choose different routes on different terrains. Variety keeps it interesting, which makes it easier to work hard.

With my writing, I find that I get bored if I become too comfortable with something. After publishing a dozen children’s books as Chris Eboch, I wanted a change. I started writing romantic suspense for adults, using the name Kris Bock. This brought new challenges – writing books two or three times as long as what I was used to, exploring romantic subplots, delving deeper into character. I didn’t always get things right the first time, but I became a better writer – and I renewed my interest in writing.

Are you a writer who runs? Join the Writers Who Run Facebook Group to meet up with like-minded folks and learn about events.

Kris Bock writes novels of suspense and romance with outdoor adventures and Southwestern landscapes. The Mad Monk’s Treasure follows the hunt for a long-lost treasure in the New Mexico desert. In The Dead Man’s Treasure, estranged relatives compete to reach a buried treasure by following a series of complex clues. In The Skeleton Canyon Treasure, sparks fly when reader favorites Camie and Tiger help a mysterious man track down his missing uncle. 

Whispers in the Dark features archaeology and intrigue among ancient Southwest ruins. What We Found is a mystery with strong romantic elements about a young woman who finds a murder victim in the woods. In Counterfeits, stolen Rembrandt paintings bring danger to a small New Mexico town. Read excerpts at or visit her Amazon page.

Chris Eboch writes fiction and nonfiction for all ages, with 40+ published books for children. Her novels for ages nine and up include Bandits Peak, a survival thriller that will appeal to fans of Gary Paulsen’s Hatchet; The Genie’s Gift, a fantasy adventure drawing on the Arabian Nights stories; The Eyes of Pharaoh, a mystery that brings ancient Egypt to life; The Well of Sacrifice, an action-packed drama set in ninth-century Mayan Guatemala; and the spooky-fun Haunted series, which starts with The Ghost on the Stairs

Chris's book Advanced Plotting helps writers fine-tune their plots, while You Can Write for Children: How to Write Great Stories, Articles, and Books for Kids and Teenagers offers great insight to beginning and intermediate writers. Learn more at or her Amazon page, or check out her writing tips at her Write Like a Pro! blog.

Friday, September 23, 2016

#FREE romantic mystery for the #Kindle

My romantic suspense novel, What We Found, is currently free on Amazon.

Finding a dead body changes a person.

22-year-old Audra Needham is back in her small New Mexico hometown. She just wants to fit in, work hard, and help her younger brother. Going for a walk in the woods with her former crush, Jay, seems like a harmless distraction.

Until they stumble on a body.

Jay, who has secrets of his own to protect, insists they walk away and keep quiet. But Audra can't simply forget what she's seen. The woman deserves to be found, and her story deserves to be told.

More than one person isn't happy about Audra bringing a crime to life. The dead woman was murdered, and Audra could be next on the vengeful killer's list. She’ll have to stand up for herself in order to stand up for the murder victim. It’s a risk, and so is reaching out to the mysterious young man who works with deadly birds of prey. With her 12-year-old brother determined to play detective, and romance budding in the last place she expected, Audra learns that some risks are worth taking – no matter the danger, to her body or her heart.

Another action-packed suspense novel by Kris Bock, perhaps her best to-date. The author weaves an intriguing tale with appealing characters. Watching Audra, the main character, evolve into an emotionally-mature and independent young woman is gratifying.” Reader Ellen R.

"This book had me guessing to the end who was the murderer. Well written characters drive the story. Good romance. Exceptional and believable plot twists and turns. I loved it! I recommend this book highly." Reader Suzanne B.

"This is a nonstop suspense. Love the characters and how real they seem with every episode played out. This is a love story and suspense all in one." Reader Pam

Excerpt: Chapter 1

I shouldn’t be doing this. I don’t do things like this.
And yet I kept walking, following Jay through the woods. I stepped carefully along the narrow path, but my good shoes would be dusty by the time we were done. My gaze flicked up to Jay’s long legs in faded jeans. His butt had been voted the best in our high school. It wasn’t the only reason I’d had a crush on him as a sophomore, but it definitely played a part.
Six years later, it was hard to believe I was really walking through the woods with him. Though we’d grown up together in a town of only 8,000 people, we’d rarely spoken. He was two grades ahead of me, but even if we’d been in the same year, I wouldn’t have traveled in his circles. I’d seen him around school or at the pizza parlor, I’d watched his basketball games, I’d felt sorry for him when I heard his dreams of playing college ball fell through.
Since I’d graduated, I’d only seen him around town when I came back to visit. We might smile and say “Hey” as we passed, the way acquaintances did. Yet a week after I’d moved back home, I was taking a long lunch to follow Jay into the woods. I felt like a giddy high school girl again.
I had to remind myself that I was twenty-two, an adult, with a brand-new college degree—with honors. I’d worked hard to get the Hospitality Degree that had landed me one of the few good jobs in the only place in town worth working. I’d come back to my hometown for my new job at the Mountain Inn and Resort and for my brother, not for Jay. And I was old enough to realize that we probably didn’t have much in common.
But when my high school crush noticed me for the first time and offered to show me the view from the plateau, how could I resist? I didn’t expect to start a beautiful relationship, but it was nice to imagine I’d turned into the type of woman who could attract a cool guy’s attention.
My heart was beating a little too quickly and I had to wipe my palms on my slacks. Despite the leafy shade, the air hung heavy and hot, the first really warm day of the year. It had hit 87 down in Albuquerque the day I moved, but summer came later in the central New Mexico mountains, at an elevation of almost 7,000 feet.
We entered a small clearing. Sunlight broke through the trees, dappling the long yellow grass. It was nice to be back in the mountains, back in these woods where I’d walked so often, after four years in a big city. I’d missed the green.
A bird rustled nearby. Jay turned and smiled at me. I smiled back, but my face felt stiff as I remembered his reputation with girls. At the time I’d envied those girls, with all the naïveté of a shy teenager who never got asked to go for walks in the woods with boys. Now I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. He’d said he wanted to show me the view and point out the changes since I’d been gone. But in high school, a “walk in the woods” wasn’t about the scenery.
I was being silly. We’d grown up since then. And we hardly had time to get into trouble. He couldn’t possibly assume we were sneaking out for a quickie after chatting for half an hour in the employee lunchroom. I’d told him I only had a few minutes.
“Come on, let’s go through here.” He pushed into the trees to the side of the clearing, rather than going forward on the established path that looped around the plateau and eventually back toward the resort. The view should be straight ahead.
I glanced back down the path, but the bright green of the golf course had disappeared around a bend. Still, we were just a few minutes from work. Maybe he knew another path, a smaller game trail.
It was easier to go along than to ask questions. If he had something more in mind than admiring the view, I could stop him later. But no need to cause a fuss yet.
A minute later he stopped in a smaller clearing, where a fallen log had cleared a space among the other trees. A nearby bank sloped down to a ditch that might carry a trickle of water later in the season, after the rains. I kept my smile in place and waited to see what he would do.
He swung toward me and reached out with one hand. I jerked back. My arm bumped against a tree and I felt the bark catch my sleeve. I looked down to free it, my face hot.
“Nervous?” Jay asked with a smile in his voice.
I shrugged and avoided his gaze. “You startled me.”
“Ah, sweet little Audra. Not so little anymore, and surely not so innocent?” He brushed his fingers over my hair where it draped over my shoulder just above my breast. I tensed but couldn’t move back without hitting trees.
He reached in his pocket and pulled out a small plastic baggie. He unrolled it and pulled out a handmade cigarette—probably a joint. Some of the other rumors about him came back, rumors I’d forgotten. He grinned the cocky basketball-star smile that had melted so many hearts, but it didn’t look quite the same now. For the first time I noticed the hollows under his eyes and the faint lines on his weathered skin. Could he really be just twenty-five? Had we all aged so much? Or had the years been harder on him?
He did work outside, which could account for some of the weathering. I was glad I always used moisturizer with sunscreen.
He lit up, took a puff, and held out the joint. I shook my head and struggled to keep a polite half-smile in place. He frowned and kept his arm extended. “Come on, you need to loosen up.”
My hand twitched, as if it wanted to follow his command of its own accord. I hated conflict. But I didn’t do drugs, and I wasn’t about to start. If I got fired from my job in the first week, I’d have a hard time finding anything else in town. I’d been away for four years, only visiting once a month, and I wasn’t about to make Ricky deal with Mom on his own any longer.
“Thanks, but no. I, uh, have some mild asthma and smoke makes me cough.” I’d found excuses like that more effective than a simple no thanks, which could lead to derision and pressure.
He shrugged and turned away, taking another puff. The smoke drifted toward me, confirming that this was no ordinary cigarette. I edged toward the ditch bank to get away from the smell. As an excuse for backing away, I leaned over to sniff the clusters of yellow blossoms on a gangly wildflower.
I almost gagged.
Could that stench really be coming from those pretty little flowers? I straightened, trying to breathe shallowly through my mouth and hide my disgust so Jay wouldn’t think I was disapproving of him.
Once I’d noticed it, the smell seemed strong all around me. Jay sat on the log and smoked. I paced the small open space, trying not to gag. It smelled of garbage, something rotten, decaying, dead. I wanted to get out of there. I wanted to turn back and run through the woods, back to my small office where I could focus on my work. This was a mistake. I’d never belonged with Jay and never would.
My friend Katie’s voice sounded in my head. Stop it! You’re channeling your mother again. Not all men are monsters.
He grinned up at me. “Come on, have a seat.”
I stared into his face as my stomach churned. How could he stand being in this place? Couldn’t he smell it? Or did his little cloud of pot block out everything else?
I managed a smile. “Can we go now? I don’t want to get in trouble my first week.”
He made a sound that might have been a short laugh or might’ve been a grunt of annoyance. “What’s the big deal? My dad’s the manager. I’ll put in a good word for you.”
But his dad wasn’t my direct boss, and having Jay ask his dad to tell my boss to go easy on me wouldn’t build the reputation I wanted.
He gave a smile that I would have found charming when I was fifteen. “Come on, sit down next to me.”
I hesitated. I should tell him I was leaving. Just walk away. But I couldn’t make the words come out. He might get angry, and as he’d said, his father was the manager.
I didn’t want to go back to the office smelling of marijuana. He had the joint in his right hand, so I finally sat on his left a couple of feet away. Once he finished his joint, I’d insist we leave.
He edged closer and put his arm around me. His right hand—fortunately empty—came up to my face. I hoped he hadn’t dropped the joint into the dry grass. Fire danger was at its usual early-summer high.
He leaned in and his lips touched mine. I flinched.
Jay leaned back. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
My face heated. “I’m sorry. It’s just….” I searched for an excuse that wouldn’t insult him. I glanced toward the ditch. “Something stinks here. It’s making me sick.”
He sniffed the air. “You’re right. Smells like something died.”
When he stood, I jumped up too. But instead of heading back for the main path, he walked closer to the ditch. It figured, a man notices something dead and instead of getting away from it he wants to poke around closer. I sighed.
Jay sniffed and then made a face. He pushed past a low-hanging branch and took a couple of steps down the ditch bank. I guess I have my share of morbid curiosity, because I edged closer.
Jay made a choking sound. He stumbled backward, turned, and bumped me hard as he pushed past.
“What is it?” I demanded.
He leaned over the log, hands on his thighs, taking deep breaths. I looked toward the ditch, then back at Jay. What could have caused this reaction? Something dead, but larger and grosser than he’d imagined? I pictured a deer with maggots crawling all over it.
I shuddered. Whatever it was, I didn’t want to see it.
“Jay? Are you all right?”
He straightened, still breathing heavily. “We have to get out of here. It’s a body. I think—I think it’s a body.”
I stared at him, the words slowly sinking in. “You mean … a human body?”
He didn’t answer. I glanced toward the ditch and whatever it hid. “Are you sure?”
He shook his head. His skin looked gray, and his eyes seemed to stare at something no longer there. He lifted a hand and curled it into a fist over his chest. “There was … a hand.”
I swallowed hard and pressed my arm over my stomach. “We need to call someone.” But if we reported a body and it turned out to be an animal, we’d look like fools. “We have to know for sure.”
Jay made no move. I said again, “We have to know.”
I walked slowly toward the ditch. I ducked under the branch. The smell rose up to gag me and I put a hand over my nose and mouth. My face turned away, refusing to see. I had to force myself to turn my head, to keep my eyes squinted open.
Oh God. It was a body. A woman’s body.
The smell choked me and my vision blurred. Behind me, I heard Jay’s harsh breathing. I should have listened to my instincts.
I shouldn’t be here.

Kris Bock writes novels of suspense and romance involving outdoor adventures and Southwestern landscapes. In Counterfeits, stolen Rembrandt paintings bring danger to a small New Mexico town. Whispers in the Dark features archaeology and intrigue among ancient Southwest ruins. What We Found is a mystery with strong romantic elements about a young woman who finds a murder victim in the woods. The Mad Monk’s Treasure follows the hunt for a long-lost treasure in the New Mexico desert. In The Dead Man’s Treasure, estranged relatives compete to reach a buried treasure by following a series of complex clues. Read excerpts at or visit her Amazon page.

Sunday, September 4, 2016

The True History of #LaborDay

In honor of the Labor Day holiday, here's a brief History of Labor Day:

People today may complain about how hard they work. Kids may not look forward to going back to school in the fall. But in earlier years, most people worked 10 or 12 hour days – every single day of the week. Children as young as six or seven worked these hours at dangerous jobs in factories and mines. All family members worked for pennies, struggling to earn enough for food and shelter, while business owners got rich.

Is it any wonder that working people began demanding more rights? In the 1800s, workers started banding together to complain. They formed labor unions, groups to fight for more workers’ rights. These groups held rallies and went on strike, demanding higher pay and better conditions.

The government got involved, but sided with employers, claiming that labor unions interfered with free trade. In 1872 in Canada, the Toronto Typographical Union went on strike to demand a nine hour workday. Twenty four union leaders were put in prison.

Soon after, the Toronto Trades Assembly of Canada organized a “working man’s demonstration” to call for the abolition of the law that declared trade unions “criminal conspiracies in restraint of trade.” A few months later, seven Ottawa unions staged a parade a mile long. Soon after these dramatic demonstrations, the Canadian Parliament repealed the laws against trade unions.

Public demonstrations saluting labor continued. Some were more of a celebration than a demand for change. On July 22, 1872, some 3000 to 4000 workers from 23 unions marched in front of about 50,000 spectators in Toronto. The parade featured military and civilian bands, floats and banners.

Credit for suggesting a Labor Day holiday dedicated to American workers usually goes to Peter J. Maguire, founder of the United Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners. On September 5, 1882, 10,000 marchers joined the first New York City Labor Day parade.

Oregon was the first state to make Labor Day a legal holiday. Many other states followed, choosing different dates for the celebration. President Grover Cleveland declared Labor Day a national holiday in 1894, a tradition that continues today.

Labor unions still faced severe challenges. Many employers refused to negotiate with labor unions, and broke up strikes with violence. The government generally backed the employers. Most people saw business leaders as the nation’s leaders, and supported them in disputes against labor unions. Union activists were seen as radical and dangerous.

The Depression changed the country’s attitude. Business owners could not stop the Depression, so people started to see the average worker as important to the economy. In the 1930s, the United States government began passing more laws that were favorable to workers  and labor unions. Labor Day – the one day each year especially set aside to honor working men and women – finally had its proper place and meaning in America.

This is a condensed version of an article I wrote that was originally published in Coal People Magazine, a union publication.

Photos via the Digital Public Library of America: Military band marching in the Labor Day parade. Hall County, Georgia historical photograph collection, Hall County Library System. 

Stereograph: Labor Day Parade. Union Square, New York. 1887. 

Poster: U.S. Information Agency. Bureau of Programs. Press and Publications Service. Publications Division.

Kris Bock writes novels of suspense and romance involving outdoor adventures and Southwestern landscapes. In Counterfeits, stolen Rembrandt paintings bring danger to a small New Mexico town. Whispers in the Dark features archaeology and intrigue among ancient Southwest ruins. What We Found is a mystery with strong romantic elements about a young woman who finds a murder victim in the woods. The Mad Monk’s Treasure follows the hunt for a long-lost treasure in the New Mexico desert. In The Dead Man’s Treasure, estranged relatives compete to reach a buried treasure by following a series of complex clues. Read excerpts at or visit her Amazon page.