Becky Flade, Author

As it is New Year’s Eve, the end of 2022 and the beginning of 2023, I thought I’d reflect on what’s happened before turning the page to what’s next. Work has been good and productive. I work remotely four days a week and am on-site one day. And I got a promotion. But more than that, I feel appreciated and valued by my co-workers, attorneys, and supervisors. I’ve also had a good and productive year as an author. Winning my first book award, the 2022 RONE for my romantic thriller FALL TO PIECES, was a personal high. @beckyflade #RONE #winner ♬ original sound - Becky Flade And my October release, YESTERDAY’S OVER, continues to do well both with readers and with critics. She’s already earned a nomination for next year’s RONE awards. Fingers crossed for lightning striking twice. I’ve travelled. Gone to concerts, parties, barbeques, and the like. Took my baby to college and spent time with my grandsons. I am, in short, living my best life. Now it hasn’t all been good, of cour...

When I was little I didn’t realize that not everybody had stories. I thought it ordinary to have whole worlds, scenes, characters, complete with scents and expressions; the conflicts ; running on a nearly endless loop inside one’s inner eye. By the time I discovered it was unique, that I was unique, I had developed an urge, a desire, a craving if you will, to write the stories down. It started early; the earliest I can remember I was in kindergarten. I couldn’t even write the words myself; I asked my teacher to do it for me. I dictated, she scribed, and a writer was born. That was the beginning as best as I can remember. For over three decades this…[I hesitate to use the word compulsion as I infer a lack of control in that word and I prefer the warm fuzzy feeling the illusion of self-control provides]…need to see my words in print has driven me. But it’s more and somehow less than just that. There is an emotional release in the letting. Sometimes I picture my imagination leaking...

           ☃️  “It looks like Christmas threw up in here.” Aidan chuckled into the back of Maggie’s neck. Maggie inhaled deeply and exhaled on a contented sigh. He was fresh from the shower and the scent of his soap and shampoo mingled with pine from the tree Aidan and Maggie had spent most of the prior evening decorating. She leaned into his embrace, enjoying the connection. “Is it too much?” She tried to look objectively at the room and scrunched her nose. The tree was the focal point, it stood nearly as tall and as wide as the windows it was centered in front of and glittered with tiny fairy lights. It was covered it in ornaments. A mix of old and new; ones Aidan had in storage and those Maggie had had shipped from Philadelphia, plus ones they had bought together on a recent shopping trip. She’d saved the angel for last; she wanted to put that on together, today. But she’d giggled when she’d hung the stockings on an actual fi...

That's what I'm talking about;   and that's all I'm talking about today:   READING     It doesn't matter what it is;    it could be stereo instructions for all I care....   JUST DO IT!  

🎅 Winner of the 2022 RONE Award FALL TO PIECES only #99cents exclusively at Amazon https://www.amzn.com/B09KT3PCBY 🎅 FATED SOULS (1st book in The Fated series) only #99cents exclusively at Amazon https://www.amzn.com/B07XWF65XJ

ELEMENTARY CONTRACT   A trilogy of short stories with a twist featuring an unlikely contract killer; violent paranoia; and what one person would sacrifice for the love of another.   #FREE through December 15 th exclusively on Amazon     💀   EXCERPT  💀 Twin beams from an approaching vehicle lit up the dark road and elongated her shadow. As it neared, it slowed. She shielded her eyes and stepped further into the shoulder of the road as the car pulled in behind her. It was a 2013 Aston Martin. Galen bit back a smile. The driver side door opened. A thin man with a pinched face and flat eyes wearing an expensive suit under a long raincoat stepped out. “What seems to be your problem, honey?” “Thank you for stopping.” She gushed. “I thought I caught a flat and pulled over to check it. But like a ninny I locked myself out of the car and locked my cell phone inside.” She stayed where she was while he peered into the window. She knew her pu...

  Death and destruction have a party in just a few pages. 

I love to read. I LOVE TO READ. I’ll read anything, including soup cans, so clearly I’m not picky about word count. What I don’t understand is why there appears to be a virulent undercurrent of animosity aimed at shorter reads prevalent in current society. I’ve noticed over the last year or so readers are speaking out against short fiction. And they seem angry at the form. One author was reviewed harshly over word count (and only word count) for a story that was given away as a free read!   This is very much an argument for:   DON’T JUDGE A BOOK BY ITS …. LENGTH.   I brought the subject up in my writer’s group not that long ago and even there the consensus was decisively split between those that love the form and those that would never “stoop” to purchase a novella. And there it was again, while these writers weren’t angry at the short read like some readers I have encountered seem to be, they still saw the short story as LESS worthy or their time and money. [1]...

Okay that analogy just plain sucks. But it does give you an idea of where my head is at right now. Part of me thinks that if I’m going to take myself seriously then I should have an agent and another part thinks well how serious a writer are you really? I’m not going to quit my day job because I’m a realist. I have to be a realist; I have a family that depends on me. I have been responsible for the feeding and care of AT LEAST one other human being for the last twenty years. Sure I would love to have my cell phone ring during my morning commute tomorrow and have someone say “Becky Flade? We love your books. We’re sending you a big fat check. You’re the next Nora Roberts – Stephen King – John Grisham.” But come on, that’s one in a million. I’ve got a better chance at being hit by a Septa bus. Tomorrow. Today even.   Out here in the real world I have bills to pay. That means a nine-to-five. My nine-to-five. Not being in a position to have my books support my family and ...