Monthly Archives: March 2012

Interview with Heather Long

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INTERVIEW QUESTION FOR GUEST BLOGGERS

1.      Tell us about your current series.

I have several series at the moment.  I have a paranormal western romance series called Fevered Hearts that follows the lives of the Kane and Morning Star families.  The Morning Stars are all survivors of the Spirit Fever. The Fever struck and killed whole towns, but the survivors are changed. One is a shape shifter, another a fire starter and still another is a healer.  They do their best to live away from others, until meeting the Kane family.

Other series include Forbidden Legacy, a paranormal romance set against the backdrop of the Fae coming out into the world.  Coming soon are Always a Marine, a contemporary erotic series of shorts featuring retired and current Marines discovering love and passion and The Fortunate Buddha, an erotic romantic suspense and fun adventure series.

2.      What inspired your latest book?

Brave are the Lonely was actually born during the writing of Marshal of Hel Dorado.  Cody’s grief over Scarlett choosing Sam in that book and Kid’s aggravation with a number of events and their both leaving at the end of the first book set the groundwork for the second.  You could say every loner, cowboy movie I’ve ever watched inspired the rest.

3.      What is your favorite part of writing?

My favorite part of writing is diving into the story and experiencing it as I am writing.  The first three chapters are always the hardest, but everything after that just lets me immerse into the story.  Then there’s that moment when we arrive at the last third of the book and that’s a wild ride, I can rarely even slow down my writing much less stop.  That’s fantastic.

4.      What is your next project and when will it be released?

I have two books releasing in April.  The first is Once Her Man, Always Her Man, a 1NightStand contemporary erotic short from Decadent Publishing in early April and an erotic romantic suspense The Love Thieves releasing in mid-April.

5.      What advice do you have for other authors wanting to self-publish?

Edit. Edit. Edit.  Have a critique partner.  Then invest in an editor. It can cost you to get a good, solid pair of eyes to review the manuscript and clean it up for you.  You want to present a polished, professional manuscript and the best possible read for your readers.

6.      Tell us about your hero.  Give us one of his strengths and one of his weaknesses.

Cody’s strength and weakness is his strength of character.  He’s extremely stubborn and set in his ways.  His loyalty to his family and even to Mariska while he struggled with his feelings about her is reflective of that strength.  His temper, however, is something of a true weakness.  When he is enraged, he has a hard time seeing past the moment.

7.      Tell us about your heroine.  Give us one of her strengths and one of her weaknesses.

Like Cody, Mariska’s stubborn tenacity serves her well and makes her a survivor.  But her temper leads to impulsive, rash decisions that cost her more in the long run.

8.      What genres are you drawn to as a reader?

I love romantic suspense, mystery, thrillers, science fiction, fantasy, romance, paranormal romance and just about every genre I can lay my hands on. I love to read. I love fiction and non-fiction. I love historicals, I love court room dramas, and more,

9.      Do you prefer to read in the same genres you write in or do you avoid reading that genre? Why?

I avoid reading in the same genre as a current manuscript. If I am writing paranormal romance, I don’t read them. If I am writing contemporaries, I skip reading those.  This lets me stay fresh and keep a fresh perspective.

10.   What are you currently working on?

I am working on the third Forbidden Legacy novel for Siren-Bookstrand.

 

Author Bio:

Heather Long lives in Texas with her family and their menagerie of animals. As a child, Heather skipped picture books and enjoyed the Harlequin romance novels by Penny Jordan and Nora Roberts that her grandmother read to her. Heather believes that laughter is as important to life as breathing and that the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus are very real. In the meanwhile, she is hard at work on her next novel.

 

Blurb:

When death seemed preferable…

Mourning his mate drove fevered wolf shifter Cody out of Texas, but a brother’s need drags him back from the brink.

…and good deeds never go unpunished…

Gypsy princess Mariska only wants to protect her people and her freedom, but a dangerous choice puts her on a collision course with an angry wolf.

…the best thing that could happen to him…

When Cody touches Mariska, his wolf cannot escape the hunger that fills him.  For Mariska, Cody’s touch brings her a pleasure she never imagined, but is it enough to heal his fractured soul?

…was the last thing he expected.

As danger stalks all three of them, they must confront who they are or risk losing Cody forever.

His wolf. His woman. His way.

 

Excerpt:

“Cody,” he murmured. “Keep it together, man. She really didn’t mean for this to happen.”

He bit back the growl at Kid defending Mariska. The wolf disagreed, but Kid’s pain was too raw for this argument. Shushing him, he fed the powder into the water and then forced it down his throat. Two draughts later, Kid’s spasms quieted and he kept the water down. Remembering her advice to get as much water down him as he could, he carried Kid over to the river’s edge, cool, fresh water helped and little by little, Kid’s pallor retreated.

Once he settled him back by the fire, he built the ashes back up. The warmth would help, blankets, too. The strength of the boy’s beating heart quieted the panic pacing through the wolf. Then and only then did he and the wolf look back at Mariska.

Her mussed black hair hung around her face like the curtain of night parting. The morning sun, already halfway up the sky, turned her skin to pure honey. He’d barely noticed her the day before, save for the fire spitting in her eyes. Her obvious irritation irked Cody, after all, hadn’t he saved her from an uncertain fate?

Kill her.

The wolf’s visceral response puffed through him, the fur sliding back and forth beneath his skin, but he caged the wolf’s fury. Lashed to the wagon wheel, the woman presented no real physical threat.

Why had her people left her like that?

Family came first. He was not one of the Kanes with their strange ideas about elevating women to a position of worship. He appreciated their nature where Scarlett was concerned. It satisfied him that she would be treated with gentle, tenderness. She would want for nothing among the Kanes. But Cody nor any of his brothers would have abandoned her.

The wolf’s snort agreed with him.

They’d have burned Dorado to the ground if they’d had to, killed every man in their way to retrieve their sister. Had Cody discovered the Kane brothers drugged and unconscious with Scarlett the culprit, he would have taken care of the problem and moved on, taking her home.

So why had her people done the opposite? What father left his child, vulnerable and alone, with two men who would be in their rights to take whatever they wanted from her?

Rage surged inside of him. Muscles tense, Cody stalked toward her.

Kill her.

Judging Historical Romance Contests by Jannine Corti Petska

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Please help me welcome Jannine Corti Petska to my blog.  Jannine will be giving away an ebook copy of her book, Surrender to Honor, so be sure and leave her a comment.

Judging Historical Romance contests for the Unpublished

 

Maybe it’s because I was an English junky in my former life, but I’m a stickler for grammar and punctuation. Now I’m not saying I’m perfect. Far from it. Often rules fly out the window when writing fiction. A writer’s style comes into factor here. But the simple and most basic rules of the mechanical side of written English (United States English) are easy to find. If you don’t recall what you learned in school, there is definitely no shortage of books explaining comma placement, proper punctuation for dialogue, misplaced modifiers, run-on sentences, and a zillion (a bit of an exaggeration <g>) other rules. So no excuses allowed, especially since the majority of writers have access to the internet.

I began judging romance writing contests in the late 1990s. Over the last 10 months, I’ve judged a few contests for historical romance writers working toward that often elusive goal: publication. The one glaring mistake (and the reason I was prompted to write this article) in almost all of the entries was punctuation—more specifically, the comma. The second is a tie between incorrect dialogue punctuation and run-on sentences. While not giving an all-out lesson here, perhaps more like tips, I would like to make unpublished writers aware of how a judge views their poorly punctuated entries. Just remember, all of the following are my observations only.

In judging the pride and joy of a writer, I try to be supportive while gently reminding her where and why punctuation is or is not necessary. I find each story I read has merit and could well be published one day. The writer, however, shouldn’t submit an entry to a contest without making certain it’s polished and shining brightly. This goes beyond the plot and character depth. The entire picture must be complete. If it’s not, scores could be quite disappointing. But do not feel down and out. Think of the judge as your silent critique partner and take her suggestions and comments as a challenge to perfect your creation.

Here are a few reasons for using (and not using) commas:

*They are not periods and do not signal the end of a sentence.

*Overuse of the comma leads to long, long sentences and confusion. They should be used before a conjunction (and, but….) that links two independent sentences together.

*Use commas after long introductory clauses and phrases, as well as after items in a series. (Her coat was short, red, lightweight, and stunning.)

*Know when to use commas in restrictive and nonrestrictive clauses.

The list goes on, but the above are the main errors I often see. Here are a few more:

—Review the rules for exclamation points! Use them sparingly in your work. One entry I judged used exclamation points as if she’d found a sale on them and bought out the store. By the time I finished reading the entry, I was exhausted.

—Go easy on dashes and know the difference between when to use them or ellipses.

—Learn how to punctuate dialogue. I cannot stress this enough. And begin a new paragraph for each speaker.

—Idioms can kill a story. One writer used them without fear. Unfortunately, it read like she’d used every idiom in the book to tell her story. I don’t mind a few, as long as they were in use in the period of your story. On this same note, historical writers must know when certain words came into use. Don’t refer to someone as “dude” in a medieval. The best book for this is English through the Ages. I’ve been told Webster’s Ninth Dictionary gives word origins although I haven’t used this source.

Obviously, there are many other rules to be aware of when writing. Using grammar and punctuation correctly could make the difference between a perennial slush pile inhabitant or a sale. Below are three books that might help you. Keep in mind, not all of these may speak to you. Go to a bookstore and peruse similar books to make sure you’re comfortable in how it approaches English grammar and punctuation.

The old stand-by book is Elements of Style, Strunk and White

My go-to book is A Writer’s Reference by Diana Hacker.

Another good one is The Everything Grammar and Style Book by Susan Thurman

Not all judges will tell you what you want to hear. After all, you’ve just given birth to your literary baby. You’re showing her off to the world. Why would there be anything wrong with her? When more than one judge points out a problem area, then it’s advisable to take a closer look at the reason behind it.

I’m a firm believer of entering writing contests, more so if you don’t have a critique partner. When I joined RWA in the mid-90s and dipped my toes into the contest waters, I was a nervous wreck. Upon return of my entry, I looked it over with a critical eye, thinking the judges had lost their minds. I’d get angry. So I’d put the entry aside for a few days until I cooled off, then I took a second look at the comments. Some seemed absurd (you’ll know them when you see them), but the ones that weren’t are what helped me learn the craft. In the end, you must do what is best for your story. And grow a thick skin, a piece of advice I received the first time I entered my work in a contest.

One last note: Read your work aloud. It’s the best way I know of for catching a multitude of mistakes. And never rely on your spellchecker. It doesn’t tell apart words like he/she, he/her or know/no. The list goes on.

SURRENDER TO HONOR, book 2, Italian medieval series
Blurb

Prima Ranieri seeks retribution for her family’s death and loss of home and land. Her plans go awry when the heir to the powerful Massaro family returns home. After only one glance, Prima’s attraction to him undermines her furor toward those she blames for her plight.

After a fifteen year absence, Antonio Massaro returns to Palermo to find a war raging between his family and the evil Falcone. His refusal to accept his rightful position as the head of the Honored Society carries serious consequences. The welfare of the people of Palermo is at stake. But one look at the beautiful woman Prima has become costs him his heart. She’s a deadly distraction…one that jeopardizes her life as well as his own.
Excerpt

Prima and Antonio are out for a pleasure ride and stop in an orchard. Prima sets Antonio straight on the matter of her marrying.

“Think you age is on your side?”

She bristled. “I am not yet beyond marriageable age, or hindered like an old
hag. But do tell, why must I have a husband?”

“You need a man, Prima, for you are like a wild horse before it is captured
and tamed.”

“Such an insult! I’ll not be compared to an animal. And neither must I be captured or tamed.” She jerked on Amica’s reins, startling the horse. Antonio held the leather lines, preventing the horse from bolting.

“You act as if you are the only person ever to lose family. This bitter revenge you carry will one day turn you into a mean and spiteful old woman. Give up your fight. Marry and have children.”

“And bring them into a world of greed and senseless killing? I’ll not birth a son who is expected to rule and dominate solely because he is a man. And I’ll not birth a daughter who will be forced to bend to a man’s will simply because she is a female. Marriage is not a path I favor. I want the freedom to choose how I ride a horse and to decide on the clothes I wear.”

“Those ideas will bode ill for you, Prima. You alone cannot change a society.”

“No, but I alone can choose my path in life; and no man will ever take that away from me.”

Buy link, ebook:

http://www.thewildrosepress.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=176_138&products_id=4695

Paperback:

http://www.thewildrosepress.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=191&products_id=4702


Interview with Taryn Blackthorne

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Please help me welcome Taryn Blackthorne to my blog today.  Taryn will be giving away a copy of her book to one lucky commenter.  So be sure and leave a comment for an entry to win.

How did you get started writing?

I got my start in writing by storytelling. When I was a kid, I used to put on plays for my babysitters, my Barbies were always horse trainers or sorceresses or psychics. My best friend and I invented the Red Hawks and White Hawks, two imaginary groups of defenders of the world and we’d go on adventures. We were the leaders, of course. My writing just naturally developed out of that.

What genre(s) do you write in and why?

I write in paranormals mostly. I have a few futuristic and a couple of contemporary, but the magical/mystical elements always find ways to creep into my writing, no matter how hard I try to write ‘straight’.

What is your favorite part of writing?

My favourite part of writing is … all of it, I suppose. I love drafting, I love editing, I love making something from nothing and having it all appear from my brain, knowing that without me, this couldn’t have been born. Egotistical? Maybe, but it’s what I like. I guess I’m a bit of a control nut. Okay, there, I admitted it. Really I love trying to figure out the world I live in through the characters on my screen.

What is your favorite dessert/food?

Chocolate or fresh apples with cinnamon sprinkled on them. Mostly chocolate (anything chocolate falls into this, so cake, pie, brownies, bunnies, fondue…excuse me I have to go to the kitchen).

How likely are people you meet to end up in your next book?

I get teased about this all the time by my non-writerly friends. I’ll get this look on my face and my best friend Deb always moans and says ‘that’s going into a book, isn’t it?’ But to tell the truth, it’s not the people who end up in my work. I don’t know any real werewolves or wizards, people who’ve been possessed by ghosts or spirits or anything. I’ll pick out dialogue, a movement with hands, the way people look at their spouse or kids. That’s what ends up in my books. And of course, the occasional stupid move I do, like tripping up stairs or pushing a pull door.

What is most difficult for you to write?  Characters, conflict or emotions?  Why?

Fight scenes are VERY difficult for me. I’m not a fighter. I have to ask people who know how to throw a punch, people who are more connected with their bodies than I am. I live too much in my head, everyone who knows me tells me this. I break out chess pieces, dolls, anything to help me block it out and get it right, make it feel real.

What is your writing routine like?

A good day starts off at 6 am. Get up, coffee/tea, breakfast, shower and force my eyelids open. Try to be at the desk by 7am. Emails, blog updates, Twitter hooked up and I’m generally ready to start the word count goal by 8am. Then I hit the #1k1hr people on Twitter and go until I hit 3500 words or 11:30/noon. Then its run errands, interact with real live humans and kitties and other normal stuff. After supper I try to hit the books a bit (professional development for writers should be never ending…I call it research and EVERYTHING can fit in here if you do it right J).  I might go back to the drawing board if I had trouble in the am, or I might write some more if I’ve had trouble hitting my word count. But mostly, that’s it. I try to take weekends off, but if I haven’t hit my weekly count then I’m working the weekend too.

 

Are you a member of any writing organizations and, if so, have they helped?

I’m a member of the RWA and my local chapter (Romance Writers of Atlantic Canada, or R-wac as we call ourselves) they have helped immensely! I love having people I can bounce ideas off of, ask questions about self-publishing and just network with. I’ve improved immensely in my writing from their book recommendations alone!

 

 

Pet Peeves by Jane Toombs

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Please help me welcome Jane Toombs to my blog today.  Jane will be giving away a copy of her book to one lucky commenter, so be sure to leave a comment for a chance to win.

PET PEEVES AND THE BOOK THAT HAD TO BE WRITTEN.

By Jane Toombs

 

Authors are readers, too.  I don’t ask that an author give me the read of a century, all I’m looking for is to lose myself in a book for as long as it takes me to  read it, plus not be jarred out of the story by too many typos or too much of any one thing–sex, meals, description, explanations that go on and on, obvious errors of time and place, animals talking, and the like.  As far as animals go, if I know the animals are going to be thinking and talking before I open the book–fine.  Otherwise it‘s jarring. .

I hate to be jarred out of a story. Enough so that I may not ever try another book by that author.  So as an author myself, I do try to do my best when writing to not be guilty of this. And that’s why I  don’t self-publish, instead using a publisher who edits my rights-back books and also offers fabulous covers.

Those who want to self-publish really need to have a free-lance editor look over their story first. Authors often cannot “see” their own mistakes. But the readers will. I was lucky enough to find someone I knew and trusted  when she started this company–Books We Love, Ltd.  I’ve been very happy with the results.

My first project  with them was a  rights-back historical gothic suspense romance called Hallow House that was just too long.  They suggested splitting into two parts as two separate ebooks, using the same cover for both and  calling it Part One and Part Two.

When this proved to be successful I discussed with them dividing an even longer California historical saga called Golden Chances into parts.  As it turned out I found seven places where the story segued naturally into the next hero/heroine’s story, so we wound up with seven novella ebooks, each with its own title, instead of an impossibly long book.  I even got to name the first novella The Bastard, a title I’d always wanted to use. In this case he actually is one.

So  now they’ve just put Thirteen West up on Amazon,  I couldn’t find any genre that fit this story within a story novel though it has suspense and a kind of romance, but is far from being romantic suspense. I wound up calling it mainstream fiction.  Which I guess it is.  As an author I’ve became so accustomed to writing paranormal suspense romance, my favorite to read and write, that I was surprised to find I’d actually written a mainstream book, a gritty one at that.

You see, I’m an RN, though I haven’t worked as one for years.  But way back when I was young and impressionable, I did work in a state psychiatric hospital and the experience made an indelible impression on me.  Not that the incidents in Thirteen West did happen in the one I worked in–they did not. But they could have.    

Maybe all authors have a book they have to write at some time in their life.  If so, I guess Thirteen West must be mine.

My Website: www.JaneToombs.com

 

Blurb:

Thirteen West Blurb: To her adult daughter’s horror, her mother insists on picking a drunken derelict off the streets of San Diego to try to rehabilitate him. When the daughter protests, her mother hails a cab, shoves the man into it and rides away . What the daughter doesn’t know is that her mother and this man share a dark history from the past, from the time her mother was a student nurse taking her psychiatric affiliation at the state hospital where this man was once an RN Supervisor. She also doesn’t know her mother has no idea why she’s doing this…

 

EXCERPT

“Mother, will you please stop staring at that crazy!”

Sarah Goodrow Fenz ignored her daughter’s plea as well as Linda’s frantic tug at her arm. Her feet firmly planted on the southwest corner of Horton Square in revivified downtown San Diego, she peered at the stumbling, mumbling derelict weaving his way toward them.

He was no novelty–all cities had their quota of drunks, druggies and dippity-dos–but something about him triggered a warning flare of memory. She shook her head, but the long-ago and unwelcome memory persisted from a time she didn’t care to dwell on.

“Moth-er!” Linda cried, giving her arm a hard yank. “Let’s go!”

As Sarah freed herself, the man’s blurry gaze met hers and she noticed the wedge of yellow in the brown iris of his right eye. The bottom fell out of her world. Frank. Almost unrecognizable but Frank, all the same. The one man she’d thought she’d left forever back in the past.

After a moment she recovered enough to realize there’d been no flare of recognition in his expression. He obviously hadn’t a clue who she was. Thank heaven. She’d simply walk on by and that would be the end of it. But her feet wouldn’t move.

“Frank Kent,” she said when he drew even with her.

He blinked, stumbling to a stop, looking around, apparently unable to believe she was the one who’d spoken to him.

“Frank,” she repeated, understanding with dismay that whether she wanted to or not, she’d made up her mind what must be done. Reaching out, she grasped his hand. “Come with me.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Linda protested. “You can’t do this. These people are dangerous.”

“Not Frank,” Sarah said. “Not any more.”

Linda stared at her. “You can’t be serious. Even if you know him, just what do you intend to do? Remember, you’re staying with us and Darrin will have a fit if you try to bring him to the house.” She gave Frank a shuddering glance. “I don’t even want him in my car. I’d never get the smell out.”

Head down, looking at no one, Frank left his hand in Sarah’s, apparently oblivious to what Linda was saying.

Sarah eyed her daughter. “Don’t worry, I’ll take a taxi to a motel. And I won’t bother Darrin about this unless I need a medical opinion.”

Linda’s expression changed from worried to horrified. “You don’t mean to stay with this–this street bum in a motel!”

“You know as well as I do that no hospital will admit him. Where can he go to be taken care of? There is no place for street bums, as you call them. I have no choice but to try to take care of him myself. After all, I’m a nurse.”

“Be reasonable, mother. You haven’t done any nursing in years. He’s filthy. He probably has lice and God only knows what awful diseases. AIDS, for one.”

Sarah shot her daughter an exasperated look. “Either help me or leave me alone. I’m doing what I have to do.” She waved her hand at an oncoming taxi and it pulled to the curb. “I’ll call you from wherever I go and you can bring me my things.” Leaving her still protesting daughter, Sarah loaded a passive Frank into the cab and climbed in after him, wrinkling her nose at the stink of dirty clothes, unwashed male, old vomit and second-hand wine fumes.

“Take me to a motel where they’ll accept this man, but make sure it’s one where I won’t be in any danger,” she told the cabbie.

His over-the-shoulder glance was dubious, but he nodded. Frank hadn’t looked at her except for the one time on the street. He not only had no idea who she was but no concept of where he was headed or what she intended to do with him. He was as helpless in her hands as she’d once been in his.

Excerpt Kiss Me I’m Irish by Bella Street

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Bella will be giving away a copy of her book to one lucky commentor.  So be sure to leave a comment to enter.

EXCERPT:

He stared at her without answering. Emily returned his gaze, realizing this was the first time she’d seen him in full light. His hair was coal black and mussed from sleep. His skin, tan and ruddy, as if he were a field laborer. And his eyes were the intense blue of a milkwort blossom, with a telltale darker ring around the outer edge of the irises. Of course! With a name like Liam she should’ve realized it sooner. He wasn’t a gypsy at all.

He was an Irishman.

That meant this was some form of purgatory. Jem, Donnelly, and Our Lady of the Portal had had their revenge after all.

Crinkles formed at the edges of Liam’s eyes. “So you’re still holding to the story that you’re from another time?”

“I believe I’ve already made it clear I don’t tell falsehoods, Mr…” She bit her lip. “As we have not yet properly been introduced, I’m afraid I am ignorant of your formal title.”

“My last name is Jackson, but you can call me Liam.”

“Well, Mr. Jackson,” she said, lifting her chin, “I am Miss Emily Musgrave recently of Trethwick Hall, Truro, Cornwall, 1813.”

His mouth quirked. “Okay, Miss Emily, how are we gonna get you back to ‘1813’?”

The mocking question gave her pause. Did she really want to go back? Go back to what? Lady Tremaine, or the convent? She straightened her shoulders and struggled to gather her swirling thoughts into some semblance of order. Even if she was experiencing some sort of altered state or hallucination, wasn’t it far superior to her alternatives?

“Are you some kind of princess where you’re from?” Liam said, his voice lit with amusement.

Emily looked away, wishing he would not tease her. “No, Mr. Jackson, we are not royalty. My great aunt is a baroness.”

Why would he think her a princess? She’d arrived dirty and bedraggled. Lady Tremaine would have a fit if she could see her now. In fact, Lady Tremaine would get a chuckle of out Mr. Jackson’s assumption that Emily was a princess. Especially when my lady’s favorite descriptor had been more along the lines of hoyden. But throughout her lonely childhood, Emily had entertained rosy dreams of castles and knights, princes and princesses, sprinkled with piskeys and stardust. Somehow that dream had remained tucked away in the recesses of her mind as the distasteful realities of life had intruded—duty to her family name, duty to her great aunt, being sold to the highest bidder…

Oh, that mama and papa were still alive.

Emily reached for her locket, but instead of finding it she touched bare skin. Her breath hitched as she finally realized what was missing. Her necklace must have been lost during the chaos of her arrival! Emily’s heart sank like a stone. It was probably in the bog. Or it had slipped down one of the many drains in the necessary room. Regret filled her, wringing her heart out like a rag. How could she have lost it when she needed it most? Even in their absence, her parents were somehow near to her heart when she wore that locket. Now she was completely adrift, forever cut off from her past, lost in a bewildering muddle of time and circumstance. Tears burned at the back of her eyes.

“So, uh, what you see around you isn’t exactly the future you’d imagined?”

She blinked away her tears, her fingers seeking the locket she knew wasn’t there. “Um…no.”

“Did you ever wonder what it would be like?”

A great sadness descended upon her. Perhaps it was time to no longer dwell on the past—especially now that she’d been thrust so far into the unknown. She must face the here and now and determine her fate. Emily glanced up at Liam, swallowing a great lump. “When…I used to think of the future, it was always about who I would marry, what name would be linked to mine, and pleasing my family. I never imagined horseless carriages, colored words that glow in the dark, and…”

An overhead roar arrested her attention. She tipped her head back and gasped, her grief displaced for the moment. A great fixed-winged bird thundered above them.

“And airplanes?” Liam said.

She tore her attention from the marvel above and looked at him in a daze.

He sent her a searching smile. “It’s basically a…horseless carriage in the sky. They carry freight and people.”

“Ren ow thas.” The world tilted beneath her. She reached for her locket, found it wasn’t there, and swayed.

“Okay, I’m thinking this isn’t time to bring up the moon landing.” Liam’s arm came around her waist. “Are you gonna faint? Hey, you aren’t back in that corset thing are you?”

Emily struggled to stay lucid. She blinked her eyes hard and gulped several deep breaths of warm, sticky air, thankful for a gentleman’s support.

“Did your neck get hurt?”

She focused on Liam. “Pardon me?”

“You keep scratching at your neck. Were you injured there?”

She frowned, straightening until she felt steady on her own two feet. “No, but I fear my gold locket was lost in the melee—”

His brows snapped together. “Do you mean a necklace?”

Emily nodded, wondering at his furious expression.

“Dammit! Tinker!”

Liam hustled her back into the room, leaving the door ajar. He settled her on the edge of his bed and turned on the overhead light. After stalking to the next bed, he shook the blonde’s shoulder.

Tinker grumbled in her sleep and swatted his hand away. He tried to rouse her again. Finally, she cracked open her eyes and sat up in a huff. “What?”

“Miss Emily here seems to be missing something.”

“Her marbles?” she groused.

“Seems she arrived with a gold locket that has particular meaning to her.”

Tinker went very still. “Oh, the necklace. It had fallen off her in all the confusion, so I picked it up for safekeeping.” She shot Emily a tight smile.

Liam towered over her bed, his arms crossed. “She’d like it back. Now.”

“Fine.”

Whipping the blankets to one side, Tinker slid from the bed wearing a shocking lack of clothing. Emily didn’t know how the woman could bear to be seen in a thin sleeveless garment worn with extremely short bloomers. Tinker rummaged in the drawer of the small table next to her side of the bed. She brought out her hand, revealing the locket dangling from between her fingers. The gold gleamed dully in the light.

Liam turned to Emily. “Is that it?”

She nodded, her lips pressed together to keep from crying out in relief.

He took it from Tinker and approached her. “Let me help you put it on.”

Heart thudding with anticipation to receive it back, she pulled her long braid to one side. Liam threaded the chain around her neck, his fingers warm against her skin as he fumbled with the clasp. As soon as the familiar weight pressed against her sternum, a calm came over her. She brought the locket to her lips and closed her eyes for a moment, feeling some of her equilibrium restored.

Behind her, she heard Tinker grumble and slam the door of the necessary room.

“Better?”

Emily twisted around and offered Liam a grateful smile. “Yes, thank you.”

His stern expression eased somewhat.

“Here now, what’s all this?”

Startled by a gruff voice, she turned back to the door. A man, looking not unlike one of the men who had been in pursuit of them the night before, stood in the doorway, his bulbous eyes surveying the scene with obvious distaste.

“I thought I made it clear that this here is a decent motel, no unpaid guests allowed. There are plenty others to bring your ladyfriends to—they rent by the quarter-hour—”

“Uh, Mr. Milbanks,” Liam said quickly, “this is a friend who dropped in unexpectedly from out of town.”

The man made a dismissive wave with his hand. “She’s still an unpaid guest. In fact you and your sister owe me for a week’s rent as it is.”

Liam shoved his hand through his hair. “Yeah, about that. I know I said I’d pay you after the gig last night, but there was a mix-up and—”

The man shook his head, his face turning the color of boiled ham. “No more excuses. You and your female friends here need to clear out within the hour. I got paying customers waiting on a room.” He swept Emily with a withering look, then turned and stomped back to wherever he’d come from.

A dark flush mantled Liam’s cheeks. “Sorry you had to see that. We’re kind of in a pinch at the moment.” He lowered himself onto the mattress next to her. “We have a gig tonight, so I think the pinch will be temporary.”

“She doesn’t want to hear about our money troubles, L.J,” Tinker said, coming out of the bathroom dressed in a blue shirtwaist and long indigo pantaloons.

At least her limbs were fully covered this time.

Emily noticed her own unsatisfactory wardrobe. Perhaps she’d wear her cloak over the strange ensemble encasing her body. How could she obtain more appropriate attire? “Is my cloak still available?”

“Yeah,” Tinker said, getting up to retrieve it. “It’s about the only thing that didn’t get ruined.”

Emily refrained from reminding Tinker it was she who’d ruined perfectly serviceable clothes. Emily accepted her cloak from the blonde and ran her hands along the lining.

“Why did you have it on inside out last night?” Liam asked. “At least that’s how it looked to me.”

“To keep the piskeys away, of course.”

He looked surprised while Tinker snickered.

Amazon link: http://amzn.com/B004XD1ZYK
Print link: http://amzn.com/1461110564
Nook: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/kiss-me-im-irish-bella-street/1100250040
Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/54483
Find me at
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Bella-Street/206130552768212
Twitter: https://twitter.com/#!/bellastreet
Blog: http://bellastreetwrites.blogspot.com/
Website: http://www.bellastreetwrites.com/

St. Patrick’s Day Blog Hop

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You may not know it but Denver, Colorado has a large Irish population. At least on St. Patrick’s Day. We have the second largest parade in the country. Second only to New York City. Everyone wears green or ‘Kiss me I’m Irish’ buttons, hats or T-shirts. All the bars, taverns and restaurants serve green beer and corned beef and cabbage.

In my younger years, I call them my wild years, before my husband and I got together, I celebrated at a bar named Clancy’s. I didn’t start celebrating the holiday until I started working for the assessor’s office. My boss loved St. Patrick’s Day and always gave his appraisers the day off to go to Clancy’s. I was the first female appraiser in the county’s history so I went, too. I’d be damned if the men did anything that I didn’t. I was determined to prove myself to be ‘one of the guys’.

My mistake this particular St. Patrick’s Day was in wearing all black except for a green leaf in my hair. Now in a dark bar, in my dark hair, a dark green leaf doesn’t really show up much. I got pinched a lot. I’m surprised I didn’t have bruises. I did, however, notice that the men who weren’t wearing green didn’t get pinched. And I seemed to be the target of serial pinchers. I caught a couple of the guys pinching me more than once after they knew I was wearing green. I think they were getting back at me for entering what had previously been an all boys club.

It wasn’t easy being the only woman in an all male profession. To say all eyes were on me is not an exaggeration. Men and women watched me. Both having a stake in whether I succeeded. Both sides having persons for and against me. Now you’re probably asking why this has anything to do with St. Patrick’s Day. Well this was the first time I was interacting with many of my co-workers on a non-working basis. This is where I either made it into the club or not. How I behaved that day would determine the rest of my career in that office. I had to be able to be “one of the boys” if I was to succeed. It wasn’t about drinking beer or eating corned beef. It was about camaraderie. It was about trust. Could they trust me to be one of them. To be in the trenches with them. To have their backs if needed.

I guess I had what it took. I was invited to join them in other after hours activities and I later became the first female appraisal department head and later then, the first female Chief Deputy Assessor. None of which would have been possible without passing the test on that first St. Patrick’s Day.

I will be giving away to one lucky commenter the paperback volume of my Centauri Series, which contains all three books, Centauri Dawn, Centauri Twilight and Centauri Midnight.  The paperback will be mailed to anyone in the US.  If the winner is outside the US, I will give them ebook copies of the three books.


http://carrieannryan.blogspot.com/2012/01/its-st-patrickss-day-bloghop-sign-up.html

A Moment with Mary Marvella

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Do writers choose their stories or do the stories choose writers?

Why would I write a book about a forty-year-old virgin? It’s complicated. That sounds like a good name for a movie. Oh, wait, it is. (grin) Why would I spend months writing a book that was not likely to grab a New York editor by the throat and yell “best seller”? I guess I still must say, “It’s complicated.

The Gift was indeed a gift to me. Edna Mae, my old fashioned heroine, reminded me of all the women I knew who had given up their lives to care for parents, siblings, husbands, or their own kids. I understood her need to love and be loved by her parent’s. This shy woman insisted we tell her story her way. Editors and agents have said they liked the characters and the story, but… I finally decided to self publish. You would not believe the HUGE learning curve that presented me.

Now I must promote the book, and I will repeat, IT’S COMPLICATED! Yes, I meant to shout.

Blurb.
On Edna Mae’s 40th birthday she buried her controlling father and lost her virginity in a one-night-stand with a stranger she never expected to see a gain. Her life is about to change in more ways than she can imagine. This woman’s fiction has explicit sex and is very southern.

Excerpt:
Edna Mae’s lawyer has taken her for a bite to eat after seeing to the probation papers and business.

Sam looked patient and businesslike. “Thanks, we’d like a booth out of the main traffic.”

The hostess shrugged, tossed long blond hair over her shoulder, then walked away with hip action that would have crippled me. I’d never try the incredibly high heels she wore, either.

Once seated in the booth, I stared at the menu. What would I like here? Every meal I’d prepared for my parents had been simple and bland, doctors’ orders.
The waiter came to tell us about the specials, recommending the grilled salmon.

“That sounds good,” Sam said.

“I’ll have that, too,” I said.

Sam added his salad choice, the house salad, and ordered Sweet Tea.

I ordered the same, heaving a heavy sigh of relief when the waiter left with our orders. No more decisions for my information-overloaded brain.

“So, how are you really?” Sam asked. He stared at me over the water glass he held, as though he wanted to read my mind.

No longer a servant to my father. No longer a virgin. He’d likely choke on the swig he took if I gave him either answer. Settling back on the leather cushions of the booth, I took a couple of swallows of water to stall answering.

“Okay, guess.” I shrugged.

The waiter brought large glasses of iced tea and salads.

Sam put his water glass on the table and speared a chunk of lettuce. “You’ve had a lot of information to digest today.”

“Yes.” I took a bite of salad. It was tasty with a citrus dressing and bits of dried fruit. Maybe Sam wouldn’t expect me to speak with my mouth full. Maybe I’d make better conversation with a glass of wine. Last night drinks helped me relax and talk with the stranger. He had made me feel comfortable.

Meals at home had always been silent, even when I’d come home from school with the excitement of a child eager to learn and to share with my parents.

Sam ate his salad with the relish of a starved man. He must really be hungry. I’d wondered if he stopped here because he thought I needed to eat.

I finished as the waiter brought our entrees.

The salmon was divine! I’d eaten half of it before I remembered the rest of my food.

Sam’s laugh drew my attention to his smile. “Good salmon?”

I paused with my fork on the way to my mouth. “I was hungrier than I thought.”

Sam grinned. “I’m glad you like it.”

By the time I finished my meal, I was actually relaxed and comfortably full. When the waiter came to take dessert orders I glanced around the room. Oh, God. The place was full now, and I wanted to hide from all the people. Were they watching me?

“I don’t need dessert.” I tried not to show the panic building inside. “You order, though.”

Sam, bless his heart, shook his head. “Nah, I need to get back to the office. A lawyer’s work is never done.”

“That’s not the way I remember the expression.”

Do you know anyone who has sacrificed everything for family?

 

One lucky commenter will win a download of The Gift and another book by Mary Marvella.
The Gift is available for only 99 cents until April 2.

http://bit.ly/tFy77u

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00631OX6W

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/101492

MaryMarvella.com
http://pinkfuzzyslipperwriters.blogspot.com/
http://www.ebooks99cents.blogspot.com

Other books by Mary Marvella
Haunting Refrain, Forever Love, and Christmas’s Best Bet, Humble pie.

Excerpt from Tame A Wild Wind

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Here is the Prologue from TAME A WILD WIND. I hip you enjoy it. Be sure and comment. One lucky commenter will win a Smashwords coupon for Tame A Wild Wind.

Cindy

EXCERPT

PROLOGUE

They was about to hang his brother.

Harry’s stomach roiled with nausea. From the alley next to the saloon, he watched the Ranger, Sam Colter, march Frank up the gallows steps. Watched the hangman put a noose around his brother’s neck and ask if he had any last words. Watched, helpless to do a damn thing about it.

It weren’t Frank’s doin’ that Colter’s wife and kids had died in that fire. They’d only wanted to have a bit of fun with the woman, make a little money, that was all. They hadn’t wanted to see her and those girls die. That was never the plan.

Fool woman. If only she’d waited. Her father would have paid the ransom. A bank president could afford it. Instead, she’d broken loose. Thrown that lamp at his head, trying to kill him and killed herself instead.

The fire had been fierce. It moved so fast like the house was made from kindling. He rubbed the puckering skin on his arm, feeling the sting of the flames all over again as his flesh charred. He couldn’t have saved them, not and gotten himself out in time. Harry clenched his fists. It wasn’t his fault. And it wasn’t Frank’s either. It wasn’t. She was to blame. Frank shouldn’t have to die for something she’d done to herself.

He had to stop this from happening. He had to save Frank.

Harry shifted away from the gloom of the alley and his brother looked at him from the gallows; met him square in the eye and shook his head. He didn’t want Harry to die too, trying to save him. He’d always been like that. Always looked out for him. Even when it could have saved his own life, he hadn’t given his little brother up. Swallowing hard, Harry slid back into the shadows, his heart pounding.

Time slowed as the hangman stepped up to the lever and gave it a sharp pull. His brother dropped through the trap door, kicking and struggling, his neck not broke clean. Fear strangled Harry, like he was on the end of the rope, trying to breathe, trying to live. Hot tears tracked down his cheeks and bile rose into his throat as his brother’s face turned purple and then his eyes bulged out, legs thrashing wildly at the air.

This weren’t right. None of it was. Damn Colter. Damn him to hell.
The bile in his throat burned all the way to his stomach. He barely got himself hid behind a pile of old beer barrels before he threw his guts up into the mud. Minutes later, shaking and sweating, Harry wiped the vile stuff from his chin. Fury and grief gripped him, making his chest hurt. His brother was gone. Dead. And Sam Colter was to blame for it.

He forced himself to look at Frank’s body, spinning almost lazily now from the end of the rope. He never wanted to forget what had happened today. He wanted to hold onto the icy hatred settling over him like armor–let it protect him and keep the awful feeling of helplessness away. He wanted revenge.

“I’ll get even for you Frank,” he vowed quietly. “Colter will pay for what he done today. He’ll pay for hangin’ you.”

Interview with Abbie MacInnes

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I’m interviewing Abbie MacInnes today.  Please help me welcome her.  Abbie will be giving away a copy of His Fifth Avenue Thief to one lucky commenter, so be sure and leave a comment for her.

1. How did you get started writing?

I had the idea I could write a romance while in college. I was taking a Sociology course on serial killers. My idea was of course, for a romantic suspense. It was totally horrible and messy plotwise, one of those books quite unsalvageable, but so much fun otherwise. I didn’t know anything about plotting or characterization. Ah those days of ignorant bliss. LOL That first idea sparked the dozens I’ve had since then.

2. What genre(s) do you write in and why?

I’ve always loved Historicals. My latest release is a novella set in New York City in 1850. For me, Historicals transport me back in time. It’s so much fun learning about the past and setting characters during a war or famine etc. I also write Contemporary western romances. What can I say, I love cowboys. They’re honorable, strong, tough and resilient.

3. What inspired your latest book?

The movie Gangs of New York inspired Cathlene, my heroine from my story. She’s a turtledove just like Jenny from the movie.

4. What is your favorite part of writing?

Ah, I love when an idea smacks me in the brain. I love when everything comes together, the characters, the plot, the story. Sometimes it happens in the first draft, but mostly everything comes together during the revision process.

5. What is your least favorite part of writing?

I’m not terribly fond of editing. I’m a perfectionist. Sometimes I’ll need to pull myself back because ten minutes will have passed and I still haven’t found the perfect word. There’s no such thing as perfection, but when a paragraph reads just right, it feels wonderful.

6. What is your next project and when will it be released?

I’m working on several projects now. A timetravel Regency romance and a contemporary. I’d hoped to have something out this month, but personal matters have intruded and I’ve had to change my release schedule as a result.

7. What is your typical day like?

I have a day job, but I’m fortunate enough to be able to set my own schedule. I work three days a week and write on the days I’m not scheduled. Of course there’s so much that needs my attention, I have to really put my writing first those days before other things. I’m quite new to self-publishing. I’m still figuring out how to schedule all the tasks necessary before putting out a new release. Since I’m acting as publisher, author, CEO, there’s much that needs my attention. I’m still getting a handle on juggling all that needs done. *g*

8. How much time do you spend promoting your books? What works best for you?

I’m not the greatest book promoter. *g* I have my blog, and I tweet and post to Facebook, and I’m a member of several Yahoo loops. I try not to be too annoying and in your face because I don’t like just receiving messages/posts that mostly say “Hey, look at me and what I have.” I designate a half hour a day to browsing tweets and FB posts and blogs, and commenting/liking/retweeting when something interests me. I’ve found that blogging has been the most beneficial for me. I have my Sunday Sweet Spot Author spotlight feature where I promote other authors, so I’m not just giving readers my opinions and ideas and making it all about me me me. And I love giving back to other authors because when I first started writing, several authors welcomed me to their blogs. I love that kind of networking. It’s fun and easy and interactive.

9. How has your experience with self-publishing been?

It’s definitely been a learning curve, but I’m not on this journey alone. I’m a member of the Indie Book Collective.

www.indiebookcollective.com

and Indie Romance Ink.

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/indieromanceink

Interacting with fellow members and seeing what options are available to me has made my experience with self-publishing very fun and profitable. It’s a lot of work as I said before.

However I’m not one to put all my eggs in one basket. I’ve been published with a few digital publishers, and when I began self-publishing, I noticed that both my titles with publishers and those I’ve self-published feed off each other if you will. I’ve decided that I’m not going to self-publish everything I write, but it’s definitely something I will continue to utilize because I’ve seen the benefits from it, such as knowing what works in terms of paid promotion and gaining new readers. And though most digital publishers can get an author the same distribution self-publishing can, many publishers have a massive, and loyal reader following, which takes time for indie authors to establish.

10. Where do you get the ideas for your stories?

Everywhere. I love listening in on conversations in restaurants or coffee shops and seeing what I can use from them.

11. What advice do you have for other authors wanting to self-publish?

As a businesswoman who wants to write full time and make a living from my writing, I thought it important that I educate myself on all the publishing options out there. As early as this time last year, I swore I’d never self-publish. That thought wasn’t founded on anything sound. Keep an open mind and always be willing to change. It’s difficult being in this business, but if you keep an open mind and continue to keep up with all the changes in publishing, you should be just fine. I’m glad I didn’t dismiss self-publishing because I wouldn’t be where I am now as an author or a person.

Bio:
Abbey MacInnis is a published author of Contemporary Western romance. Along with Contemporary, she writes Historical, Paranormal and erotic romance. Whether she’s being swept off her feet by a Medieval knight, regency rake, or cowboy or cop, her heroes are always strong men who’ll love their women unconditionally.

On most days, Abbey can be found at her computer, penning her latest tale. A tale where love, respect, and passion combine to create a satisfying and happy ending. She invites you to step in to the pages of her romances, to leave your worries behind and get swept up in her world.

Check out my latest release:

His Fifth Avenue Thief

Two years prior, Irishman Aaron O’Connel took his life from rags to riches. Chance and wits have kept him alive in 1850’S New York City. But no amount of money or success can bring his love Cathlene back from the dead. When a thief sneaks her way into his mansion, the last woman he expects to find absconding with his belongings is his long lost wife.

Abandoned on New York’s shores, a widowed, penniless, and ruined Cathlene O’Connel was left to fend for herself in an unfamiliar world. Fear and circumstance drove her to a life of thieving in order to survive, but her heart risks the biggest danger of all when Aaron hands her a scandalous proposition: A son in exchange for her freedom.

Now that he has her back, Aaron doesn’t intend to let Cathlene slip between his fingers. He’ll do whatever it takes to regain her trust and love. But when an enemy from Cathlene’s past resurfaces, Aaron not only faces battling for Cathlene’s heart, but also her life.

Available at
<a href=”http://www.amazon.com/His-Fifth-Avenue-Thief-ebook/dp/B005F9VRB2/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1312084280&sr=1-1″>Amazon</a>

<a href=”http://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-hisfifthavenuethief-583609-148.html”>All Romance Ebooks</a>

<a href=”http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/his-fifth-avenue-thief-lyn-worthen/1032670348?ean=2940013136625&itm=1&usri=his%2bfifth%2bavenue%2bthief%2babbey%2bmacinnis”>B&N</a>

<a href=”http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/77195″>Smashwords</a>

Visit me on

<a href=”http://www.abbeymacinnis.com”>my website</a>

<a href=”http://www.facebook.com/pages/Fans-of-romance-author-Abbey-MacInnis/202180996459943″>Like me</a>

Follow me on

<a href=”http://www.twitter.com/abbey_macinnis”>Twitter</a>

<a href=”http://www.goodreads.com/abbey_macinnis”>See what I’m reading at Good Reads</a>

<a href=”http://abbeymacinnis.blogspot.com/”>Come follow my blog.</a>

An interview with Elysa Hendricks

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Please help me welcome the talented Elysa Hendricks to my blog today.  Please remember to leave a comment for a chance to win a prize.

1.  How much time do you spend promoting your books?  What works best for you?

I probably spend way too much time doing promotion. Sadly, I have very little idea what works and doesn’t work. I just keep trying different things. Promoting for self-published ebooks is vastly different than for traditionally published print books. I write blogs and do interviews, which take time away from actual writing, but without them I’m afraid my books would get lost in the flood of books being released every day. I use Facebook as a way to connect with family, friends and readers, but it’s highly addictive. I’ll start out intending to spend thirty minutes there and three hours later I’m still reading and writing posts, most of which have little to do with promoting my writing. I belong to a couple a dozen writer’s Yahoo lists, so email is another big time suck.  So far I’ve managed to avoid becoming a Twit because the whole world of Twitter completely baffles me. I haven’t figured out the most efficient way to promote my books, but my best results have come from visiting people’s blogs. I love hearing from readers and other authors.

2.  How has your experience with self-publishing been?

I LOVE it! I can write the stories that excite me without worrying if they’ll fit into a publishing house’s sometimes narrow parameters. And after a less than pleasant experience with one New York house I love the control and freedom self-publishing gives me. Being able to create my own covers is fun. However, I still have four fantasy books with ImaJinn Books and have a sci-fi romance DARK STAR DAWNING coming out with them soon. I haven’t eliminated the idea of traditional publishing. I’m just waiting for the right offer. Preferably one with six figures.

3.  Where do you get the ideas for your stories?

Mostly I dig them up in the backyard or I buy them resale shops, garage sales and the Goodwill. Actually, ideas come to me from many sources – TV shows, books, movies, newspaper and magazine articles, a snatch of conversation overheard in a restaurant or grocery store. Anything and everything can trigger an idea in my imagination. Once an idea sprouts in my head I think and dream about it until it beings to develop into a story. Sometimes at this point I’ll write down the bones of the idea and leave it sit. Other times it grabs hold of me so tight I have to start writing it out. At that point I usually commit to writing the book and start the process of research and plotting.

My least favorite method of getting a story idea is when someone comes up and tells me “Boy, have I got a story for you to write.” It takes tact (sometimes more than I possess) to tell that person I have more than enough ideas to keep me writing for years and only they can write their story.

4.  How likely are people you meet to end up in your next book?

I think all writers “collect” people in their minds. We store names, personalities, and events to be pulled out and combined later into entirely new character people in our stories. Though I may have used a name or a particular trait, I’ve never consciously taken a real person I’ve met and turned them intact into a fictional character in my books. I find that each heroine includes bits of me or people I know that I either like or dislike and in addition I’ll give them personality traits that I wish I had or wish I didn’t have. So if you read one of my books and recognize yourself, don’t be alarmed, it’s really just a composite person. That said each of my characters is a “real” person to me. They live in my head and heart for months as I’m writing about them and stay there forever afterwards.

5.  What genres are you drawn to as a reader?

I like stories that offer me something different. My real life is plain, bland, boring vanilla, so in my reading I want spice and adventure. Fantasy with magic and sci-fi set in other worlds grab and hold my attention. But I also enjoy stories set in the real world about people, places and events that I’d never have the opportunity or courage to experience. While reading a book I can fall in love again, climb mountains, skydive, ski, fly planes and spaceships, explore caves and fight zombies. For a short period of time I can leave the problems of real life behind and be another person. In romance I’m guaranteed a happy ending.

6.  Do you prefer to read in the same genres you write in or do you avoid reading that genre? Why?

I write historical, sci-fi, fantasy and contemporary romance because I like those genres, so I also read them. I do try not to read historical fiction when I’m writing historical fiction, at least not stories set in the same time and place, so my story doesn’t inadvertently borrow from them. Same with the other genres. But since there’s such a broad range of story settings it’s pretty easy not to overlap my reading with my writing. I also read outside the romance genre, so I’m never without a book to read. I find that the more I read the more I write. Every book I read inspires and encourages me. I learn from them.

7.  Tell us a little about yourself and your latest book.

There’s not much to know about me. I’m 5’6″ tall. I have curly hair and brown eyes. I’m an author, a wife, a mother and a daughter. Everything else is subject to change without notice. All the interesting stuff is in my books.

Both my westerns THIS HEART FOR HIRE and HER WILD TEXAS HEART were inspired by my reading of Larry McMurtry’s LONESOME DOVE and T.R. Fehrenbach’s COMANCHES:The Destruction of a People. I wanted to write a gritty, realist account of life in the Old West, but also give the reader a compelling love story with a satisfying happy ending.

My latest book, HER WILD TEXAS HEART is the second book in my western series. In a lawless west Texas border town, a woman has two choices: death or dishonor. Doctor’s apprentice and former Comanche slave, KC O’Connor finds a third–she buries her femininity and longing for love beneath a boyish disguise. But the arrival of an injured greenhorn shatters the shell around her hidden heart.

 

8.  Do you or have you belonged to a writing organization?  Which one?  Have they helped you with your writing?  How?
I’ve been a member of Romance Writers of America since the early 90’s. I helped found the Windy City and the Fantasy, Futuristic & Paranormal chapters of RWA. I also belong to WISRWA and COFW RWA chapters. What I’ve learned and gained from my membership in these groups is beyond measure. Romance authors are some of the most caring, helpful people in the writing industry. They write about the power of love to overcome all obstacles, so how could they not be? In addition to the help they’ve provided me learning the art, craft and business of writing, I’ve made and continue to make friendships that will last a lifetime.

 

Excerpt:
Arms and legs at odd angles in death, a man lay on his side amid the rocky, scrub covered ground. Blood covered his upper back, but the bullet hole in his coat, just below his left shoulder, was small.

KC leaned over him and fingered the rich cloth. Once she’d soaked out the blood, she could easily mend it.

She turned her attention back to the man at her feet. Too bad he was dead. Thick, gold blond hair covered his head and stubble of beard shaded his square chin. Beneath his tan, his strong classic features had a pale, waxy look. A thin trickle of blood escaped from the corner of his mouth. Creases bracketed that same mouth, indicating he had either smiled or frowned a lot. KC bet on the former. Blue, she thought, with that fair hair, his eyes would have been blue.
His broad shoulders tapered down to a narrow waist, his legs long and lean beneath his tight trousers. KC estimated his height at least six inches over her own five foot seven.

Though KC didn’t much like men, she could appreciate this one’s male beauty. Gold and bronze, he reminded KC of the pictures she’d seen in Mama’s books, of the Greek god Apollo.

Books the Indians had torn apart and used to start the fire that…no, she wouldn’t think about that time. She turned her thoughts back to the man.

There’d only been one shot during the night. That, in itself, was unusual. Peaceful, Texas was usually anything but. One shot in the dark meant a slow night. It awakened her from her nightmare and for that she’d been thankful.
The hot Texas sun beat down on KC’s bent head. Sweat trickled between her breasts reminding her the dead didn’t keep long in the heat. Already a lone buzzard circled above, waiting.

With a grimace of distaste, KC searched the man’s pockets. Other than a pale, pink lace, nothing-of-a-handkerchief, they were empty. She stroked the soft silk, her rough fingers snagging the delicate fabric. With a scowl she shoved it into her vest pocket and continued her search.

Whoever shot the man also picked him clean. Probably Rico, she thought. That mean little snake would think nothing of shooting a man in the back. Rico must have been in a hurry, only the stranger’s boots were missing.

Well, Rico’s loss was KC’s gain. Made of quality material, the stranger’s clothes could be reused. The man’s silk shirt alone had nearly enough fabric to make a shirt each for Eli and herself. KC silently thanked her deceased mother for the needlework lessons.

Already the morning had proven quite profitable. Just before dawn, shouts and gunshots roused her from her bed yet again. Peering out of the hayloft window, she caught a glimpse of Rico and his men taking off after a dark stranger riding a big rawboned horse. KC wasn’t sure, but she thought she saw a woman riding double with the stranger. She wished the man luck and put the incident out of her mind. This was, after all, Peaceful. Shootouts and murders happened on a regular basis.

When KC came down from the loft, she found over a dozen books lying strewn on the barn floor. Beautiful, leather-bound, gold-embossed books, books like the ones Mama had so loved.

Glancing quickly around, she waited for someone to step out of the shadows to claim them. No one came. She collected them and carried them up to the loft.

Before she hid them away, she stole a few minutes to stroke the smooth leather, to smell the familiar scent of paper and ink. Later she would open them and read the words, savoring them like the rare and wonderful things they were. Then she had scooted back down to begin the day’s chores.

Sweat soaked through the bandanna tied around her forehead, and rolled down her chest and back under the heavy leather vest she wore. If she stayed to strip and bury the dead man, she wouldn’t have time to slip away for a quick dip in the river before she’d be needed back at the stable.

Of course, she didn’t have to bury the man. What was one more body in a town like Peaceful? This far from town no one would notice the smell. Even if they did, it wouldn’t concern them, dead bodies were not uncommon in and around town. Few of those who died in Peaceful ever received a proper burial. Besides, the buzzards gathering above wouldn’t leave much.

As if summoned, a buzzard landed a few yards away, its beady eyes focused on the man’s still figure. KC gazed longingly at the silver swathe of water glistening in the distance then looked down at the man’s lifeless form. She gave a resigned sigh.

“Don’t worry stranger. The buzzards won’t have you. And,” something made her add, “I’ll leave you enough so you won’t meet your maker buck-naked.”

Standing, KC swept the broad-brimmed hat from her head and shooed the buzzard away. The bird rose squawking into the air. It would be awhile before the ugly creature worked up its nerve to approach again. By then it would be too late.

KC knelt next to the man and grasped his shoulders, rolling him onto his back. Only when he lay flat on the ground did she realize the scope of the loss his death was. Beautiful, she thought. Even in death, his face held the power to move her. A lump formed in her throat. No matter how often she encountered it, the ending of a life affected her. Unbidden, tears stung the back of her eyes.

Savagely, she rubbed her knuckles into her eyes. She would not cry for some unknown man—no matter how beautiful. She never cried. She hadn’t cried for Mama, or for Papa. She didn’t cry for her lost brother, Brendan. Crying didn’t bring the dead back. Crying didn’t ease the pain of grief. She swallowed the lump in her throat, pressed her lips into a tight line and reached for the pearl buttons of the man’s shirt.

His eyes blinked opened.

Shock held her rigid.

He reached out. His hand closed around her wrist, trapping her. His grip brought her nightmares to life.

A strangled shriek bubbled in her throat. Her heart pounded in fright. With a gasp, she yanked her hand free. Overbalanced she landed on her backside in the dust. She scooted away crab-like.

His hand fell limply to his side. “Please,” he croaked. “Help me.” Deep aquamarine eyes focused on her for just a moment, then flickered shut. Again, he lay still as death.

Trembling, KC crawled to his side and placed hesitant fingers on the column of his throat. There, beneath the warm, smooth skin, she could feel the blood pulsing through his veins.

Alive. He was alive!

Where can readers find your books? (buy link)

THIS HEART FOR HIRE
http://www.amazon.com/THIS-HEART-FOR-HIRE-ebook/dp/B005VF01TY
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/95878
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/this-heart-for-hire-elysa-hendricks/1107511098

HER WILD TEXAS HEART
http://www.amazon.com/HER-WILD-TEXAS-HEART-ebook/dp/B007464OSM
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/128511

I love hearing from readers and other authors. They can contact me through my web site or on Facebook.

http://www.elysahendricks.com
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Elysa-Hendricks-Author/137316289643103