In Less Than a Week I'll Turn 69...

....and I still don't know what I wanna be when I grow up.

Pitiful, isn't it?

Maybe I should clarify that by saying, I still don't know what I want to write.  Most romance writers have a sub-genre they stick to. Not this old chick. I tend to flip-flop like an ungirdled ass in a pair of stretch pants. 'Nuff said there. You get the picture.

I'm not poking fun at the woman. If she'd have short, red hair she could easily be me...if I'd have nerve enough to step out of the house like that.

Back to writing. I'm going to try my best to stick to contemporary and bear shifter romances. I think. See, an idea might sneak into my mind. Or a dream might slip into my unconscious some night. Or I might overhear a snippet of conversation that snags my attention.

My mind is like a clump of chewing gum and ideas, especially odd ones, stick. And they won't unstick unless I write about them. The problem is the ideas aren't always contemporary or paranormal in nature. So there goes my plan to be a two-dimensional writer.

At least that's my story and I'm sticking to it!

How about you? As a writer, do you tend to write in one vein? As a reader, do you follow a writer you enjoy no matter what types of books he or she writes?

Two Months Until Book Three Releases!

Bearing It All, book three of my Highlander's Beloved Series, releases two months from today. I've tried very hard to make each book different, yet keep the Matheson family and Effie alike. You can read each as a stand alone or in order as a set. Will there be more? My editor says she'd like to see books four and five, depending on the sales of book three. Although, the editorial team isn't sure how they want me to write those future books--more romantic, more paranormal, or more historical.

The whole series has been a hoot for me. I used to say, "I write all sub-genres of romance except paranormal. I don't have the mind for that."

SO WHY BEARS?

 

 

Creativity attacks us all differently. Musicians scribble lyrics on napkins or envelopes. Artists often draw on any flat surface. Writers, who write by the seat of their pants, rely on inspiration. Mine comes to me in the form of handsome males, typically at night just as I’m drifting off to sleep. They tell me about themselves, their loves, and ask me to write their stories.

Roughly three years ago, I had surgery to remove a cancerous cyst from my saliva gland, a rather involved four-hour surgery that’s left part of my left cheek and ear numb. About a month post-surgery, two golden spots appeared at the back of my mind. These round spots glowed, and I freaked—OMG brain cancer. The surgeon didn’t get it all and it’s spread to my brain. So I googled brain cancer like a mad woman, reading all I could on symptoms and nowhere did it state patients complained of seeing glowing spots in the backs of their minds.

I hated to call my cancer doctor, knowing he’d put me through a battery of tests only to prove what I already knew. I had brain cancer. I picked up the phone to call and the golden orbs blinked. Blinked, mind you! Eyes? These are eyes? And they blinked again.  Well shoot, I didn’t need a cancer doctor. I needed a shrink! I’ve got freakin’ eyes in the back of my head, glowing and blinking  and watching.

So, for a month, they waited and willed me to speak to them. Well, my darlings, I might be half-crazed, but I know enough not to speak to something that shouldn’t be there in the first place.

Then one night, when I was almost asleep, these eyes left my head and floated to the foot of our bed into a large bear. Now, I often think characters search for the right author to tell their stories. So I said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t write children’s books.” He shook his head. “Oh, you’re not that kind of bear?” He shook his head again and shifted into this dark-haired, muscled, kilt-wearing Scot. He sauntered toward my side of the bed and I reached for my glasses. I mean, wouldn’t you? Would you want to miss one gorgeous inch of this guy?

Again, I apologized. “Hon, you’re still in the wrong writer’s house. I don’t write paranormal.”

He sat on the edge of the bed and I scooted over to make sure his fine kilted behind had plenty of room. “Aye, lassie, but ye will. Me name is Creighton Matheson. In Scottish, mathe means bear and I am laird of sons of bears. Have ye ever heard how bears came to be extinct in Scotland?” I shook my head. I mean, how could I talk with a mouthful of drool? He told me this fantastical story of how the Vikings killed off the male bears and imprisoned the sow and baby bears in a cave along the coastline.

The next morning I googled “Are bears extinct in Scotland?” Chills slithered up my spine. They were. Sources claimed the extinction was due to over-hunting and the government was trying to reintroduce them into the Highlands. But I had a better story; one from a bear-shifter, himself.

Now bears can be determined creatures and mine would have no rest until I started his book. So I set aside my work in progress for a month and wrote a few chapters to quiet the bear. By then I was in love with my bear-shifter, this sexy man with a duality that both wounded my soul and charmed me. I needed…needed…for him to have his HEA.

I was also plagued with a huge problem: I didn’t know the paranormal romance genre. I felt like a fake for even trying to write one. So, I read Terry Spear and her wolf-shifters and Eve Langlais and her Furry United Coalition.

Still, the question remains: Why bears? From my research, bears are a healing totem, one that requires you to rest (hibernation) and to find your strength. Mine certainly helped me through my six months of recovery and to strengthen my writing.

I used it as my play story. Whenever I hit a wall in whatever book I was writing, I’d hop over to my bear story for a week and play. There’s a relaxation in writing something you know no one else will ever read. It gives your mind a chance to work through the corner you'd written yourself into in your WIP. My agent, at the time, knew about it, because I’d told her I was taking a break from this book or that to work through a problem by playing with my bears.

An editor at Random House Loveswept read something I’d written and called my agent to ask if I had anything not yet contracted. Dawn replied I didn’t, but I did have this bear-shifter story I worked on from time to time. “Send me the first three chapters,” the editor commanded.

I was not happy. I told my agent I wasn’t writing this for anyone to read. It was a relaxation tool for me. We argued. I sent in the chapters (I’m such a wuss). Two days later, the editor asked how soon I could have the book done and three were contracted. Maybe I should play more often.

You can pre-order at http://amzn.com/B00TCI2A5E

or Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/bearing-it-all-vonnie-davis/1121772576?ean=9780553394658

 

I'm a Pantser Whose Pants are Too Baggy

I've never made any secret out of being a pantser. I don't outline; it takes too much time. I don't do character analysis, but I did buy the book to tell me how to pair one type of personality with his or her opposite. Nor do I lay out conflict, chapter by chapter. But I do design my characters from the inside out, deciding on his or her points of pain and develop the character from those scars. 

Scars--internal or external--determine how we act and react to most situations. 

Knowing my heroine and hero's scars and sometimes their names, I type Chapter One and forge ahead. That's not to say the brakes don't screech on page four or five, they do--and have. Nor do I mean to give the impression I'm typing into a void of having no idea where the story's going. I usually have a scene in mind...I just have no clue when it'll happen. Sometimes I can even envision the ending...once more, with no clue how to get there. I guess one could call me a clueless writer. 

I'm currently writing book two of my Scottish Highlander Beloved series,  A HIGHLANDER'S PASSION. Book one releases on August 19th by Loveswept Random House and is called A HIGHLANDER'S OBSESSION.

.

But book two has my pants in a bit of a twist. My contract states the book must be a minimum of 80,000 words. For me, that's no problem. As a pantser, I've got so many ideas shoved into my pants that they've stretched quite large even for an "extra fluffy" person like me. If I use every idea crammed into those bloomers, we're talking about an epic novel here. I don't think my editor will be pleased. 

So, how to chose, because I'm telling you my pants are stretched to the limit--even for me. The waist and hips are so baggy, I can barely keep them up. Some of my ideas are a little wild, perhaps too violent, even for a paranormal romance. A few are too hawt, even for Bryce, my hunky, passionate Scot. One or two might be just plain unbelievable, even with my wonky brain. So, I ask, how do I pick and chose? How does a pantser make sense out of a big pair of bloomers full of too many ideas?

Cover Reveals, Announcements & OMG Moments!

Being retired means we've settled into a calm routine, spiced with  trips to the doctor and afternoon matinees, feasting on mass quantities of popcorn. Younger, more active adults would say we live boring lives. Silly fools. We all know excitement comes in many forms and sizes.

For example, I recently received the release date for A MAN FOR ANNALEE--November 20th. How exciting is that? This is a SWEET historical, full of humor and history, but no sex. I tried to get my heroine to cooperate, but she said she wasn't having any of it.

BLURB:  When men fight over the feisty new arrival in town, the battle forher hand begins...

  Annalee Gallagher loses her parents, home, and business in the Great Fire of Chicago. When she travels to Cicero Creek in the Wyoming Territory to start a new life, more heartache awaits her, and so do the attentions of several men--for good and for evil. Why was her stagecoach attacked, and was the shot that zinged over her head one night a wild bullet or a bad aim?

 

Boone Hartwell, the marshal of Cicero Creek, suspects someone is out to kill the new spitfire in town. She amuses him and touches a lonely part of his soul, but keeping her safe is a fulltime occupation. More importantly, can a white man raised as Cheyenne rise above her other suitors to win her heart? One thing is for certain in his determined mind: He's the man for Annalee.

If the story sounds vaguely familiar, it was once published by Still Moments Publishing that is now part of The Wild Rose Press. This story and the next have been slightly revamped and given new covers.



A TASTE OF CHOCOLATE is another SWEET short story (notice word short). It's release date is December 4th. The Blurb for it is...

Hope Morningstar has the worst luck with men. One boyfriend wrote her a "Dear John" letter while serving overseas. Her latest romantic interest broke up with her in a text. When a traffic detour puts her in an unfamiliar neighborhood, she stops at Freya's Coffee Shop, where she gets more than directions. She gets another chance at finding love.

Declan Fleming, scarred by a cheating ex-wife, has given up searching for love. He's engaged the services of Freya, the matchmaker. Still, he's been waiting for a year and has just about given up. Then Freya sends him Hope.

 

When trust issues come into play, can the magical influence of this matchmaker create a happy ending? After all, finding that one special love often involves a bit of magic.

AN ANNOUNCEMENT!!!

 

I've been offered a contract from Random House on my first paranormal. Originally titled WHEN PAISLEY MEETS PLAID, it may be changed to A HIGHLANDER'S BELOVED to get in line with other titles in the series I'll be writing. This contemporary paranormal with bear-shifters, an animal communicator and matchmaking ghosts will be published under Random House's digital line -- Loveswept. Release date is August 18, 2014.

 

 



And that's my OMG moment of the week, of the month, of the year. When my agent called to tell me Random House offered, I couldn't speak. I knew they were interested, but still didn't expect an offer. The editor at RH read my Christmas story and loved it. Unfortunately they'd already contracted their holiday titles for this year. She emailed my agent, telling her she loved my writing and asked if I had anything else. Dawn replied she knew I was working on a paranormal that took third place in the Golden Acorn. The editor immediately replied with "send me the first three chapters and a synopsis." When Dawn told me, I laughed. I mean I only had a third of it written. Dawn told me to write fast. OMG!!! So my fat, arthritic fingers went to work as I kept thinking, the editor won't like it. It's not dark enough. There's too much humor.

 

Two weeks later, Dawn got an email asking for a "full." I was about two-thirds finished by then. Work mind...work...type fingers...type!!! We sent the full to her last Monday. On Friday, the editor emailed Dawn, saying she "adored it" as long as I added more sex. LOL She sent it to committee on Friday afternoon. Monday they offered. It's been a whirlwind week.

 

So, is being retired boring? Not at the Davis household!

 

A Scavanger Hunt with Arial Burnz

I’m thrilled to have another chance to do a little cross promotion for another wonderful author. Allow me to present the hilarious and loving Vonnie Davis! *round of applause* If you haven’t read any of Vonnie’s books, you’re in for a delightful experience. And you should definitely follow her blog. The woman has me in stitches!!! Vonnie, darling, I’m so glad you accepted my invitation to participate in the hunt! *Big virtual hugs and smoochie kisses!* (I hope Calvin won’t mind.)

What is the Scavenger Hunt?

For those of you just joining the scavenger hunt, I’m Arial Burnz, author of the Bonded By Blood Vampire Chronicles and I’m doing something a little different than your typical cover reveal. We’re on a Scavenger Hunt! In short, I’ve split my new book cover for MIDNIGHT HUNT into fifteen puzzle pieces and scattered them across the Internet. From June 17th through July 1^st, one piece a day will be revealed on a blog, website or one of my internet hangouts (e.g., Facebook, Twitter, Google+, etc.).

Gather the codes from all the pieces and send them in to me at the end of the hunt and you’ll be entered into the drawing for Amazon or Barnes & Noble gift cards, a signed paperback copy of my new release MIDNIGHT HUNT, as well as some signed Romance Trading Cards and other swag (Total Approximate Retail Value of All Prizes: $65). Please click here for the details and my contact information, and here for Official Rules.

Today’s Puzzle Piece

Vonnie is doing the honor of revealing…yes, you guessed it…the eleventh piece of the puzzle. *drum roll* Tah-dah!

 

Notice the really important part of the puzzle piece above…the CODE! You’ll need that for the final drawing. Be sure to write that code down. You can right-click on the image and save it OR jot down the code somewhere safe. (NOTE: You can always go back to my site where the links to the pieces will be consolidated on one page and updated throughout the Scavenger Hunt.)

Zooming In On the Piece…

Jeez, Von! I’m sorry…this is not a very exciting piece. However, BRODERICK is an exciting piece. *eyebrow waggle* Thank you very much! I’ll be here all week…try the veal and don’t forget to tip your waiters and waitresses. *bah-doom-chee* All right…all right…moving on. :\

Exploring the Paranormal

Switching back to werewolves. In the last post, we discussed what gets in our craw about vampires. Now we’re venting about werewolves. What is your pet peeve? Whether you’ve seen it on television, in the movies, or read about it in a book, vent about it here.

Perhaps you’re one who really doesn’t like the warm and fuzzy creature that’s more wolf than man. Then again, you may hate the monstrous wolfman-like beast Lon Chaney or the more recent Benecio del Toro portrayed in the Wolfman movie.

http://www.cwtv.com/shows/the-vampire-diaries

What about their transformation? (Oooo…get ready to learn a new word.) Do you despise the way the shapeshifter transmogrifies into the beast, which is usually pretty darn painful and gut-wrenching? Maybe you don’t like hybrids? Or is it something else? Do tell! What peeves you about werewolves? OR is there something authors, movies or TV do with werewolves that you wish they wouldn’t? Please share!

I’ll be available if you have questions and I’m looking forward to interacting with everyone.

Added Bonus: Be sure to leave a comment for my characters, who have been known to make appearances and surely already have during this hunt. (Click here if you’d like to learn more about my characters.)

Thanks again, Vonnie, for having me as a guest! Mwah!

Love at First Sight by Caryn Moya Block

Do you believe in “Love at First Sight?”

I do. Let me tell you why.

 

I’ve had several people ask me why I have destined mates in my stories. Some of these same people even scoff at the idea and complain that real life isn’t like that. I would have to disagree, I think it can be like that, and here is why.

When I was in college one of my professors asked me to be a part of the new student government they were trying to get organized. I agreed and dove in whole-heartedly, writing by-laws and having elections. Then I was invited to attend the state-wide student government conference and again, I agreed.

Our college had three different campuses in three different cities, all about thirty-five miles away from each other. Each campus had its own student government with members attending the conference. So to save money, it was decided we would all meet at the main campus (not mine) and ride up together with our advisor.

A long-time girlfriend and I drove up together and parked at the main campus. Neither one of us had been there before and didn’t really know our way around.  We decided to head for the office and hoped someone there would tell us where to meet the rest of our group.

I will never forget the next few moments for the rest of my life. We had turned down the proper pathway that ran to the office, when a young man came out of the door and started walking towards us. His blond curly hair was down to his shoulders and he was wearing a t-shirt and a pair of ratty jean cut-offs. Seeing him was so overwhelming, I stopped. I knew from that first moment that this was the man I was going to marry.

 “Who is that?” I asked my friend.

She replied that he was the president of the student government on this campus and would be leading our college group at the conference. My future husband walked up to us and started directing us to where we would be picking up our bus.

How did I know he was the one? I would say now that I was guided by the divine. At the time I had no idea why I knew, I just did.

Was it love at first sight? No, it was knowing at first sight.

My husband of over thirty years is a handsome man, but he isn’t drop-dead gorgeous. It certainly wasn’t his ratty clothes that drew me. Did I mention he had a goatee? With his sun lightened blond hair the goatee looked like a ball of lint and did nothing for him. In fact, it covered up the cute dimple in his chin that I came to love later on.

Once we were all loaded onto the bus, I found out how wicked his sense of humor was and still is. One of the students was an older woman who was near my mother’s age. She was a member of the student government from the third campus, and I had never met her before. As we were driving past the farms and pastures full of cows somehow the fact they had different colors came up.

I sat quietly in my seat, amazed, while my future husband convinced the woman that white cows have white meat, dark cows have dark meat, and mixed color cows are for hamburger.

I didn’t know whether to be angry or laugh. I was taught to treat your elders with respect and playing this prank on someone who could be my mother was unsettling. On the other hand, how was it she believed the bunk he was telling her? Believe me, my husband can be very persuasive.

 Did we fall for each other immediately? No, in fact he decided to make a play for my girlfriend during the conference. She wasn’t interested, thank goodness, because she had a boyfriend waiting for her at home.

To say that I had to go fishing is an understatement. Just getting him to notice me took a while. But I was determined, because in my heart, I knew he was the one.

Our courtship was rocky. We lived in different cities and literally had a mountain range between us. Luckily for me student government business often had us on the phone with each other. Frequently, after school business was discussed, we would talk and learn more about each other. I started going to his baseball games and he came down for our campus’ picnic. Things became more serious when we started going steady.

At the next year’s state-wide student government conference, my future husband proposed. We had fallen head-over-heels in love with each other. The road was still rocky when my parents didn’t approve and my fiancé decided to join the Air Force, going in after graduation. But we kept trying and working to be together.

August 1, 1981 we were married in a park on the Colorado River in front of our family and friends. My girlfriend stood up with me as my maid of honor, while our student government advisor was my fiancé’s best man.

We have been together through thick and thin ever since. And it all started “at first sight”.

Caryn Moya Block burst onto the paranormal romance scene with her debut e-book “Alpha’s Mate” in January of 2012. Since that time she has published “A Siberian Werewolf in London” and “My Mate’s Embrace.” She was named one of the “Top 50 Indie Authors for April 2012” from E-Reader Reviews, and won the “Global E-book Awards for 2012” in contemporary romance. Caryn is also one of the contributors to "Interviews with Indie Authors, Top Tips from Successful Self-Published Authors" By Claire and Tim Ridgeway.

Caryn loves romantic movies and stories that end "Happily Ever After." She is an avid reader and writer who currently resides in the Virginia Piedmont. Her pack consists of her husband of over thirty years, two grown sons and a beautiful daughter in law, one cat, one turtle, and four Shetland Sheepdogs. She suffers from "Multiple Sheltie Syndrome", because one is never enough. She has been intrigued with the paranormal since seeing her first ghost at three years of age. She would love to hear from you at: CarynMoyaBlock@gmail.com.
 

Blurb

My Mate’s Embrace

Anton Volkov, Siberian lycanthrope, is following the scent of Laurel Harris, who is running away from her abusive stepfather. When Anton finds her, he is surprised to realize she is his mate, the one woman meant to be his. But the Russian mafia is also on her trail. In order to rescue Laurel, Anton must first get this troubled woman to trust him. Can love heal her wounded heart?

 Excerpt

My Mate’s Embrace

The first raindrop hit Laurel in the eye. Within moments, the cloud-filled sky opened up, and a deluge of water soaked through her T-shirt and jeans. She shivered as the sky darkened even more, turning the summer evening into twilight. Wiping her eyes, she continued up the mountain trail to the scenic river overlook. The trees and wildflowers became a blur as she concentrated on where to put her feet on the wet path. Laurel glanced down at the Lena River in the canyon below. It rushed along as the wind picked up, blowing until the water churned and flew up into the air. Lightening flashed from cloud to cloud, and there was a large boom. Laurel gasped in fear, feeling shock waves of thunder roll over her.

She had to continue with her plan. Her stepfather’s drunken beatings had been increasing, and she wasn’t able to tolerate staying with him a minute longer. Then, there were the frightening tattooed men who visited their motel room, asking to speak to her father. Her skin crawled when she saw them. Something felt terribly wrong. This was her chance to escape, and she was determined to be free.

Laurel tripped and fell to her knees. Rain quickly turned the dirt trail to mud. Her sneakers kept slipping as she tried to stand, so she grabbed a nearby boulder to steady herself. If only she hadn’t taken time to use her powers of healing. Broken ribs, however, would have slowed her down on this climb, and she could see better without a black eye. But the time she had used to heal her injuries placed her in this predicament. She needed to find shelter and soon. Her only hope was to keep going up.

Her backpack was getting heavier and heavier the longer it rained. The clothes inside were quickly getting soaked. Adjusting the backpack higher on her back, she kept climbing. Laurel reached out for a bush along the trail to pull herself farther up. Lightening flashed, and a loud crack of thunder made her jump.

Where was the protector her dead mother’s spirit promised would save her? Coming now would be a perfect time. Of course, no one would believe that her mother’s ghost had appeared to talk to her while she did her healings. Laurel wasn’t sure she believed it. Breathing more heavily the farther up the mountain she climbed, she forced herself to keep going.

“Just one foot in front of the other. You can do it,” Laurel said aloud, trying to gather her strength of will.

She had been planning her escape for a week, waiting for this moment, for this day. She had stuffed her few items of clothing and her mother's silver hairbrush inside her backpack. Then, she had stolen her passport and a few rubles from the small black box her stepfather kept them in. As soon as he went out the door to go drinking, Laurel made good her escape. Luckily, a lot of strangers were in town for the Siberian Summer Sakha Festival. No one seemed to notice her as she walked past the various drinking tents and vendors. She kept her head down and made sure not to make eye contact with anyone. She couldn’t chance someone recognizing her. The summer sun wouldn’t go down until after eleven here in Siberia.

Laurel pushed her sodden auburn hair out of her eyes. Lightening flashed, and she saw the overlook ahead, a small half-moon shape cut into the side of the mountain. She put on a burst of speed and hurried the last few feet. Reaching the top, she stopped to catch her breath. She wrapped her arms around her middle and held on as she bent over and panted. Looking down at the river, she was surprised to see how high she had climbed. Wind created white caps on the river’s surface. Lightening flashed from cloud to cloud around her, and thunder rolled and cracked. The wind blew stronger on the ledge, and she shivered harder, her teeth chattering.

She glanced around her. Now what? The gloom from the storm made it hard to see. Laurel glimpsed a small path going higher into the mountains. Would that lead to the caves mentioned in the guidebook? She climbed over the rock wall that surrounded the overlook and started following the small dirt path. While the other route had been wide enough for several people, this trail was little more than a deer path. Cold and desperate, she kept climbing.

Twice Laurel tripped, going to her knees as she slipped in the mud. She grabbed shrubs and boulders near the path to stop her from plummeting back down the mountain. An abyss of despair overtook her. Her chest felt heavy, and tears welled up in her eyes. Should she just let go? The fall down the mountain would kill her before she landed in the river. Should she end her flight right now? If she did, at least it would be her choice.

Laurel shuddered and shook her head, water dripping off her sopping hair. Giving up wasn’t the answer. She didn’t want to die. Stopping now would lead to going home to be beaten again. This was her chance to be free, to start a new life. If she could just be strong enough. Worrying when her stepfather would get angry and hurt her again had made her so tired.

 “Not anymore,” she promised herself. Reaching up for the next handhold, she kept climbing.

 

 

OTHER TITLES BY CARYN MOYA BLOCK ~

 

 



 

 

Links:

http://carynmoyablock.com/

http://carynmoyablock.com/moon-kissed/

https://www.facebook.com/CarynMoyaBlock

https://twitter.com/CarynMoyaBlock 

SOME FOLKS THINK ROMANCE IS FLUFF. . . IS IT? by Rosanna Leo

     I’d like to firstly thank Vonnie for hosting me on her blog! This is a treat!

     As you may have guessed from my cover pic, I write erotic romance. However, my day job is working for my local library. While working there, I have ample opportunity to talk to patrons who also love romance books of every genre. I also hear comments from folks who still think romance is fluff. Is it?

     Absolutely not! Romance is vital to our existence, in my humble opinion. Can you imagine what a life without romance would be? Not to denigrate anyone who doesn’t currently have love in their lives…I’m not talking about being in a relationship. I’m talking about seeing the world through romantic eyes.

     Think of the works of art given to the world by visionaries such as Botticelli and Fragonard. These artists were completely ruled by a sense of romance, by a sense of whimsy and playful mischief. Think of the great works of literature. My life just would not be the same if Jane Eyre or Les Miserables hadn’t been written. In fact, I’m pretty sure Jane Eyre is the reason I got into romance writing.

     It doesn’t have to be about grand gestures. Sometimes, romance is a simple look of yearning, or a hand held in a crowd. And sometimes it’s about mysteries that one cannot fathom. That is the sort of romance I’ve explored in my paranormal romance The Selkie. It is a mystical, mythical love story and my heroine must come to accept what it before her very astounded eyes. Love does not always present in the form of a mild-mannered businessman or dentist. Sometimes, love surprises us in the form of a leather-wearing man of myth!

     So, when those crusty library patrons shake their heads at romance books, I just smile quietly. I know the power of romance literature. And I think you do, too.

 

 

Blurb:

This was supposed to be her year. However, after losing her job and discovering her fiancé cheating, Maggie Collins has her doubts. When her grandmother dies, she hits rock bottom. Maggie travels to her grandmother’s home in Orkney, Scotland to sort through her gran’s things, only to discover the old woman has left her a seal pelt as her inheritance. She also learns that others are after the pelt.

To add to her frustration, Maggie’s dreams are filled with luscious images of a long-haired man, images that draw her to the magical beaches in Orkney. Although she’s lost her trust in men, this dream man inspires her with a lust she’s never known before.

Calan Kirk has also been dreaming. Dreaming of Maggie, the mortal woman who arouses him as no other woman ever has. Meeting her in the flesh when she arrives in Orkney is nothing short of spontaneous sexual combustion. But she is a human, and not to be trusted. He needs the seal pelt, not a red-haired temptress.

As a thief ransacks Maggie’s grandmother’s house, Maggie and Calan are thrust together. They must search for the animal skin, a mythical relic which once found, will either bring them together or rip them apart forever.

Excerpt:

She continued to meander down the beach, taking the odd swig from a flask of brandy she’d pilfered from Nora’s stocked liquor cabinet. However, Maggie soon realized the real seal was following her. With each step she took, he glided through the water as if in step with her.

She nodded toward it. “You’re sweet, but I’m probably not the best playmate for you right now.”

She’d seen seals on the beach before with her gran. The locals were always pointing out spots where one could glimpse the sleek animals, or “selkies” as they called them. But this one seemed persistent. He seemed to stare back at her, with intensity. As a human would. As if he knew her.

As if he knew every inch of her skin, as well as its feel.

Maggie swallowed. Had she turned against men so definitively that she was turning to the animal kingdom?

And then she laughed at the ludicrous thought. She was grieving. For a lot of things. No wonder her brains felt just as scrambled as Liz’s breakfast eggs and just as dark as the black pudding she’d plopped on the plate next to them.

“Okay.” She relented, smiling at the seal. “Maybe some company might be nice.”

The animal bobbed in the water, as if in agreement. Maggie stared out at the beast, and was lost for a second in his brown eyes. She felt comforted, protected, by his vigilant presence.

For some reason, she felt she knew him, and that she was meant to be in this exact spot at this precise time. For a quick moment, she had the impression she was standing on the edge of a huge cliff, destined to tumble from its heights into the welcoming waves below.

For the first time in her life, Maggie experienced a peculiar sense of destiny.

Buy Links:

http://www.lsbooks.com/the-selkie-p698.php

http://www.amazon.com/The-Selkie-ebook/dp/B0095M6R7O/ref=la_B007X5P4I8_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1347123491&sr=1-1

https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-theselkie-930496-140.html

FINALIST--GOLDEN ACORN AWARD OF EXCELLENCE

I needed feedback. Badly. I'd started my first paranormal romance and was unsure of my elements and storyline. Were my paranormal elements strong enough? Was my storyline a silly premise? Through one of my RWA loops, I received notice of the Golden Acorn Award of Excellence contest put on by The Charter Oak Chapter of RWA, serving members living in Connecticut and Western Massachusetts. Granted it's considered a rather prestigious contest, but it's also well-known for its great judges' feedback. So I entered. Imagine my shock when I finaled.

A friend of mine finaled, too. And, frankly, I hope she wins. First of all, I don't think my heart could take the win...LOL...and second, the winner has a chance at agent representation with a literary agency. Most of you know I already have an agent--an agent I adore. So if I were to win, the prize would be wasted. Kind of like Angelina Jolie winning a free lip augmentation proceedure from a plastic surgeon. She's so stunning, she doesn't need it. And I don't need the attentions of another agent.

If you've ever read anything by AJ Nuest, you know she can wring the emotions right out of you. Lawd, how I cried through Jezebel's Wish. The woman knows how to play a strong jazzbeat on your heart strings, don't think she doesn't. She can also write humor AND paranormal. I tell stories; she makes you feel them. I do hope she wins and gets the nod from that literary agency.

Don't get me wrong now. I'd like to move up a notch or two in the rankings. Afterall, no one likes to be the last as$ in the class...oops...was that a cliche?

So, to my friend, AJ Nuest, you go girl! Make me proud.

But I Don't Write Paranormal...

I write contemporary, historical and romantic suspense. But not paranormal. I don't have the imagination for it. Truely. I prefer my worlds more structured, after all. Although writing my romantic suspense series--The Red Hand Conspiracy--has been a stretch for me. I mean, how do I know how terrorists think? Heck, most of the time, they don't know how they think.

So when a pair of golden eyes started staring at me out of the dusty recesses of my mind, I tried to ignore them. They were other-wordly. And I don't write paranormal. Truely. But stare they did. Silently. Waiting, waiting--and watching. They gave me the heebie-jeebies. We all know I can be a hard-headed soul, so I continued to ignore them. And they continued...watching...waiting...worrying me with their unrelentless presence.

One night, a couple months ago, as I was nearly asleep, these glowing, golden eyes stepped forward and, Lord have mercy, they were in the body of a bear. I nearly wet the bed. What am I supposed to do with you? I don't write children's books. The bear shook his head. So you're not a children's character? What are you then? Some kind of paranormal beast? The bear nodded and shifted into a man wearing a kilt. Oh, now, you're talkin'. He most definitely had my attention now.

Still, I had to tell him the truth. "Look, I don't write paranormals. You're in the wrong bedroom."

"Aye, lassie, I am in the right bed chamber, and ye will write me story." He lifted the covers and slipped in the bed beside me. I slid over to make room for his thighs...lawd have mercy. Calvin wrapped his arm around me and tugged me close, moaning something in his sleep.

"Look, I have the final book in my Red Hand Conspiracy Series to write. I can't start anything new. Besides, I don't know how to write paranormals."

"Ye write about human nature, do ye not? Dinnae kin write about me family?"

"Ah..."

"Will ye grant me permission to tell ye why bears are extinct in Scotland and about me family's curse?" His brown eyes with golden flecks stared into my soul. A broad finger trailed down my cheek. "Ye won't regret a minute of it." He leaned and whispered in my ear. "I promise, lassie...

LILLY GAYLE--ROMANCE AUTHOR

My guest today on Vintage Vonnie is fellow Rose, Lilly Gayle. Lilly lives in North Carolina in a small town—so small, in fact, that it just became a town last year. Her home is full of love and laughter with her husband of 31 years, her youngest daughter, who's still in college, a dog, a cat, and various critters--both dead and alive--that the cat occasionally drags through the doggie door. Lilly writes paranormal and historical romance because she believes love is an adventure no matter the century.

Tell me, Lilly, what is your life like away from the computer? Tell us something about your household. Jazzie, my cat, wants to know more about your pets.

We have a sweet little maltipoo named Titi (pronounced T.T.) and a somewhat evil cat named Cha Cha. It’s not that I don’t like cats, but Cha Cha, aka Satan, aka Devil Cat, is completely black. And he loves to stalk bare ankles in the dark. He’s also known for bringing live and dead animals into the house, including squirrels, a flying squirrel, moles, voles, rabbits, mice, rats, and an assortment of birds. Luckily, Titi has become a champion mouser because Cha Cha just likes to torture them…and me!

Tell us how do you research your storylines or locations? 

The lifesaving station on Portsmouth Island, NC. That's my husband walking toward it.

I do most of my research on  line. But when my first historical - Slightly Tarnished, released 6/3/11-- was still a WIP, my husband and I had the opportunity to visit Portsmouth Island, a coastal village in NC. The village was once a thriving seaport but after the Civil War many residents left and never returned. It is now a State Park and many of the houses look just as they did in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. After walking down the sandy lanes and stepping into those homes, I added the Prologue to Slightly Tarnished.  Before I wrote that Prologue, I had massive backstory dump in the first three chapters. But starting the story with a Prologue allowed me to show Nikki’s history and vulnerability while giving the book some NC flavor.

Ancient Cemetary in Nuremburg, Germany

I also visited a cemetery in Germany this past April for my current WIP, a sequel to my paranormal romance, Out of the Darkness.  The trip to Germany was a visit to my daughter and son-in-law who live there. The trip to the cemetery was a fun diversion and great research.

What part of the writing process brings you the most pleasure? The most angst?

I get the most pleasure out of edits. I know that sounds crazy, but by the time I get to the editing phase, I’m usually close to finishing or finished writing completely. At least, I used to finish the book before editing. But then I got what seemed to me to be a prophetic fortune cookie. It said: “Be satisfied with one chapter at a time.”

I taped the fortune to the base of my computer monitor and now, I can’t turn off my internal editor. So, it now takes longer to write. But hopefully, that’ll mean fewer edits when I do finish.

And nothing causes more writing angst for me than promotion! I stress over what works, what doesn’t. I stress over cost. I stress over having to “put myself out there.” And I stress over feeling like a salesman. And trust me, I couldn’t sell firewood in Antarctica!

 

My husband is also an author, although his writings are more literary. When he reads my chapters, he wants to turn them into Hemingway sparseness by crossing out description. Of course I smile sweetly, think demon thoughts and then pay him no mind. Does your husband read your writing?

Bless, his little heart. He tried. He bought a copy of my first book and read the prologue and first chapter. And that’s as far as he got. He said there were no pictures of cars in it. Lol! And he has read excerpts over my shoulder as I was writing. But, despite the fact he’s not really a romance reader, (VBG) he’s been incredibly supportive.  He’s a route salesman and has told all his customers about my books.

What are you currently working on?

A sequel to my vampire romance, Out of the Darkness. It’s Gerard’s story and at the moment, I’m calling it Into the Light. I’m thinking of maybe calling it Into the Sun so it won’t be quite so cliché. I guess I’ll let my editor decide if it gets published.

Tell us about your current release…or soon to be release.

Slightly Tarnished is an historical romance set in England. Here’s a blurb and excerpt.

 BLURB:

 

Victorian romance laced with danger.

 

When a brooding English earl with a SLIGHTLY TARNISHED reputation marries his dead wife’s American cousin to save her from her uncle’s vengeful schemes, the sea captain’s daughter with a taste for adventure sparks desires he thought long dead.

Nicole Keller has always been headstrong and independent, but after a failed business venture and a sinking ship take her father, her home, and her childhood sweetheart, Nikki must support herself and her mother. But moving to England and marrying Chadwick Masters, Earl of Gilchrest isn’t what she has in mind. And falling in love with the mysterious earl could endanger both their lives.

EXCERPT 

        “This will be your room.” He opened the door and stood to one side so she could enter. “I’m afraid you will have to continue to make do without a lady’s maid. The only household staff I employ are Mrs. Lomax, Dickens, Cook, and my groom. My driver lives in the village as do the few maids I hire on occasion to help Mrs. Lomax with the laundry and heavier cleaning.”

Nikki smiled. “That’s quite all right, Lord Masters. I’m used to doing for myself, and it’s only for a week.”

He returned her smile and leaned forward, his warm breath fanning her cheek. “What happened to Chad? Surely we’ve gone beyond such formalities now, Nicole.”

Gooseflesh rippled over her skin. Her body quivered. “I don’t think it would be proper for me to call you by your given name.” She risked a glance at his face and wished she hadn’t. His eyes no longer looked worried. They were hot—almost feverish. Her skin heated.

“It didn’t stop you before,” he said, his deep voice a husky rumble. Despite the heat, Nikki shivered.

Oh my!

“I don’t think this is proper either,” she stammered when he brushed his lips against her temple. A delicious tingle skittered down her spine.

“No, probably not,” he said, nibbling her neck.

A strange tension rippled through her muscles, tightening them with pleasure. She arched her neck, granting him access as he slid his lips along the column of her throat. Her hands bunched the skirt of her plain, serviceable dress. Her stomach quivered.

“What are you doing?” she asked, breathless and giddy.

He pulled his hands from his pockets and pulled her closer. “I’m seducing you, I think.”

“Seducing me?” Her heart hammered against her ribs.

“Hmm. You’re doing it again.” Then he lowered his mouth and kissed her

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