What To Wear?

Tonight I'm heading to my first-ever function at the country club in my community. I've never thought of myself as a part of the country club set, so I've been puzzling for days over what to wear this evening. Fashion etiquette has evolved, or in some cases, disappeared, making it impossible to know what is appropriate attire for a country club Christmas party.




When I was young, fashion was simple. You wore dresses to church and school. When you came home from either, you immediately had to change out of them and into play clothes. Often on Sundays, we'd go from church to my mom's sister's house, so Mom packed play clothes for us to wear during these visits. How times have changed.

I'm writing books set in the Regency era right now, and the fashion dictates are strictly adhered to, if you are lucky enough to be a member of the Ton. Often, a great portion of your day was spent changing from one appropriate gown to another, with help from a full staff who took care of your clothing. Thank goodness, how times have changed.

My brother was in town recently and we stopped into a men's clothing store in Pinehurst. While he was trying on very expensive jackets, I chatted with the salesman, who told me that even though I work from home, I still needed to dress as if I were at an office. I countered his argument by saying I write romance so it's only appropriate that I show up for work in my pajamas. He got a sly grin on his face, and said no, I should show up for work in the finest lingerie. The man did have a point.

So, while I ponder what to wear this evening, I ask you: What are you wearing?

More Than Bragging Rights

In the romance community, contest season is in full swing.

A lot of the RWA chapters like to tie their event to the big national conference, which takes place each year in July. I recently acted as a category coordinator for the Northeast Ohio chapter's contest, and judged some entries in the historical category, which is my wheelhouse.

The reason I give back to the romance writing community in this way is because of the great feedback I got, and still get, from entering contests and letting total strangers read my work. When I'm judging an entry, I point out the strengths of each author and pick a few things they need help with. It's the way I like to get feedback and I hope my suggestions are taken in the manner they're intended and the author strengthens her work as a result.

Being a category coordinator is a slightly different animal. I assigned judges for the various entries and checked the scoresheets when they were returned. I was looking for solid comments that could help the writer without demoralizing them. We've all heard stories about how so much negative feedback made people give up on writing altogether, and I didn't want anything like that to happen on my watch.

In addition to participating in this way, I still enter contests, even with 19 books under my belt. I appreciate the feedback from these strangers and usually find some nuggets I can use to enhance my work. My most recent entry was for a work-in-progress, entered into the Romance Through The Ages contest. After I entered the work, I realized my point of view character should be the hero rather than the heroine, since his part in the story is what makes the story different from other mail order bride books. I've changed the title and have been working on this manuscript ever since, changing it around, but the entry stood in the first version.

So what happened? I placed third in my category--Colonial/Civil War. But my hero, Jake, was nominated for the Legend award, for the hero most likely to become legendary, and he won!

So, even with no real feedback in the form of a scoresheet yet, I already have proof that Jake needs more screen time and the beginning of the story needs work. Revisions are next up on my queue, right after I get my Regency heroine out of the mess she's created for herself.

But, since bragging rights are part of the contest frenzy, here are my badges to show the results of the most recent contest. Huzzah!

And as some have already guessed, the hero, Jake Shelton, first appeared in one of the Cotillion books, Banking On Temperance. He was the one spurned when Temperance finally admitted her love for Basil Fitzpatrick. And, yes, my muse for him was Blake Shelton, while he was still married to Miranda Lambert. I'll never forgive him for his defection to Gwen Stefani, but obviously, as the recipient of the Legend award, his actions, both when Temperance spurned him, and now, in the WIP, are the stuff of legends.

Sex and the Single Girl

I spent a day this past week at the hospital. My sister had to be knocked out for a procedure and I had the role of chauffeur. But it meant waiting for the procedure to be done, recovery, etc. So, as I said, I spent the day there. Fortunately, I remembered to pack my laptop so I could keep on track with my word count for the WIP.

As I madly typed away (I was in the zone!) one of the receptionists came by and said "Are you getting an internet connection here?" Since there is no internet connection available in the hospital, I thought it an odd question, but I politely explained I was a writer and able to do my job even without an internet connection. She then asked me what I wrote, and I told her I write romance.

We romance writers have all faced the moment when we tell someone we write romance and they raise an eyebrow at us as images of bodice rippers enter their heads.

But in this case, her reaction didn't stop at the raised brow. She gave me the once-over and asked "Are you married?"

It took me a moment to process. Was she asking because without marriage there can be no romance? Or was she asking because romance dies once one does get married? Or did she believe there really was, as Ava Miles writes, a Nora Roberts Land, created by unrealistic romance novels and their authors and was blaming me for her unhappy life? Did she think I couldn't possibly know what I was writing about if I'd never been married? I didn't know which thought process to take, so I merely answered her question to the best of my ability. No, I'm not married and what's more, I never have been. But that doesn't mean my life has been devoid of romance.

She didn't seem pleased with my answer. But as I pondered her question, I thought about my romantic life. If I'd gotten married to a high-school or college sweetheart I wouldn't have been able to travel around the country and meet all sorts of men. I wouldn't have had the experience of being intimate with more than one partner. I would not have been able to have so many memories to draw upon when I write.

To prove my point, I moved to another waiting room for a long couple of hours and opened my WIP again. Sitting there, with a TV blaring Days Of Our Lives, three couples involved in different conversations and a receptionist who never put down the phone, I wrote an intense love scene. When I finished the scene, I felt a bit naked and, as I came out of the zone, hoped I hadn't made any accompanying noises while I wrote. I glanced up from the laptop and the three couples weren't paying me any attention, so I figured I had safely navigated the scene. But I was exhausted. Having sex in front of a crowd can wear a girl out.

And I still had to drive us home.

Oh, The Drama

 One of my chapter mates has a very clever tag line about her novels. Abbie Roads always gives her hero and heroine a happy ending… after torturing them for three hundred pages.

As writers, we are taught to pile on the drama. It's okay to have your hero and heroine bask in the glow of their new relationship, but not for long. Just when things are going along well, it's time to throw a monkey wrench into the satisfied smirks of your characters. 

Last week was a case of art imitating life for me. My hip was doing well. I even went so far as to proclaim it didn't hurt at all, unheard of after a year of constant pain. My brother came to visit for two weeks, sharing the gift of his time with us.  My edits came in for the final book in the Cotillion Ball Series, and they aren't bad. I'd even go so far as to say I had a smirk on my face. Then, the monkey wrench came in. I developed a DVT, since I didn't take the right dosage of aspirin following my surgery, and ended up, yet again, in the hospital. 

I'm home once more, and will probably be on blood thinners for the rest of my life. If there's an easy way to do things, what fun would that be? As Abbie says, I need to be tortured for 300 pages, in order to fully appreciate my happy ever after. 

My brother took off this morning to head back to CA. The edits are patiently waiting for my head to clear enough to deal with them. My hip still doesn't hurt, although my calf muscle is still quite sore. Life is getting back to normal. Or as normal as it gets around here. 

Happy New Year, everyone. Let's hope for brighter days ahead. 

Finding The Setting

 I'm so pleased to have as my guest today Babette James, who writes contemporary romances. She's talking today about how the setting for your book is as important as the characters, regardless of the genre in which you are writing. So, without further ado, I'm turning the floor over to Babette. 

When I wrote Clear As Day, the first book in my River series, I used a real location for the setting that I had loved visiting and that was very vivid to me, Lake Mohave.  In fact, I had written pages of setting description as an exercise featuring the summer heat and cool waters of Lake Mohave before Kay and Nate ever appeared in that first scene and the little story was born that would eventually grow into Clear As Day. The other stories I have in the works for my River series also grew out of that scenic desert setting.

Summertime Dream began with a setting, as well, but in a very different way. I’ve never been to Falk’s Bend. The town and Falk House can’t be found on any map outside of my imagination. Originally, I planned to write a short story around a Fourth of July picnic, something very sentimental and traditional, and a story that had absolutely nothing to do with Lake Mohave or my River series. I didn’t even know in which state I was building my fictional town. I simply had in mind a very green, steamy hot July 4^th day at a picnic ground in a town park.

This time, there was no wandering off into pages of simple setting. The viewpoint of the heroine that would be Margie was already in the scene, frustrated and yearning for change, yet loving her small town traditions. Then my hero walked into the scene and I discovered that he was in town because he’d unexpectedly inherited a house. At that stage, my hero and I both were thinking some sort of old, but ordinary house.

Ordinary was not the word for the house my imagination concocted: a grandly decrepit old white elephant of a mansion. After the real locations I used in Clear As Day, drafting away in a fictional setting was unsettling. A confusing feeling, considering all the world building I’ve been doing for my fantasy stories, where crafting fictional places was perfectly normal. Stuck on the need for “realness” I began to research. Looking for visuals of the house led me to the lovely old Second Empire style Heck-Anderson house in Raleigh, South Carolina, which is very close to the house I first imagined.

From that point on, the details of Falk’s Bend became easier. I finally settled my little town in the state of Missouri because of its many rivers, a great location for a hero with a hobby of fishing, and because its rural areas and history felt so opposite of Christopher’s life in Los Angeles.  Also, while most Swedish emigrants settled in the upper Midwest, Missouri felt like a place where Christopher’s enterprising ancestor might choose to build a community and his fortunes. I ended up having a wonderful time writing the settings in Summertime Dream, and the house became almost as much a character in the story as my hero and heroine.

If you are a writer, how do you go about choosing a setting for your stories? If you are a reader, do you prefer settings that you could actually visit or places of the imagination?

Blurb:

The Fourth of July is over, but for these summer lovers the fireworks have just begun.

An unexpected inheritance brings business consultant Christopher Gordon from Los Angeles to quaint Falk’s Bend. He’s carved a week from his demanding schedule to list his great-grandparents’ house for sale and explore his roots. However, disturbing family secrets and the sweet temptation of writer Margie Olsson derail his plans, challenging him to seize the elusive dream missing from his hectic life— love.

A recent brush with death shook Margie’s life, but not her dreams and she’s ready to move forward. Only, standing up to her loving, over-protective family isn’t easy. Helping Christopher explore the derelict mansion and unravel his grandmother’s mysterious past should be a harmless fun taste of independence. But when her experimental summer fling ignites into unexpected love, how can her small town dreams work with his big city life?

Excerpt:

Margie touched his shoulder and had him turn away from the mess to focus on the view toward the river.

Here the picturesque natural beauty of the property began: the land sloped gently down past the ancient summer house and purple martin houses to the reedy pond where a duck flew in and landed with a quack, and stretched on through weedy tangles of wild blackberry and rogue saplings to the ancient apple and plum trees sagging with unripe fruit, and beyond to the river invisible in the distance, marking where the Engberg’s farm began on the far bank.

Appreciation softened his tense face.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? I fell so in love with this place when I was little and dreamed I’d live in a house like this someday.” Margie laughed. “Of course, in my dreams it was a bit less rundown.”

“I’d imagine so. Interested in buying?”

“Oh, if only I could, I would in an instant. I’m sure the property alone is worth far more than I can afford. It’s a huge piece of land. And the repairs and restoration...” Longing swelled. She sighed. Someone else would buy and live in her dream home.

Quiet fell between them for a while. Bees buzzed in the clover. Birds sang, chirped, and flitted. A hummingbird whizzed past. Two more ducks joined the first amid quiet bickering quacks. Dandelion fluff drifted by on an unfelt breeze.

A truck rattled down the lane, breaking the moment.

“Suppose we ought to head back...” Christopher turned, so close their arms brushed, but instead of retreating, he hesitated. Their eyes locked. Where dismay and frustration had filled his green eyes, want simmered. The heavy air electrified.

You need a change.

On a surge of bewildering crazy courage, she stretched up and kissed him. The brief brush of lips to lips left her shaken and her heart pounding, like she had just come up for air.

His eyes widened in his serious, craggy face.

No, oh, no. Blowing out a unsteady breath, she pressed a hand to her stomach. She’d carried her day’s adventure one impetuous step too far. Her heroines were the daring part of her. She’d never even kissed on a first date before, and this wasn’t even a date.

Before the apology fluttering in her mind could break free, he cupped her cheek and touched his mouth down on hers.

Thinking faded as feeling soared. His gentle touch sweet and fascinating, his lips warm and firm played over hers, unhurried in his caresses and enticing brushes. He laced his fingers into her hair, cradling her head in his hand. He tenderly nipped her lip and licked at her mouth, inviting her rather than taking.

She sighed, delighting in this lovely, reckless rush. Yes. Yes. Yes. Forget that they had just met. She could want again.

Gripping his shoulder, she accepted the heady invitation, and the kiss deepened into perfect.

Come fall in love at the river:

Summertime Dream is available on Amazon: http://viewBook.at/SummertimeDream

“Summertime Dream is a perfect glass of Lemonade on a hot day. Simple, elegant and beautifully written. I enjoyed each scene. Loved the chemistry between the characters and the house. Great story!” ~ Deborah Diez

Clear As Day, (★★★★½ RT Book Reviews, ★★★★★ Top Pick The Romance Reviews) is available at:

Amazon: http://viewbook.at/ClearAsDay

The Wild Rose Press: http://www.wildrosepublishing.com/maincatalog_v151/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=175_133&products_id=4806

And at all other eBook retailers

About the Author:

Babette James writes sweetly scorching contemporary romance and loves reading nail-biting tales with a satisfying happily ever after. When not dreaming up stories, she enjoys playing with new bread recipes and dabbling with paints. As a teacher, she loves encouraging new readers and writers as they discover their growing abilities. Her class cheers when it’s time for their spelling test! Born in New Jersey and raised in Southern California, she’s had a life-long love of the desert and going down the shore. Babette now lives in New Jersey with her wonderfully patient husband and extremely spoiled cats.

You can find Babette at:

Website: http://babettejames.com/

Newsletter:http://eepurl.com/ltvyP

Twitter: https://twitter.com/BabetteJames

Facebook Profile: https://www.facebook.com/babette.james

Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/BabetteJamesAuthor

Amazon Author Page: http://amzn.com/e/B007KDJWV8

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/babettejames

Pinterest:http://pinterest.com/babettejames/

Thursday Threads--Linda Bennett Pennell

Today, I have the pleasure of introducing Linda Bennett Pennell and her fabulous book, Al Capone at the Blanche Hotel.

Genre: Historical fiction with romantic elements

Al Capone at the Blanche Hotel tells a story of lives unfolding in different centuries, but linked and irrevocably altered by a series of murders in 1930. 

Lake City, Florida, June, 1930: Al Capone checks in for an unusually long stay at the Blanche Hotel, a nice enough joint for an insignificant little whistle stop. The following night, young Jack Blevins witnesses a body being dumped heralding the summer of violence to come. One-by-one, people controlling county vice activities swing from KKK ropes. No moonshine distributor, gaming operator, or brothel madam, black or white, is safe from the Klan's self-righteous vigilantism. Jack's older sister Meg, a waitress at the Blanche, and her fiancé, a sheriff’s deputy, discover reasons to believe the lynchings are cover for a much larger ambition than simply ridding the county of vice. Someone, possibly backed by Capone, has secret plans for filling the voids created by the killings. But as the body count grows and crosses burn, they come to realize this knowledge may get all of them killed.

Gainesville, Florida, August, 2011: Liz Reams, an up and coming young academic specializing in the history of American crime, impulsively moves across the continent to follow a man who convinces her of his devotion yet refuses to say the three simple words I love you. Despite entreaties of friends and family, she is attracted to edginess and a certain type of glamour in her men, both living and historical. Her personal life is an emotional roller coaster, but her career options suddenly blossom beyond all expectation, creating a very different type of stress. To deal with it all, Liz loses herself in her professional passion, original research into the life and times of her favorite bad boy, Al Capone. What she discovers about 1930’s summer of violence, and herself in the process, leaves her reeling at first and then changed forever.

Excerpt:
CHAPTER ONE
Saturday
June 14, 1930
O’Leno, Florida

Jack jammed a finger into each ear and swallowed hard. Any other time, he wouldn’t even notice the stupid sound. The river always sorta slurped just before it pulled stuff underground.
His stomach heaved again. Maybe he shouldn’t look either, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the circling current. When the head slipped under the water, the toe end lifted up. Slowly the tarpaulin wrapped body, at least that’s what it sure looked like, went completely vertical. It bobbed around a few times and finally gurgled its way down the sinkhole. Then everything went quiet . . . peaceful . . . crazily normal. Crickets sawed away again. An ole granddaddy bullfrog croaked his lonesomeness into the sultry midnight air.
Crouched in the shelter of a large palmetto clump, Jack’s muscles quivered and sweat rolled into his eyes, but he remained stock-still. His heart hammered like he had just finished the fifty yard dash, but that was nothing to what Zeke was probably feeling. He was still just a little kid in lots of ways.
When creeping damp warmed the soles of Jack’s bare feet, he grimaced and glanced sideways. Zeke looked back with eyes the size of saucers and mouthed the words I’m sorry. Jack shook his head then wrinkled his nose as the odor of ammonia and damp earth drifted up. He’d always heard that fear produced its own peculiar odor, but nobody ever said how close you had to be to actually smell it. He prayed you had to be real close; otherwise, he and Zeke were in big trouble. 
The stranger standing on the riverbank stared out over the water for so long Jack wondered if the man thought the body might suddenly come flying up out of the sinkhole and float back upriver against the current. Funny, the things that popped into your head when you were scared witless.
The man removed a rag from his pocket and mopped his face. He paused, looked upstream, then turned and stared into the surrounding forest. As his gaze swept over their hiding place, Jack held his breath and prayed, but he could feel Zeke’s chest rising and falling in ragged jerks so he slipped his hand onto Zeke’s arm. Under the gentle pressure of Jack’s fingers, Zeke’s muscles trembled and jumped beneath his soft ebony skin. When Zeke licked his lips and parted them like he was about to yell out, Jack clapped a hand over the open mouth and wrapped his other arm around Zeke’s upper body, pulling him close and holding him tight. Zeke’s heart pounded against the bib of his overalls like it might jump clean out of his chest.
With one final look ‘round at the river and forest, the stranger strode to the hand crank of a Model T. The engine caught momentarily, then spluttered and died. A stream of profanity split the quiet night. The crank handle jerked from its shaft and slammed back into place. More grinding and more swearing followed until the thing finally coughed to life for good and a car door slammed. Only then did Jack relax his hold on Zeke.
“I want outta here. I wanna go home,” Zeke whispered hoarsely.
Lucky Zeke. Before Meg left home to move into town, Jack would have felt the same way. Now he didn’t care if he ever went home. 
Jack cocked an ear in the Ford’s direction. “Hush so I can listen. I think he’s gone, but we’re gonna belly crawl in the opposite direction just to be sure we ain’t seen.”
“Through that briar patch?  I ain’t got on no shoes or shirt.”
“Me neither. Come on. Don’t be such a baby.”
“I ain’t no baby,” Zeke hissed as he scrambled after Jack.
When the pine forest thinned out, Jack raised up on his knees for a look around. Without a word, Zeke jumped to his feet and started toward the road. Jack grabbed a strap on Zeke’s overalls and snatched him back onto his bottom.
“You taken complete leave of your senses?” Wiping sweat out of his eyes, Jack pushed his shaggy blonde hair to one side. “Check it out before you go bustin’ into the open.”
“Why you so bossy all the time? I ain’t stupid, ya know. Just cause you turned twelve don’t make you all growed up.”
Zeke’s lower lip stuck out, trembling a little. Whether it was from fear or anger, Jack wasn’t sure. Probably both. Peering into the night, he strained for the flash of headlights. Nothing but bright moonlight illuminated the road’s deep white sand. Finally confident that no vehicles were abroad, he grabbed Zeke’s hand and pulled him to his feet. With one final glance left, then right, they leapt onto the single lane track and ran like the devil was on their tails. 


Books:
Al Capone at the Blanche Hotel now available from Soul Mate Publishing
Confederado do Norte  coming from Soul Mate in 2014

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/AuthorLindaBennettPennell

Website:  http://www.lindapennell.com/

Twitter:  @LindaPennell

Buy link for Al Capone at the Blanche Hotel:  http://amzn.to/16qq3k5

My Contemporary Side

I love writing historicals, as anyone who follows my career knows. But in between all the history, I like to put together a contemporary that's more breezy than a heavy historical. I think it makes both my historical side and my contemporary side better if I bounce back and forth. The last thing I want is to have every book sound the same. The characters must jump off the page at you and have you, the reader, be rooting for them from the first scene. Otherwise, what's the point?

Blame It On The Brontes was my debut contemporary. There is more coming early in 2014. I'll be releasing The Road To Comfort (just saw the cover--Yum!) sometime in January, and then Voice Of An Angel in early 2014. I'm hoping having more than one selection will help the lagging sales of all of them. And, I hope to become more familiar with the haunts of contemporary readers. It's been a bit of a struggle. Authors and publishers alike try different promotional tactics. Some work, some don't. Time was when offering up your book for free for a day or two stimulated sales, since it raised you in the Amazon rankings. Now, we've been told that doesn't work anymore. Getting 30 reviews for your book in the first three days of its release was guaranteed to bring you lots of extra Amazon promotion. Now, that's been proven a falsehood.

What is an author to do? The answer is very simple, and very complex. Write the best book you possibly can, promote it at every opportunity, and keep your name out there. Easy-peasy, right?


So, here goes. Blame It On The Brontes has been voted #1 Best Baby Boomer Romance by Goodreads subscribers. It's three love stories in one book, wrapped around a central story line. And, best of all, it's on sale for four more days at only 99 cents! Grab your copy now, or load up that Kindle gift you're giving someone for Christmas. Charlotte, Emily, and Anne would appreciate it. Not to mention, I'd be overjoyed.

All I Want For Christmas--Day 3

 Click on The Romance Review's Year-End Blog hop button on the right to be eligible to win over 400 prizes during the month of November!

The spotlight today turns to Cynthia Racette today with her entry, A Child Is Born.

Two teens, assisting with a church Christmas pageant, discover the true meaning of the season through their own Christmas miracle.

Excerpt:
The man who'd helped them stood by, obviously wanting to make sure they were okay.

"We're okay. Just a little shaken." Val eyed him more closely. He wore a beige tunic in a rough, coarse material. Over it he wore a dark brown cloak that looked like linen and on his head a black cloth with a woven band that kept his long hair back. There were others walking around, all wearing the same type of clothing in different colors, materials and ornamentation.

Sweating in her winter outfit, Val pulled off her gloves and coat and Jason did the same. The foreign man reached out tentatively, and felt the mohair of her fluffy green sweater. "Where did you get this? Persia, perhaps?” He pointed to her leather boots. “You must be rich."

He touched Jason's soft flannel shirt, tracing the plaid of green, blue, and red. "How do you weave colors such as this?"

"Uh, I don't know." Jason finally glanced around. "I wonder where we are. Can you tell us the name of this town?"

The man looked at them oddly. "Why, it is Bethlehem, of Judea."

As Jason and Val stared at him in disbelief, a frisson of awareness ran the length of Val's spine. It couldn't be. But a glance around confirmed the momentous truth of what had happened. Her eyes told her it was possible, but she wasn't sure she believed her own sight.

Somehow, on Christmas Eve, they had landed in Bethlehem. And a look around told them it was not the Bethlehem of today, but rather many years ago.



How to reach Cynthia:

Website: www.cynthiaracette.com
Released August 28: Uncharted Fate
Released 2012: Windswept
Novella: Married to the Job, to release fall 2013
Blogsite:  www.authorcynthiaracette.com

Layering

It's that time of year in Northern Ohio--sweaters come out of the drawers, extra blankets go on the beds, thermal undies get unpacked. Winter's in the air (and on the ground, if you live east of Cleveland. Surprise!)

Frankly, I like to layer on clothing. A thermal undershirt, a sweater, a jacket. At various times during the day, I'll strip off one or two layers, but keep them at the ready when I need to throw them back on again. Kind of reminds me of the way I write...

Every author I know uses a different process for writing. I just saw a video chat with Julia Quinn where she revealed she writes in circles. She's constantly going back to what she wrote the day before and fixing it before she continues on with her story. One of my critique partners writes various scenes when they come to her, and holds them in a separate folder until they fit into the story line. Me? I write in layers. I begin with a flash first draft, usually devoid of any sensory imagery and details. My main concern is to just get the story line down, to make sure it starts in the right place and that there's enough conflict and depth for a complete story. Once that's done, and I'm about 15,000 words below my goal, I go back to the beginning and start again. I have my sensory checklist and my overused word list and I go scene by scene through the document, checking things off, adding things in--putting an additional layer onto the story.

When the boring checklist portion is over, I'll go back over it again, starting at the beginning and just read it. Things jump out at me that are unexplained, or awkward, and I fix them. I also add more detail to the scene and try to paint the picture that's in my head with words on the paper--another layer.

By my third or fourth pass through my book, it's pretty well fleshed out. Layers of warmth have been added to the skeleton I started with, and the word count is where it should be. If I've over-embellished some of the story, I can remove that section, or if it needs more, I'll add details. While creating the skeleton is the fun part, adding layers creates the depth and conflict that any good romance needs.

So, curl up by a roaring fire when it gets cold outside. Throw a cozy afghan over you, maybe invite the dog into your lap and prepare to be warmed, inside and out, with a good book.

Home Improvements

Ever since I’ve let the world know that I’m a writer of romance, I’ve been asked the same question repeatedly—How can someone who’s never been married be able to write romance?

I’m surprised by the question every time I hear it. Do people think I have lived in an emotional vacuum all these years? I have traveled all over the United States, and dated men that I would never have met if I’d married my high school sweetheart. A lot of these men have already shown up in my writing. Joseph, the hero in The Reluctant Debutante, is half American Indian. I lived in Arizona for over a year, and had contact with many an Indian there. Have you noticed all the English men in my books are either cads or buffoons? Coincidence? I think not. I’ve always been a sucker for a man with an accent. My motorcycle-riding guy from high school shows up in my latest contemporary, due out early next year. The pig from Vermont who broke Emily’s heart in my debut contemporary, Blame It On The Brontes? His name was…well, never mind. I’ve yet to figure out how to use my Hawaiian surfer, but sooner or later, he’ll find his way into the pages of one of my books.

None of these life experiences would have been possible if I’d married right out of high school and stayed in Ohio all these years. But, occasionally over the years, I’ve asked myself the question why I never could commit to just one guy. I could never figure out the answer.

Until yesterday. My gas oven quit working on me, and with Thanksgiving around the corner, I had to get it fixed. Turkeys don’t cook well on top of the stove, and I’m not about to burn the house down while trying one of those turkey fryer contraptions. The repairman came out, laid down on my kitchen floor and whacked my oven’s inner workings with a pair of pliers. The gas flame kicked on, finally. I jokingly asked him if I had to give it a whack every time I wanted to cook something. He found my humor less than funny, and replied, with a straight face I might add: “Your igniter is not working.”

I nearly choked. You don’t tell a romance writer her igniter isn’t working!

But then I realized that was the answer I’ve been searching for over the years. I can begin a relationship with a hot, scorching flame. But sooner or later, it levels off, and then shuts down for a few minutes. When it’s time to get hot again, the igniter is supposed to kickstart itself and once more, the flame burns brightly. But, if your igniter is broken, the flame doesn’t come back on, and the oven eventually gets stone cold.

Who would have guessed that getting a simple home improvement done would result in the answer to one of my world’s most puzzling questions?

What The @#%& Is Steampunk Anyway?

Despite the genre in which writers find their comfort zone, most authors are always open to new ideas and new types of fiction to explore. One of the genres I find intriguing, and confounding, is steampunk. I understand it in principle, but never could quite grasp how to craft a story line that melded the Victorian era with modern day. Who better to turn to for help than someone who is published in the genre. February Grace's debut, Godspeed, is steampunk at its best. I asked her to explain the genre to me, and to all of you. She's generously offered to give away two copies of her e-book to those of you who leave a comment. So, without further ado, here's February!

 

Glorious Gadgets and Ingenious Devices:

The Golden Thread That Ties All Steampunk Together by February Grace

 

Ask a thousand people to give you a definition of “Steampunk” and you will probably get a thousand different answers.

For some, the term speaks specifically of a sub-genre of science fiction: stories set in a specific era (the 1800s) that include technology that would not have existed in that steam-powered time.

Some would say it’s all about the airships, ray guns and goggles. Others may cite names of the many Steampunk musical acts and clothing designers/costumers/jewelers and say that it is these artisans which help to create an entire lifestyle; one carried out with not only a specific outlook on life, but by attendance at conventions and other events where costume play is one of the major features.

If you ask me the question, I would reply that Steampunk is all of those things and many more; and to me specifically it is something yet again. For me it was a way to put a man in the middle of a serious moral dilemma, when his own genius exceeded the lawful limitations society placed upon the practice of his profession.

In the end, to my mind, though, there is one main thing that ties all of Steampunk together with a golden thread (or perhaps, I should say, a set of copper gears) and that is the gadgetry. 

All Steampunk has it, whether it may also have vampires, zombies, other fantastical creatures or, in the case of my book GODSPEED, none of those fantastical creatures.

Inventive spins on devices that we have today and take for granted are written into these stories, and go back to Jules Verne and H.G. Wells, authors hailed as the forefathers of Steampunk.

When my Doctor Quinn Godspeed is confronted with a young woman who is dying right before his eyes and is convinced that he has a chance to save her, he cannot help but take that chance, even if it means breaking the law. The consequences for himself and his patient could be devastating, yet he cannot resist using his knowledge to build machines that could help prolong her life.

That’s how I work the amazing gadgetry of Steampunk into GODSPEED: in the form of medical devices and advancements that are ahead of their time. Abigail’s ‘clockwork pacemaker’ (as I referred to it in my notes while writing the book) is but one of Quinn’s creations. The moment when he gives her the final apparatus is one of my favorite in the book:

He returned to the workbench behind the surgical table, where I now sat with my legs hanging over the side.

He opened the top drawer, procured a small wooden box, and held it up on display.

“A gift.”

My eyes widened when I saw what at first appeared to be a brilliant silver-tone locket; antique, and fashioned in the arcing shape of a heart.

“This, like most things in life, is more than it first appears.” He removed it with one hand and set aside the box with the other before moving within reach. “This is the means by which we will free you from the torment of harsher treatments.”

I watched with absolute amazement as he unlatched the clasp on the charm and revealed its complicated interior. Gear upon gear, lever upon lever, all churning and clicking away in musical, clockwork time. He leaned in so close now that I could feel the warmth of his cheek against mine.

“Here.” He dangled the necklace in front of me, where it danced and flickered in the light. “This is your new heart. It’s rare, and young, and made of pure white gold.” For an instant he looked upon me with an expression I could not possibly put emotion to. “Exactly, I am certain, like the one it will repair.”

He lowered the chain around my neck, and as he did so, tears I could not deny wound their way down my cheeks and onto his gifted, powerful hands.

I hope you will join me for a little while inside of Doctor Godspeed's clockwork world, and that you will enjoy my own personal take on this expansive, and greatly varying, genre.

Thank you, February, for your revealing explanation of what steampunk it. I can't wait to read  your book. 

Intrigued? You betcha. Leave a comment to be entered into a drawing for a copy of Godspeed. Or, you can purchase a copy today at one of the following locations: 

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Godspeed-February-Grace/dp/1620151499/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1374245503&sr=8-1&keywords=february+grace

ITunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/godspeed/id668503924

Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/godspeed-february-grace/1112111553?ean=9781620151495

 

Author Bio:

February Grace is a writer, artist, and poet who lives in Southeastern Michigan. She sings on key, plays by ear, and is more than mildly obsessed with colors, clocks, and meteor showers. GODSPEED is her debut novel.

You can learn more about Bru by visiting her website: www.februarywriter.blogspot.com

Twitter: @FebruaryGrace

Facebook: www.facebook.com/FebruaryGrace

  

Traci Douglass is in the hot seat today

The talented Traci Douglass joins me today to answer some questions about her new book, Seal Of Surrender. In case anyone missed it, her hero, Chago, won the very first round of the Hot Heroes Face Off just a week ago. Way to go, Chago! My money was on him all the way. Traci's book releases tomorrow, May 6, same time my latest is available. I'm happy to share the spotlight with her today. Without further delay, here's Traci!

            What is your current project about?

Seal Of Surrender is the story of Chago, an immortal Scion warrior, who longs only for the peace and quiet of his Montana ranch. Unfortunately, he’s summoned to protect a woman who holds the genetic key to the apocalyptic Seal of War. After years of carnage as the Scion’s combat expert, he works a deal with Divinity. He’ll complete this one last job in exchange for permanent retirement.  He never expects to fall in love or risk compromising his mission because of her.

What’s next for your readers?

I’m working on revisions for the third Seal book now and have the fourth book outlined and ready to write. I’m also working on a contemporary romantic comedy that I hope to find a home for soon.

Why do you write romances?

 I’ve been a voracious romance reader since my teens. It’s the genre I love.

Have you ever written in any other genre?

No, but as I’ve stated above, I’m trying my hand at some different areas within the genre, outside of paranormal romance. Namely contemporary and romantic suspense. 

Have you ever written a character based on someone you know?

Hasn’t everyone? ***wink*** 

Where did you grow up, and did anything from your childhood influence your decision to become a writer? I grew up in the Midwest. I’m an only child, so yes. I think that influenced me more than anything else. There weren’t a lot of other kids my age in the neighborhood, so it forced me to use my own imagination and come up with stories to entertain myself. 

What advice can you give writers who are getting started?

Read as much as you can, inside and outside your genre. To see what’s good and what’s out there in the marketplace. And write. Every day. No excuses.

And now, for three fast questions:  

Are you a dog or cat person? Dog

Would you rather vacation at the beach or the mountains? Beach. 

Sun or fog? Fog. So mysterious and romantic. 

 

Seal Of Surrender Book Blurb:

War has shaped every aspect of Irena Soldan’s life—her childhood, her work, her DNA. Unaware she is the genetic host of the second Seal of the Apocalypse, Irena battles for those who cannot fight for themselves as a top human-rights operative for The Omega Consortium, whose charismatic, publicity-loving boss holds a deadly personal agenda.

Chago has always been the quiet one among his warrior Scion brethren—the brooding, combat expert with a hidden soft side. A member of Divinity’s covert special forces, he’s protected humanity for more than a millennium and now his goal is retirement. In exchange for his freedom, Chago agrees to protect Irena against his ancient enemy as his final mission. Expecting a cauldron of female whoop-ass, he instead discovers a harbinger of peace amidst a world of ever-increasing violence.

Despite the cataclysmic circumstances, an undeniable attraction ignites between Chago and Irena. Together, they must unravel the ancient puzzle of the Seals and discover a way to defeat an unstoppable evil before they both become casualties of War.

 Buy Links:

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00CA9DF24/ref=s9_simh_gw_p351_d0_i1?pf_rd_m=ATVPDKIKX0DER&pf_rd_s=center-2&pf_rd_r=19AJXBPM4XV2BZ6NR3ME&pf_rd_t=101&pf_rd_p=1389517282&pf_rd_i=507846

Kobo: http://www.kobobooks.com/ebook/Seal-of-Surrender/book-2zu1bc-2fE-nhB_Fg5bqIw/page1.html?s=qtBFWoUBTUqKCyDnLj2tDA&r=1

I-Tunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/seal-of-surrender/id634133013?mt=11&uo=4

Social Media Links:

Website: http://www.tracidouglass.net

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/tracidouglassauthor

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/Traci_Douglass

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6767293.Traci_Douglass

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Traci-Douglass/e/B00AX4X9DS/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1367179976&sr=8-1

RebelMouse: https://www.rebelmouse.com/TraciDouglassAuthor/

Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/tracisdouglass/