Authors: D.E. Haggerty
Despite the fact that I used to own and run a Bed &
Breakfast in which I supplied my guests with homemade baking goods every day, I
don’t consider myself a great baker. I understand the basics and I certainly
wouldn’t be kicked off
for failing to make a three-layer
cake (how hard is it to stick a toothpick in the cake to make sure it’s done
before taking it out of the oven?), but I simply don’t have the patience to be
a good baker. Couple that with the fact that I prefer American baked goods, but
live in a country where it may be difficult to get American products and you’ve
got a recipe for a kitchen disaster. Anyway, here’s a recipe I adapted from the
BBC food program, which is super easy and way yummy. ENJOY!
250 grams plain flour
25 grams cocoa powder
2 tsp baking powder
½ tsp baking soda (or bicarbonate of soda)
85 grams each dark and white chocolate, broken into chunks
100 grams milk chocolate, broken into chunks
285 ml sour cream
85 grams brown sugar
85 grams butter, melted
Preheat the oven to 200 degrees Celsius
Line a cupcake tray with paper liners
In a large bowl, combine the flour, cocoa, baking powder, baking soda
In a separate bowl, beat the eggs then add sour cream, sugar and butter.
Add the sour cream mixture to the flour mixture and stir until just
Spoon the mixture into the cupcake tray.
Bake for 20 minutes until well risen.
Let sit for 15 minutes before removing onto wire rack. (Assuming you can
wait that long. I never can.)
Even though it seems like I spend all my time alone behind
the computer, squinting at the screen, it does take more than little old me to
finish a book and publish it. It’s customary to thank those people that put up
with my mood swings, whining and complaining, and general rudeness (although
who can blame me for needing to read that new review right now, even if we are
out to dinner with friends?). First and foremost, thanks to my friends and
family who allow me to bounce ideas off of them at the most random and
sometimes inappropriate of times and locations. I’m so glad that the Jet Jetson
video calls aren’t standard yet, as I don’t think anyone would appreciate how
often I get the urge to call and ask questions straight out of the shower. I
really, really need to buy a robe. I’d name everyone individually, but I’m
terrified I’d forget someone, and then we’d start a whole passive-aggressive
thing and I’d be completely clueless.
Of course the hubby deserves special mention for designing
my book covers, being a beta reader, and just being all-around Mr. Supportive.
Sometimes I worry he’s going to figure out that my characters feel more genuine
to me than real life, but then he comes home from work wondering if Callie has
solved the murder yet, and I know he’s right there in la la land with me.
I also want to throw a general thank you out into the
digital universe to thank all the book bloggers who have helped me promote my
books and especially those who take the time to read and review one or more of
my books. You can’t believe how thankful I am that there are bloggers that not
only read my emails begging them for a review but also actually take the time
to answer. Thank you!!!
Of course, I can’t forget to thank you, the reader, for
buying the book and reading it. I would be extremely honored and thankful if
you could write a review—even if it’s just a line or two. You can do that
If you want to keep up with what I’m writing next and maybe
some good deals on books, too, sign up for my newsletter. Do that
Or you can just follow me on social media, where I’ll probably say lots of
inappropriate things thinking I’m being hilarious.
the Author – That’s Me
my last book was published, I’ve climbed mountains, surfed the seas, and
adventured to the ends of the earth. Yes! It all happened – in my mind. I was not
born at the ends of the earth but, rather, in Wisconsin and, although there are
those who believe Wisconsin is the middle of nowhere, I beg to differ. How can
two hours from Chicago be nowhere? But if you ask me where I’m from, I’m likely
to say Holland. Way cooler, isn’t it? After spending my senior year of high
school in Germany, I developed a wicked case of wanderlust that is yet to be
cured. My flying Dutch husband and I have lived in Ohio, Virginia, the
Netherlands, Germany, and now Istanbul. We still haven’t decided if we want to
settle down somewhere—let alone
. I’m leaning towards somewhere I
can learn to surf, even though the hubby thinks that’s a less than sound way to
decide where to live. Although, I’ve been a military policewoman, a commercial
lawyer, and a B&B owner, I think with writing I may have finally figured
out what I want to be when I grow up. I don’t plan on growing up any time soon,
though. Between playing tennis, running much slower than I would like, trying
to adopt every stray dog within a five-mile radius, traveling to exotic new
locales, singing off tune, drinking entirely too many adult beverages,
addictively watching new movies, and reading books like they are going out of
style, I write articles for various websites, review other indie authors’
books, write a blog about whatever comes to mind, and am working on my ninth
(no, that’s can’t be right!?) book.
Other books by D.E. Haggerty:
Connect with me online:
“Ugh!” I shout at the mirror and throw my eyebrow tweezers
at it. Expecting a loud thunk but only getting a little ping instead, annoys me
further. Growing old sucks balls and not just any balls – big, hairy, sweaty
balls. I can handle the wrinkles. Everyone gets wrinkles. I can even handle the
gray hair. After all, it can look dignified or, more likely, be dyed back to
its original color when all else fails. But dark hairs on my chin? That’s where
I draw the line.
I hear a laugh behind me and look to see Jack staring at me
with mirth in his eyes. I should have never given the man a key to my house.
Jack is my BFF and has been since the first day of middle school. Some kid
called me metal mouth and before I had a chance to smack him, which I totally
would have, Jack came to my rescue. We’ve been inseparable ever since. When
to his parents, I was the one standing next to him holding
his hand. He slept on the floor of my bedroom at my parents’ house for a month
until his own calmed down.
Just because Jack is my BFF doesn’t mean I don’t get
embarrassed when he catches me trying to rid myself of evidence that I am aging
and much faster than him at that. Jack’s my age, but he looks at least a decade
younger. Life is so freaking unfair!
“Put down your weapons,” Jack says and raises his hands in
“Ha, flipping ha,” I mutter. I narrow my eyes when I catch sight
of a pink flyer in his hands.
My BFF is the king of harebrained
schemes, and a pink flyer can only mean bad news. I start to back away but have
nowhere to go in my tiny bathroom.
Jack smiles and starts stalking me like a predator. He waves
the flyer at me. He actually bounces on his toes in excitement. “I signed you
up for speed dating!” Speed dating? Also known as – how can I embarrass myself
over and over in a single evening?
I stop moving backward, cross my arms across my chest and
plant my feet. “You did what!” I may have shrieked.
Jack’s smile turns into a smirk.
“I’m not going,” I announce and try to push past him.
Jack is having none of that. He grips my elbow, stopping me.
“Oh yes you are missy! You’re going or I’m going to tell everyone about your
little chin hair problem.”
I gasp. “You wouldn’t!” He doesn’t respond but continues to
smirk at me. Shoot, he totally would. The little creep! I drop my face into my
hands and whine. “Why? Why are you doing this to me?”
Jack throws his head back and laughs. “Seriously?” He raises
one eyebrow at me. “You need to get laid woman!”
It’s annoying how Jack is almost always right. I do indeed
need to get laid. I recently turned forty, and I’ve been a widow for almost
five years. I’ve tried getting back in the game a few times, but I’m just not
that interested. Okay, I lie. I’m totally interested, but the dates I’ve
suffered through since losing my husband were disasters of such epic
proportions, I gave up.
I blame myself. I have no idea how to date. Ryan, my late
husband, was my first and only boyfriend, and then I married him. We met in
college and it’s not like dating is something you do in college, or at least I
didn’t. Ryan and I just hung out together watching movies and having drinks at
the bar with other friends. At some point, he started calling me his girlfriend
and that was that. We married straight out of college and then he died when I
was thirty-five. Going on your first date at the age of thirty-six is not fun,
let me tell you. I’m awkward at the best of times. On a date, when I’m nervous,
I’m a downright disaster. Speed dating can’t be any worse, I guess.
“Fine,” I groan. “When is it?”
“Tonight.” He mutters and then starts to back out of the
room before turning tail and full-out running away.
“What?” I shout as I chase after him. I catch up to him and
grab the flyer. He’s got some nerve. And then a brilliant idea hits me. I cross
my arms and go on the attack. “If I have to go, then you’re going with me.”
Jack’s laughter immediately stops. It’s his turn to cross
his arms. He looks down from his six feet three inches towering height and
raises an eyebrow at me. “And, pray tell, who am I going to meet at this
affair?” In case I miss his meaning, he adds a whole lot of diva to his voice.
“I don’t care,” I shrug. “But I’m not going alone and
“Fine,” Jack huffs and stalks off. “I’ll pick you up at
six,” he yells through the screen door.
Three hours later I’ve managed to rid my chin of any hairy
evidence and cleaned myself up reasonably well. Since I don’t usually wear
make-up, I suck, like majorly, at putting it on, but the bags under my eyes
aren’t going to disappear on their own. Puffy eyes are testimony of an
afternoon spent staring at my computer screen working on Jack’s website. As a
freelance graphic designer, I have to grab every assignment that I can. But
even if I didn’t need to take every job that comes my way, this is Jack we’re
talking about. I’d do anything for the man – even humiliate myself at a speed
dating event – and he knows it.
I put down the eyeliner pencil and have a look at the
results. For a middle-aged woman, I don’t look entirely unfortunate. Even
though I work out like the devil possessed, I’m slightly overweight but at a
height of five-eight, I can carry a bit of extra weight. Fortunately, for me,
most of my weight falls into the tits and ass categories. My hair is curly,
brown, and currently long. I hope my long eyelashes and sparkly green eyes
distract from the wrinkles around my eyes.
The doorbell rings and halts my perusal of my looks. I grab
my bag and jacket from the bed and head to the front door. Jack’s already
standing inside. He only rang the doorbell to make sure I got a move on.
“Damn girl, you look hot!” He exclaims as I reach up on tippy
toes to kiss his cheek.
“You know,” I say as we head out the door to Jack’s car. “If
you just played for the other team, we could get together and wouldn’t have to
do the stupid speed dating thing.”
Jack laughs as he opens his car door for me. “We tried that,
Why does Jack have to remind me? At the start of high
school, I forced Jack to take me to the homecoming dance. Even though he had
yet to come out, he was already pretty comfortable with being gay, but I had
convinced myself I was in love with my best friend. After the dance, I kissed
him on the mouth. His reaction? He yelled “yuck!” and wiped his mouth. It took
a month of schmoozing before I would talk to the handsome, gay guy again.