When
not spinning her kinky tales, Ms. Kay ghostwrites nonfiction for lawyers and
other professionals. She resides in a bucolic exurb outside Milwaukee, Wisconsin, where she
shares a home with her son and enjoys opera, gourmet
cooking, organic gardening, and an occasional bottle of red wine.
Ms. Kay is an MS warrior and ruthlessly battles the disease on a
daily basis. Her message to those diagnosed with MS: Never give up. You define MS, it does not define
you!
Beverley: Why do you write romance?
Beverley:
Do you prefer
a certain type of romantic hero?
Seelie:
I adore smart, dashing gentlemen who
aren’t afraid to live on the edge. They can be a bad boy, a billionaire, a
prince, or a secret agent. That hint of danger just hooks me! However, I they
have to be paired with strong, independent women who aren’t afraid to fight for
what they want, even love.
Beverley: Why did
you write “The Last Christmas?”
Seelie:
My father is
94-years-old and as you might expect, has had a number of serious medical,
age-related events. Each time, we were told to prepare for his death. Each
time, he survived. The fact was, my Dad wasn’t ready to die. And his children
and his grandchildren weren’t ready to let him go either. So I started thinking
about terminal diagnoses and how they are really a best guess, not a guarantee.
That, of course, led to thoughts how a terminal diagnosis often causes people
to give up and prematurely mourn the death of the person who is ill. I wondered
how that impacted the outcome. And because I was preparing to write a holiday
book, I also started thinking about the power of family, and how, time after
time, families are capable of creating miracles.
That led me to “The Last
Christmas.” Christmas truly is a time for miracles, and thought it important
that everyone be able to experience one through the tale of the Wright Family.
When the doctors say there’s no hope,
Santa begs to differ. After all, he claims, miracles are love combined with
action to get the desired result. And at Christmas time, everyone deserves a
miracle!
David Wright is dying from cancer. He
is not expected to see another Christmas. At least that’s what the medical
professionals say. Fortunately, Santa begs to differ. After all, modern
medicine is nothing more than a best guess. Santa believes anything is possible
until you give up. When Santa tells David’s wife, Joan, that heaven is full and
she has to keep her husband alive, she is beside herself. She has no medical
skills. How can she save anyone’s life? Set your skepticism aside as Santa
embraces a family already mourning their father’s terminal diagnosis and
teaches them that a Christmas miracle doesn’t always require heavenly
intervention. Sometimes, all it takes is a family with enough love to create
their own. As Santa says, a true miracle is when love combines with action to
get the desired results. And only humans are capable of that. Will Santa’s
words fall on deaf ears? Or will Team Wright find a way to save their father’s
life?
Excerpt from The Last Christmas
“It’s not about you, it’s about him, Joan.,” a grumbly voice
said. “You’re looking at this all wrong.”
Joan turned so fast she almost lost her balance. She glared
at the old man who had spoken. He was around seventy, with ruddy cheeks and
twinkling blue eyes. And thick white hair. Lots of white hair. Flowing
over his shoulders, winding up in a very lush beard. On top of his head was
perched a brightly colored red knit hat. She frowned. “Wait a minute. You’re
Santa Claus. Without the red suit, but clearly, you’re him. I’d know you
anywhere.”
The man bowed and with a smile, said, “At your service.” He
gestured toward a park across the street. “Let’s take a walk.”
“Oh, no. I’m not going anywhere with you.” Joan shook her
head. “I didn’t mean you actually were Santa Claus. Everyone knows he
doesn’t exist. I just meant you looked like him. You’re just a man who looks
like him. I don’t know you. Why would I…” She glared at him. “You’re not even
wearing a red suit. And since when has Santa taken up armchair psychiatry?” She ran a hand through her blonde hair. “I
must be hallucinating.” Despite her objections, she followed him across the
street.
Santa laughed. “My dear, I have been dispensing advice since
I was old enough to talk and make people listen. God chose my role a long time
ago and I have gotten very good at it.” He looked toward the heavens. “Sorry,
old boy. Still working on that humility!” He chuckled. “Man never stops
reminding me.” He smiled at Joan. “Do you sense any ill-intentions from me? Of
course not. I’m Santa. All I want to do is talk.”
Joan reached out and touched his shoulder.
He laughed again. A laugh that came directly from his belly.
“Yes, I’m real. Well, as real as a centuries-old spirit gets. I even eat all
those cookies children leave me each year. And let me tell you, that’s a
heavenly feat.” Again, he looked skyward. “Yes, sir, I am well aware that
borders on gluttony. A sin. You know darn well it has nothing to do with
gluttony and everything to do with the magic of Christmas, an affirmation that
Santa is real. I do it for the children.” He smiled at Joan. “Sometimes, He
gets a little overbearing with his angels.”
He smirked. “Even God has his faults. He is by no means
perfect.” A strong wind swirled through the plaza, nearly catching his knitted
cap. He clapped his hand on his head to hold it down. He whispered, “And he
doesn’t take criticism too well, either.”
Joan stared at the man. Surely, she was losing it. Santa a
spirit, an angel? He and God didn’t even travel in the same circles. She shook
her head, trying to make the hallucination go away.
Santa sighed. “I know, I know. You’ve been taught that I’m
not real. That I’m a myth. That’s a rumor started by Satan himself, the old
devil. He can’t stand the fact that people embrace the goodness in the world.
And that I spread good cheer. He would much rather unleash a plague and make
people miserable. He hates Christmas. He hates that the birth of Christ is
celebrated, and his birth, well, is not. He really can’t stand the fact that
love binds people so tightly during the holidays.” Santa shook his fist toward
the ground. “The fool pouts all through the holidays.” He then sat up straight
and gazed at Joan. “Christmas is really about love, you know. All kinds of
love. The type of love he’ll never have. Love of family, love of children, love
of—”
“What the heck do you want?” Joan blurted. “People are
starting to stare.”
Buy links for The Last Christmas:
“The Last Christmas” is scheduled for release in December
11, 2020and will be available from all major booksellers, including--
Extasy Books: Preorder
Link Available November 27, 2020
Social Media Links
Website: https://www.seeliekay.com
Blog: https://www.seeliekay.blogspot.com
Twitter: @SeelieKay
https://twitter.com/SeelieKay
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Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/seeliekay51/
Amazon author page: https://www.amazon.com/Seelie-Kay/e/B074RDRWNZ/
