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Squee! SHERRY ISAAC, critique and writing buddy extraordinaire, left town and put me in charge of posting her Holiday Memories Blog Hop.

Sherry, if you’re reading this, relax. I have no intention of telling the world you own polka dot underwear. Or, that you snort when you laugh. Or, that you have a stuffed pink pig as a writing buddy.

NOTE TO SELF: Remove paragraph number two before publishing.


You may recall that my Holiday Memories Blog Hop suggestions offered an alternative venue. “Write a letter from the point-of-view (POV) of one of the characters in your current work-in-progress (WIP).  Pick an age for that character and write a letter in your character’s “voice” about what The Holidays were like for him/her as a pick-an-age-year-old.

Sherry embraced that challenge and wrote a rocking hot letter from the protagonist’s POV in her soon-to-be-sold (I’m certain!) Paranormal Romance HOMECOMING. The timing of this letter takes place off stage, before Page One  of HOMECOMING.

And, now. I turn my Holiday Hammock over to Sherry Isaac!

Raised by Nancy Drew and Miss Marple, Maggie finalist Sherry Isaac writes tales of love, life and forgiveness that transcend all things, including the grave. Her first collection of short stories, Storyteller, debuted this July. Visit Sherry on the web like her on Facebook, follow her onTwitter, and become a fan on Goodreads. Read more of Sherry’s blog posts on Romance & Beyond

To: Philip Wyse
From: Hannah Marsh

Subject: Cinnamon Kisses

Good Mmmmmorning, Sexy Man!

Slept in, thanks to you and your late night call. If you made it to work this morning, then my suspicions that you are some kind of sexual superhero are underrated. Notions of sexual deviancy were concluded five minutes into the call 😉

Big news story breaking: The telephone wires between Winnipeg and Vancouver melted overnight. Wonder how that could have happened?

Thank goodness for internet cable.

I’m glad you enjoyed the cinnamon hearts. Priority Post, only the best for my baby. You said they were your favourite, and who doesn’t like a hot tingle on their tongue, but you give imagination a whole new meaning. My lips may be permanently swollen! But plumped up lips are good, because when we finally do meet, I am going to kiss the sweet bejesus out of you. We’ll both appreciate the extra cushioning, I’m sure.

So, cinnamon hearts. Dragging my head out of the gutter for one single solitary moment upon waking, I remembered the Christmas morning when I finally didn’t have chocolate in my stocking. I know, I know, a woman who doesn’t like chocolate. Get over it.

I was in third grade, and had never heard of cinnamon hearts. I brought home two pocketfuls after our classroom party. Mrs. Kitts, my teacher, let me have all the cinnamon hearts because every other treat kids brought, from candy to cookies to cupcakes, was either chocolate or peppermint.

Aunt V had a surprise when she cleaned out my pockets on laundry day, and called me into the basement to ask how the hearts got there. After half a week at the bottom of the hamper, the hearts in my pockets were covered in lint.

As I said, my stock was replenished in my stocking Christmas morning, in a lint-free container, no less. Munching cinnamon hearts during our sex talk last night (that was you, right? LOL) reminded me of that day and I feel very Christmassy this mild May morning.

Christmas day was always pretty quiet at our house. Uncle Steve helped Aunt V stuff the turkey after breakfast while I waited for him to take me ice skating at the outdoor rink down the street. I liked to sit on my knees in front of our big picture window and watch Franka’s eight billion relatives pile into the tiny house across the street carrying casseroles and presents.

The window pane felt like ice beneath my fingertips though the heat register blew warm air from the furnace. I liked to blow on the window then play x’s and o’s until the fog faded. The year of the cinnamon hearts, I invented a new game: hearts and o’s.

What I remember most about Christmas is the crunch of snow under my boots. I like how sometimes it cakes beneath the boots of the person in front of me, and seems to peel off the sidewalk like cookie dough rolled out on the counter, cut into shapes, lifted onto a sheet and slid into the oven.

Weird, huh?

But that day, that Christmas day, I crunched on candy hearts until my belly ached. Uncle Steve swore I’d grow up to be a heartbreaker.

Thought you should know.

Love you, can’t wait to see you face-to-face. Thanks for the ticket.


Whoa! Thanks Sherry for a wonderful Holiday Memory E-mail from Hannah to Philip. This happens before Page One? Methinks you need to get those queries out NOW! I want to read what happens.

And, now, it’s your turn. If you have the time and are inclined to play in the hop, just keep on reading. Leave a comment so we know you were here. Sherry and I LOVE comments. (Psst. Tell her not to do an all-caps-yell-a-thon over paragraph number two. I couldn’t chose not to stop myself)

Instructions for hopping along:

Participate in the blog hop by adding your name to the Linky List and using the super cool badge. If you want the URL for the badge image, it is located here OR you can right-click the image and access the PC menu to Save As and place it on your computer. Click on Mr. Linky below to add your name to the blog hop!