Have You Tried @KindleWorlds? Maybe You should!

Do any of the following apply to you?

  • You’ve always been an avid reader. You love books of all shapes, genres and sizes. You’ve even thought you’d like to write your own book some day.
  • You’re already a writer but you’d like to branch out into an area you’ve never written in before.
  • You have a favorite series but the author of the series can’t write books fast enough. You’d love to read more in that author’s world.
  • You wish you could write a book, but you’re not sure you have what it takes to do it. It would be fun to see what other aspiring authors have done.

All of these are great reasons to check out Kindle Worlds. Amazon has formed contractual agreements with a bunch of really great Authors so that fans can step into their worlds and create their own stories, or read more stories from the worlds they love. It’s a fun concept and its popularity seems to be growing in leaps and bounds.

Fan fiction (fan fic) has been around for a long time. It’s been the genesis for a lot of aspiring authors breaking in with their own works. Think Fifty Shades if you doubt that’s true. Apparently the popular BDSM romance series started as fan fic for the paranormal romance series, Twilight. Yeah, that doesn’t make sense to me either. <grin> But it proves that fan fic can create a path for success to a hopeful future author.

I’ve known all this for a while. What I didn’t realize until recently was that many well-established authors were taking advantage of fan fic to write in genres they’ve always wanted to try, reaching audiences they might never have reached on their own. That’s what I did. When I wrote Bayou Bubba, it was to stretch my wings into a type of genre I’d always enjoyed but didn’t think I could sell to my readers. By writing in Jana DeLeon’s Miss Fortune World, I’m able to introduce myself and my writing to a large, existing base of readers who are already eager fans of the cozy mystery genre.

I had a ton of fun writing for Kindle Worlds. I’m really glad I did it. Will I write another book for the Miss Fortune series? It could happen. I’ll wait and see how things play out. Or, like some of my author buddies, will I stretch into new worlds, try out other genres? That’s conceivable too. The possibilities are endless. And that’s just what makes the whole thing so much fun!

Happy reading…and writing?

Do you have questions about the process? Want to share your own experience as a reader or a writer of Kindle Worlds stories? I’d love to hear from you!


SC_BayouBubba_largeWhere Miss Fortune meets Miss Chance

Miss Felicity Chance’s father is missing, and her sexy PI Calford Amity thinks he’s found him. Together, they follow a trail of gold coins to Sinful, Louisiana, where a homeless guy named Bayou Bubba turns up dead with an alligator tooth in his hand and a gold coin between his teeth. Is Bubba Miss Chance’s long lost father? Or will the mystery of his disappearance suck her down into the bogs of the Bayou, and ruin her favorite purse?

Get Bubba!

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Sam’s Sunday Snippet – Sneak Preview Honeybun One and Done!


The FINAL Honeybun Heat novel is slated for release some time in May 2015. Percy and Brita’s story is shaping up nicely and I can’t wait to share it with you. So I won’t! LOL Here’s an excerpt from the work in progress:


Percy Honeybun stared across the wide staircase leading up to the alter. The woman standing directly across from him looked gorgeous in the rose-colored satin dress that skimmed her lovely knees and draped low over soft, white shoulders.

Brita Muldane had grown her hair long over the last months, the new, softer style turned up in soft waves along her shoulders and framed her high cheekbones and square chin like spun gold.

She’d tucked a rose the color of her dress into a comb that pulled the heavy silk of her hair back on one side, giving Percy an unobstructed view of her smooth cheek and long, delicate nose.


Brita didn’t appear to realize he was watching her. Her gaze was locked on the ceremony at the top of the dais. Her sexy, light brown gaze shimmered suspiciously as the bride and groom exchanged vows, staring at each other with doe eyes. Angie cried too as Alastair slipped a wide platinum band over her slender finger. When they kissed to seal the deal, Brita sniffed delicately and ran the back of her hand under her eyes.

As if she felt the weight of his stare she finally turned to Percy and her lovely mouth tipped upward in the corners, for only a beat, as they shared happiness that her friends and his brother and sister-in-law had finally tied the knot.

The running joke in the family was that Angie and Alastair were waiting for Percy and Brita to get over themselves and commit to a lifetime together. Everyone seemed to think that was just hilarious.

Everyone except Brita and Percy.

Patriarch of the Honeybun clan and well-known attorney, Bob Honeybun seemed much happier presiding over Angie and ’Stair’s wedding then he’d been at the last one, when Edric and Bella had delivered a bouncing baby girl during a hospital wedding fraught with screaming and caterwauling. Percy thought there might have even been a yodel or two in there. Papa Honeybun hadn’t taken being bedside for a birth all that well. But Percy gave him points for hanging in and getting the job done.

The elder Honeybun grinned widely as the rings were exchanged, fairly beaming with joy. “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

The crowd seated in row after row of chairs under the gauzy white tent erupted into cheering that Percy thought could probably be heard in downtown Indianapolis, fourteen miles away.

Percy clapped and cheered too and one of his brothers whistled long and loud.

Somebody yelled, “Finally!”

Everybody laughed, including the bride and groom, whose faces had lost the tension they’d carried around for days and looked magically and blissfully happy.

As Angie and Alastair walked, arm in arm, back down the aisle to the song, I Choose You by Sara Bareilles, the wedding party converged and followed them.

Percy clutched Brita’s arm tight against his side. “It was a beautiful wedding.”

Brita threw him a quick smile. “How would you know, you didn’t seem to be paying much attention.” She lifted a well-trimmed eyebrow and he grimaced.

“Busted. Have I told you that you look delicious today?”

She shook her head. “Cut it out, Honeybun.”

“What? Complimenting you? Or noticing?”

They reached the back of the tent and she pulled away. “Both.” Looking slightly trapped, Brita glanced around, fingering her new charm bracelet.

“That looks beautiful on you.”

She frowned, touching the clasp. “You shouldn’t have given it to me.”

“It was a gift for the Maid of Honor. Perfectly acceptable.” Her default instinct to push him away never stopped hurting. “Besides, it was made for you. Who else would buy a charm bracelet filled with weapons?”

They shared a grin. The delicate chain held a tiny pistol, a rifle and a couple of blades, all intricately wrought in the shimmery metal.

Despite her desire to keep Percy at a distance, Brita’s face had glowed with pleasure when he’d given it to her.

The chubby woman who worked for the photographer came scurrying inside the tent, looking slightly wilted. She caught Percy’s eye. “I’m sorry, the pictures will have to be inside today. It’s raining again.” She shooed them back toward the dais at the front…back through the crowd which had filed out of their tidy rows and were mingling together in the aisle. “Come on, come on. Time’s awastin’.” She grabbed Percy and a couple of his brothers, dragging them into service. “You boys grab those flowers there. Yep. Those. Bring them up here. You two, pull the tent open behind the dais. If we can’t go outside we’ll just bring the outside to us.”

Brita started to turn away and suddenly Percy couldn’t stand the distance between them any longer. They’d been walking on egg shells together for so long…since Angie and Alastair first met, in fact. He was sick of it. Sick of the whole mess of misunderstandings and mishaps that formed a seemingly impenetrable wall between them.

Somebody had to take the first step to make it right.

It might as well be him.

He reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her to him as the crowd swirled around them, cloaking them like a forest hides a single tree. “Let’s find a way to start over, Brit. I don’t want to lose you.”

She opened her lips to respond, but was nudged from behind and fell forward, into Percy’s arms. He didn’t consider the intelligence of his action. For once, he let his heart lead him. If what he did was wrong then so be it. It was driven by genuine emotion.

Percy wrapped an arm around her waist and dropped his head, claiming her parted lips with his own. She stiffened slightly, made a tiny sound of surprise, and then her hands came up to slide through his hair, her body softened, melting into his, and for a moment…the briefest sliver of time…it was like it had been between them in the beginning. Before he’d ruined it all with one bone-headed mistake that became a magnetic field drawing misunderstanding after misunderstanding to itself until it became a terrifying force feeding on itself and everyone around them.

She felt so soft against him, so warm and willing, and Percy lost himself in her delicious scent and delectable taste. The crowd might have disappeared as far as he was concerned. The noise fading away under the magical bubble they created with their kiss.

But of course it couldn’t last.

Someone called his name. A kid shouted and then squealed and something big and hairy bounded down the aisle, hitting the back of Percy’s legs and nearly knocking him to the ground.

Brita pulled away with a small cry, her eyes bright with unshed tears and her lips swollen. “I…” She shook her head and turned away, almost running through the crowd to the back of the tent.

“Catch him, Perc!” The mountain of brown fur was heading his way again, tail whipping the air happily as several kids lunged at it, laughing as he managed to squirt away from their small, grasping hands at the last minute.

Percy reached out and grabbed the big dog’s collar before he could plow into a woman dressed in pale pink and white, whose green eyes, so like Angie’s had widened with terror at his approach.

Percy smiled at Angie’s mom. “I got him, Mrs. Peterson.”

Alf and Pleasance ran up. Pleasance was grinning, her pretty brown eyes sparkling with good humor. “I told you he wouldn’t stay in the car,” she scolded Alf playfully.

Alf grabbed the dog’s collar and knelt down in front of him. “Clancy, you’re gonna be the death of me.” The furry monster dropped to its outsized haunches and whined softly, presenting Alf with a huge paw and then slathering his face with a wet tongue when Alf chuckled.

He then favored Pleasance with a loving lick across her knee. She giggled and dragged her hand over the soggy spot. “Dog spit. Ugh!”

Alf handed Clancy over to one of the older kids, Percy thought it was one of Angie’s cousins…or something…and straightened, dragging Pleasance close with an arm around her waist. “Where’s Brita?”

Percy frowned. “She left.”

Pleasance looked appalled. “Left? But we still have to take…”

“Pictures! Come on everybody. Time’s awastin’!”

Alf narrowed his eyes. “That woman might not survive the day.”

“I’ll go get Brita.” Stepping beyond the softly flapping walls of the tent, he scanned the area beyond, hoping to find her nearby. But she wasn’t there. And when he walked around the Honeybun home and checked the street where she’d parked. He realized she wasn’t coming back.

Her car was gone.


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Bayou Bubba is in Da House!

Bubba’s Here and I’d love for you to Meet Him…you know…before he’s dead…


Where Miss Fortune meets Miss Chance

Miss Felicity Chance’s father is missing, and her sexy PI Calford Amity thinks he’s found him. Together, they follow a trail of gold coins to Sinful, Louisiana, where a homeless guy named Bayou Bubba turns up dead with an alligator tooth in his hand and a gold coin between his teeth. Is Bubba Miss Chance’s long lost father? Or will the mystery of his disappearance suck her down into the bogs of the Bayou, and ruin her favorite purse?

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By the time we drove into Sinful, Louisiana, I’d reconsidered the wonderfulness of spending time with the once sexy Cal Amity. A more judgmental, stick-up-the-ass person I’d never met. I realized as he scoured me with a look that said “you’re an idiot aren’t you?” for about the hundredth time since we’d met at the airport in Indy, that the gulf between him and me just might be too wide to leap…or cross with a 747.

“I made us reservations at the Backwater Inn,” he told me as he turned left off Sinful’s wide, main street and headed for the dirty brown strip of water in the distance.

“Of course you did,” I murmured.

“I heard that.”

“Of course you did,” I murmured more softly.

“I heard that too.”

I glared over at him. “What’s the deal with the muddy puddle up ahead? Has there been a flood?”

“That would be the Bayou and I might need to use a boat for part of my investigation.”

I didn’t miss the “I” in his declaration. I would have argued, telling him there was no “I” in “me too” but the other part of his statement iced my bowels. My eyes widened as we turned into a pockmarked gravel parking lot, adjacent to a long building with fake logs for walls. “We’re going out there?” I jabbed a finger toward the muddy ribbon cutting a swath along the edge of Sinful. “Why ever would we do that?”

“Because that’s where I believe your father is.” Cal cut the engine and climbed out of the black Jeep he’d rented for us. He unfolded his long, lean length and stood, stretching enthusiastically before closing the door.

Yes, god help me, I did stare at his fine, round behind as he stretched. He might be a pain in my ass, but his was finer than hundred-year-old Scotch in front of a roaring fire.

Or as the people of Sinful would probably say…finer than frog hair. If frogs had hair.

Shaking my head on the question I climbed out too, groaning and clasping my back as pain zig-zagged down my leg. “I don’t want to sit down for a week.”

Cal focused his Caribbean blue gaze fringed with thick black lashes on me and, despite the “you’re an idiot aren’t you?” look on his chiseled features, my knee ligaments melted a little. “It was a long trip,” he offered in only a slightly disgusted tone.

I blinked, nearly toppling to the muddy gravel with surprise. “Um. Yeah. It was.”

I followed the intrepid Cal toward a door marked “Office” at the center of the long building.

A ten foot long concrete alligator adorned the narrow strip of grass alongside the door, his painted surface chipped and the flower hat on his head faded from the sun.

Cal’s assessing gaze slid right over the gator, seeing no entertainment value in it at all. But I just couldn’t resist a quick selfie. Crouching down next to the silly critter, I made my eyes go wide and my lips form a terrorized “O” and clicked a picture to send to my BFFs back in Indy. I chuckled as I hit Send and turned, squeaking a little as I almost ran into a man with a thin, graying ponytail and a tattoo of a gator running up his enormous biceps. “Oh, sorry.”

The man fixed me with a glacial gray gaze. He didn’t speak, his too-small mouth pursing a little inside the boundaries of a mustache and scraggly beard.

“Well.” I felt like a complete fool for my selfie antics so I laughed self-consciously and stepped around him, imagining I could feel the sting of his gaze on my back as I hurried inside.

Cal was talking to a man I assumed to be the manager.

“Yeah, I know him,” the manager said. “That’s Bayou Bubba. Sinful’s most interesting homeless guy. He don’t look like that no more though.” The manager grinned, showing jagged teeth the color of the Bayou.

Cal slipped the picture he carried of my father back into his shirt pocket. “Can you tell me where we can find him?”

The man’s mud-colored smile slipped away. He glanced at me…probably noting, too late, the shell-shocked aspect of my face. He inclined his head in my direction. “Ma’am.”


The man I assumed was the manager of the Backwater Inn reached beneath the counter and pulled out a key, handing it to Cal.

One key. Oh oh. I opened my mouth to object when Cal handed it to me. “Do you know where Bayou Bubba is living?” he asked the motel manager.

The man skimmed me another look.

Cal glanced my way. “Miss Chance, will you go to the room, please? I’ll join you in a couple of minutes.” Remembering my close call with the frigid-eyed guy outside, I considered digging in my heels and insisting that I stay, but something on Cal’s handsome face made me nod and exit the stifling office. Despite the thick, overheated air outside, I was thankful to leave the stale ashtray scent of the office behind me. I looked at the key, which had a grinning alligator key chain, and noted the number nine on the gator’s yellow belly.

Room number nine wasn’t far from the Jeep. Recoiling at the sour, coolish air that met me at the door, I shielded my nose with one hand. “Ugh!” The room was dark and noisy, with a portable air conditioner toiling loudly from its hole in the wall.

There were two beds, both covered in dark green cotton spreads, and one small table between them.

The carpet was also dark green, making the whole room depressingly dark. I went over and yanked the heavy drapes back, sneezing as dust bloomed on the air. Sunlight speared the room with light and heat.

The door snapped open and the delectable Cal was suddenly backlit by the blazing sun. He stared at me for a moment and I held my breath. My gaze followed him as he closed the door and crossed the room. He scanned a look over the bathroom before coming back.

“Do we have enough towels?”

He didn’t even crack a smile.

“Soap?” Okay, there was a slightly desperate sounding squeak in my voice. I twined my fingers together and swallowed. “Just hit me with it. Rip it right off like a Band-Aid.”

Cal’s dark eyebrows peaked. “Rip what off?”

Good god! “What did the manager tell you that he didn’t want to say in front of me?”

“Oh.” Scrubbing a big, square hand over his chin, Cal looked me right in the eye. “He told me your father’s in the morgue.”

My knees buckled and, to his credit, Cal proved he had excellent reflexes as well as a truly fine ass. Thank god he caught me. I’d have hated to land on the filthy carpet.

The sun streaming across it had illuminated something that looked a lot like dried blood.

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