In addition to writing, Marcy is a freelance editor. She does editing for individuals, Desert Breeze Publishing, and Prism Book Group.
Marcy is an alumni of the Christian Writer's Guild and long-time member of American Christian Fiction Writers. She hosts a small critique group for ACFW and is involved in two other critique groups.
As followers of Jesus Christ, Marcy and her family are active members of Crossroads Fellowship in Odessa, Texas.
A gunshot rang out, and Candace vomited.
"Great. Barbie just tossed her cookies." Beth Anne sighed.
Enough was enough. She wouldn't put up with the leprechaun's taunts any longer.
"I'm sorry if I don't live up to your standards, Dumpling," she snapped. "I've never had anyone shoot at me."
"Dumpling? You little--"
"Enough, you two. Quit acting like spoiled junior-high girls. If you haven't realized it, we're in a little bit of a mess here."
And if she ever got out of it, Candace would tell Carl he could shove his job. Everyone told her how dangerous New York would be. Right. She never got shot at there.
More shots rang out, and her hands shook. "Thank goodness we're in the truck. If they don't shoot the windows, we should be okay. Right?"
Josiah barked out a short laugh. "Don't know much ‘bout guns, do ya, doll?"
"Not really. I know gun safety, and I'm a good shot, but that's it."
"A bullet can go through the metal of the door." Beth Ann's tone grew snarkier with each word. "It may or may not have enough force to come all the way inside depending upon the caliber. There's your education for today, Barbie."
"Thanks for nothing, Dumpling."
Sirens sounded in the distance, and Candace prayed the police would arrive in time to save them. She couldn't die like this, hunkered down in the floor of a flatbed truck with a puke-covered seat. At least she hadn't peed her pants. Yet.